The novel is set in the twenty-third century and is a satire that gets quite politically bigoted for the sake of amusement. A fleet of space vessels are detected by Earths tracking stations as they enter the outer reaches of the solar system. Messages of greeting are met with silence, and after several attempts, it is presumed that they constitute an invasion force. Several world powers have nuclear capabilities, and after a meeting on a global level, it is decided to attack the ships that are growing ever nearer before they can accomplish their mission. The strike is totally successful, and the threatened hysteria dies down. Then a second wave of vessels, exactly as the first are detected, once again ignored every message of enquiry of intent that Earth has sent them. Further warheads are sent to destroy them with total success just as before. It seems that the vessels have no conventional weapons and are unable to defend themselves. While on Earth, looting, murder, and other crimes is rampant during the hysteria. One man, Hakt, begins digging in his backyard to create an underground shelter. He feels certain the end of civilisation is upon them. The first few chapters deal with his experiences, especially when a third wave of craft are detected on their way to Earth. As the various powers all maintaining their nuclear arsenal is exhausted, the ships arrive unmolested. One lands in the Gambia, while the others land on the far side of the moon. A united nation squabbles over who will go to greet the lone vessel. Once the argument subsides, a deputation does indeed approach. A gas is released from the ship, and those it lands on are dissolved to nothing more than grey residue. Not only that; the ships also bathe every conflict theatre currently undergoing war on the whole planet! The tacit aliens have brought peace to Earth, but at what cost?

Einuur smiled grimly. “This device is called a spalvosás. Your cerquibrum can tell you its function.” “My cerquibrum is sort of out for the moment. What is it? What does it do?” Ailuura replied in a concerned tone, “It sort of realigns your sympathies, Inigo.” “What if I don’t want them realigning?” This without a great deal of conviction. Einuur gave a vulpine grin. “But you’re not in charge here, Felton. I am. Now let me advise you. To resist the spalvosás will result in more than a little, shall we say, discomfort. So the choice is yours and that of your Mizaroa. Embrace the emanations, and all will be smoothly achieved. Resist, and you will not like what it does to your body and your brain.” Felton began to struggle, a chiefly useless show of defiance given the circumstances. Einuur suddenly cuffed him upside the head and then jammed the cap on to his head, securing it by a strap beneath his chin. Satisfied that the fit was optimum, he bent over the case, and Felton heard two toggle switches being thrown. The room was filled with a soft humming of some sort of alien power supply. The Zaromoid turned his attention to the captive and began, “Inigo Felton, which alien race do you have the most sympathy for? Answer, or I will adjust the spalvosás to give you a little jolt—a sample of what might come if you do not cooperate with the Zaromi.” Felton tried reasonably enough. “I have a Mizaroa cerquibrum in my head, so my allegiance is to them obviously.” A spear of indescribable agony suddenly racked his entire body from the top of his head to the end of his toes.