Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
SURVIVAL TYPE the human race. It had to be all or nothing ... Arthur Lanceford slapped futilely at the sith buzzing hungrily around his head. The outsized eight-legged parody of a mosquito did a neat half roll and zoomed out of range, hanging motionless on vibrating wings a few feet away. A raindrop staggered it momentarily, and for a fleeting second, Lanceford had the insane hope that the arthropod would fall out of inches short of disaster, buzzed angrily and retreated to the shelter of a nearby broadleaf, where it executed another half roll and hung upside down, watching its intended meal with avid anticipation. Lanceford eyed the insect distastefully as he explored his jacket for possible endings to the affair—either you were bitten or you killed He had hoped that he would be fast enough to get the sith before it got a lifetime. He readjusted his helmet, tucking its fringe of netting protection suit an instrument of torture that slowly boiled its wearer deadly. The first bite sensitized. The second killed—anaphylactic Lanceford shrugged fatalistically. Uncomfortable as a protection suit was, it was better to boil in it than die without it. Kron, Lanceford reflected, was a good example of the manner in which galaxy, he was an erect, bipedal, mammalian being with hands that possessed an opposable thumb. Insofar as that general description went, Lanceford couldn't repress an involuntary shudder at some of the could learn about machinery, but Lanceford was certain that it would Lanceford finished tucking the last fold of face net under his collar, him flotation that Lanceford envied. As a result, his head was nearly level with that of the human, although there was better than a foot Lanceford looked at Kron inquiringly. "You have a place in mind where we can sleep tonight?" "Sure, Boss. We'll be coming to hunthouse soon. We go now?" "Lead on," Lanceford said, groaning silently to himself—another managed to last through the others and this one could be no worse. At The three moved onward, immersed in a drumming wilderness of rain—the Niobian sliding easily over the surface of the mud, the Earthman villages. Lanceford sighed a mingled breath of relief and unpleasant heading like a winged bullet for Lanceford's neck. But the man was The high-pitched buzz and Lanceford's gloved hand met simultaneously at his right ear. The buzz stopped abruptly. Lanceford shook his head and the sith fell to the ground, satisfactorily swatted. Lanceford perish from sheer propinquity. One could never honestly say that walls enclosing a packed-dirt floor and lined with a single deck of wooden sleeping platforms. Steeply angled rafters of peeled logs intersected at a knife-sharp ridge pierced with a circular smokehole above the firepit in the center of the room. Transverse rows of smaller poles lashed to the rafters supported the thick broadleaf thatch that furnished protection from the rain and sanctuary for clustered around the pit, watching the slowly rotating carcass of a small deerlike rodent called a sorat, which was broiling on a spit above the flames. Kron was already in the ring, talking earnestly to To a Niobian, the scene was ordinary, but to Lanceford it could have and, after a single eye-filling stare, turned back again. Niobians were almost painfully polite. Although Earthmen were still enough of a Presently Kron rose from his place beside the fire and pointed out two empty sleeping platforms where they would spend the night. Lanceford chose one and sank wearily to its resilient surface. Despite its crude construction, a Niobian sleeping platform was comfortable. He removed his pack, pulled off his mud-encrusted boots and lay back with a grunt Lanceford nodded, his stomach crawling with unpleasant anticipation. Lanceford's eyes watered, his stomach tautened convulsively, but the An entree like that could ruin the most rugged human appetite, but vorkum assumed the general properties of an emetic. Lanceford grimly But polite convention required that he eat something, so he took a small portion of the barbecued meat and dutifully finished it. The could assimilate relatively untasty sorat should refuse the far greater the more acceptable concentrates from his pack. His hunger satisfied, Lanceford's dreams were unpleasant. Nightmare was the usual penalty of beat off the attacks of the blood-suckers. therefore it couldn't hurt him. He grimaced painfully, the movement worked. If it wasn't, he reflected grimly, he wouldn't be long for this could do was wait and see if the anti-allergen worked. protection suits. Lanceford never questioned the necessity or the that Niobe was crash priority—a world that to be understood in minimum time. Despite the fact that most life is based on carbon, oxygen and water, VIII culture level. Considering that Terra and Lyrane, the two highest worth considering. against them, what did a few lives matter? For the sake of the billions Lanceford groaned as a violent pain shot through his head. The some effect by now. He shrugged mentally—it was the chance one took in Alpha was a good hundred miles away and, in his present condition, he couldn't walk a hundred feet. For a moment, he considered setting up the powerful little transmitter he carried in his pack, but his first abortive motion convinced him it was useless. The blinding agony that swept through him at the slightest movement left no doubt that he would never finish the business of setting up the antenna, let alone send a message. It was a crime that handie-talkies couldn't be used here on Niobe, but their range, limited at best, was practically nonexistent on a planet that literally seemed to be one entire "dead spot." A fixed-frequency job broadcasting on a directional beam was about the only thing that could cover distance, and that required a little technical know-how to set up the antenna and focus it on Base Alpha. There would be no help from Kron. Despite his intelligence, the native could no more assemble a directional antenna than spread pink wings and fly. There was only one thing to do—get a note off to Sims, if he could still write, and ask Kron to deliver the note and his pack to the Base. He fumbled with his jacket, and with some pain produced a stylus and a pad. But it was difficult to write. Painful, too. Better get Kron over The stylus slipped from numb fingers as Lanceford called hoarsely, He scratched his head and pulled thoughtfully at one of his short ears. It was his duty to help Lanceford, but how could he? The Earthman The human was apparently resolved to die. He had told Kron his last their artificial defenses, they died, stubborn, unregenerate, Lanceford breathed wheezily. The swelling had invaded the inner much choice of where he dies in the BEE." "Of course not," Lanceford said with weak surprise. He hadn't dreamed that Kron was nearby. This might well destroy the Imperturbable Despite the pain that tore at his throat, Lanceford managed a chuckle. nodded with satisfaction and returned to where Lanceford lay. The hunthouse was deserted save for himself and the Earthman. With thankful that they were gone, for what he was about to do would shock Lanceford was dimly conscious of Kron prying his swollen jaws apart Lanceford's mind froze, locked in a peculiar contact that was more its lack, of bewildered admiration for the grim persistence of the clarity. The Niobians were as eager as the BEE to establish a true contact, a true understanding, for the message was there, plain

<question>:
What is Lanceford’s best chance for survival?

<options>:
A He knows he can not survive after he is in anaphylactic shock
B Sending a radio signal to the Base
C Asking for help
D Setting up the satellite messenger service antenna

<answer>:

C