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

<passage>:
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Score one or one million was not enough for the human race. It had to be all or nothing ... with one man doing every bit of scoring! Arthur Lanceford slapped futilely at the sith buzzing hungrily around 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. one of those eight-legged horrors checked you off, there were only two possible endings to the affair—either you were bitten or you killed the critter. He had hoped that he would be fast enough to get the sith before it got him. He had been bitten once already and the memory of those paralyzed three minutes while the bloodsucker fed was enough to last him for a lifetime. He readjusted his helmet, tucking its fringe of netting deadly. The first bite sensitized. The second killed—anaphylactic shock, the medics called it. And the sith was one of the deadly species. Lanceford shrugged fatalistically. Uncomfortable as a protection suit was, it was better to boil in it than die without it. He looked at Kron squatting beside the trail and envied him. It was Lanceford finished tucking the last fold of face net under his collar, Lanceford looked at Kron inquiringly. "You have a place in mind where "Lead on," Lanceford said, groaning silently to himself—another heading like a winged bullet for Lanceford's neck. But the man was and the sith fell to the ground, satisfactorily swatted. Lanceford grinned—score one for the human race. He was still grinning as he pushed aside the fiber screen closing the low doorway of the hunthouse and crawled inside. It took a moment for one of the hunters—a fellow-tribesman, judging from the tattoo on his chest. empty sleeping platforms where they would spend the night. Lanceford of relaxation. After a day like this, it was good to get off his feet. Weariness flowed over him. Lanceford nodded, his stomach crawling with unpleasant anticipation. Lanceford's eyes watered, his stomach tautened convulsively, but the refused. After all, there were limits. But polite convention required that he eat something, so he took a small portion of the barbecued meat and dutifully finished it. The were strange and unaccountable. The hunters didn't protest when he retired to his sleeping platform and the more acceptable concentrates from his pack. His hunger satisfied, he lay back on the resilient vines and fell into a sleep of exhaustion. Lanceford's dreams were unpleasant. Nightmare was the usual penalty of therefore it couldn't hurt him. He grimaced painfully, the movement bringing another twinge to his swollen face. He should have known better. worked. If it wasn't, he reflected grimly, he wouldn't be long for this world. He sighed and lay back. There wasn't anything more to do now. All he could do was wait and see if the anti-allergen worked. the government thought most valuable to the Confederation as a whole. Of course, the Confederation officialdom was included, which caused spurred on by the people who composed it. The exploration of Niobe proceeded at all possible speed. With so many considerations weighed against them, what did a few lives matter? For the sake of the billions of humanoids in the Confederation, their sacrifice was worthwhile even if only a few days or hours were saved between discovery and Lanceford groaned as a violent pain shot through his head. The do a thing like this without reason. And whatever it was, he wasn't going to worry about it. In fact, there wasn't much time left to worry. The reaction was observably and painfully worse. It was important that the news of his death and the specimens he had collected get back to Base Alpha. They might have value in this complex 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. The stylus slipped from numb fingers as Lanceford called hoarsely, "Kron! Come here! I need you!" Kron looked down compassionately at the swollen features of the It was his duty to help Lanceford, but how could he? The Earthman Kron buried his long-snouted head in his hands, a gesture that held in it all the frustration which filled him. The human was apparently resolved to die. He had told Kron his last wishes, which didn't include a request for help, but merely to get his pack back to the others in their glass dome. It was astonishing Always and forever, they held to their own ways, trying with insensate stubbornness to mold nature to their will—and when nature overcome their artificial defenses, they died, stubborn, unregenerate, inflexible to the end. They were odd, these humans—odd and a little Lanceford breathed wheezily. The swelling had invaded the inner dying murmurings, something that might explain their reasons for being here and their strange driving haste that cared nothing for life. "It's hard to die so far from one's people, but I guess that can't be helped. Old Sims gave me the score. Like he said, a man doesn't have much choice of where he dies in the BEE." "You don't want to die!" Kron exploded. "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. This was ridiculous. "Hell, no! Our only design for living is to stay like to. We do it to stay alive. If we "I'd take a helping hand from the devil himself, if it would do any good." nodded with satisfaction and returned to where Lanceford lay. The hunthouse was deserted save for himself and the Earthman. With characteristic Niobian delicacy, the hunters had left, preferring to endure the night rain than be present when the alien died. Kron was thankful that they were gone, for what he was about to do would shock their conservative souls. Lanceford was dimly conscious of Kron prying his swollen jaws apart couldn't take much more of this. It wouldn't be long now before the swelling invaded his lungs to such a degree that he would strangle. It wasn't a pleasant way to die. And then, quite suddenly, the pain eased. A creeping numbness spread like a warm black blanket over his outraged nervous system. The stuff Kron had given him apparently had some anesthetic properties. He felt dimly grateful, even though the primitive native nostrum would probably do no good other than to ease the pain. The blackness went just far enough to paralyze the superficial areas of his nervous system. It stopped the pain and left him unable to move, but the deeper pathways of thought and reason remained untouched. He fire pit and he was wondering wryly whether forced feeding was on the Lanceford's mind froze, locked in a peculiar contact that was more He was aware of the incredible complexity and richness of Kron's thoughts, of oddly sardonic laughter, of pity and regret that such a little thing as understanding should cause death and suffering through its lack, of bewildered admiration for the grim persistence of the alien Earthmen, mixed with a wondering curiosity about what kept them here—what the true reasons were for their death-defying persistence and stubbornness—of an ironic native paraphrase for the Terran saying, "Every man to his own taste," and a profound speculation upon what

<question>:
Why was Lanceford resigned to his death?

<options>:
A He would be known for the longest survival time on the planet
B He didn't want help from the natives
C He believed nothing could be done
D He was happy to die for a good cause

<answer>:

C