"There's nothing wrong with this camp now but fear," Gallifa continued
wearily. "Or the _fear_ of fear. There wasn't any epidemic. It was the
gnomes. It's all here in the micro-film."
MacFarland stared blankly.
"You know how we survey?" Gallifa said quickly. "We send out low-flying
'copters and track the neural waves from all animal life. Later on,
after we pick up some specimens, all the neural patterns on the tapes
are matched. Otherwise, we wouldn't know one from the other. This
information, along with other data, is fed to the analyzers and we get
an excellent idea of the type and distribution of all life in a given
area. The boys did a good job with the 'copters. They covered enough
territory to provide all the data we need at present."
"So?" MacFarland asked.
"Somehow," Gallifa went on, "Samuels managed to get a neural trace from
the natives before he went insane. It's right here in his report. And
the trace matches perfectly with some of the patterns taken from the
'copters. When I fed the patterns to the analyzers, I got some damned
strange results. The analyzers classified the gnomes as an oversized
form of rodent, somewhat similar to rabbits and rats. This I suspected.
What I hadn't suspected was that their neural wave was so strong it
could be projected as a physical impulse."
"I still don't see--" interjected MacFarland.
"It's simple," Gallifa said. "The natives are _mental skunks_. I don't
know how they do it. Maybe we can't even find out. But I can guess how
it works. The creatures transmit a neural charge as real as an electric
current. We don't yet know the range, but we've already seen it in
action."
"The cat!" MacFarland said.
Gallifa nodded. "The 'copter survey showed that where the instruments
located gnomes, there was very little other animal life in a wide area.
Their charge may be deadly to a non-reasoning animal if it is exposed
more than a few moments. To a human it isn't deadly, but it's
devastating. The charge must hurt the mind so badly that it defends
itself with the only bit of reasoning left. Kill or be killed. That's
why our men turned homicidal."
"If this is true," MacFarland said soberly, "can we do anything about
it? Can we destroy these creatures?"
"We can probably destroy them," Gallifa said slowly. "But remember the
rabbits in Australia? The gnomes are ecologically basic. They are by far
the most numerous animal in this area."
"Meaning," said MacFarland, "that if we killed them off here, they would
swarm in from somewhere else? That will mean a running battle."
Gallifa smiled grimly at MacFarland's use of the future tense. "We may
have to live with them for awhile. But our immediate problem is how to
convince the men that we can solve the present crisis--while we still
have time."
"You'd never dare approach the mess hall," MacFarland warned.
The camp waited, wound up to the breaking point. Along about the middle
of the afternoon, maybe before, all hell was going to bust loose. Unless
he could stop it.
He suddenly grabbed MacFarland's arm. "Mac!" he asked eagerly. "The
generator. Do you know if it's still working?"
A look of understanding crossed MacFarland's face. "The bull horn. Of
course! Everyone in camp can hear the bull horn."
They made it past the mess hall without drawing any fire. A few moments
later the resonant voice of the loudspeaker was booming across the camp.
Gallifa spoke slowly, methodically, trying to convince and reassure. He
paused, then once more repeated the plea.
He almost gave up. Then slowly the mapping gang edged into the open and
filed toward the Administration room. Finally the bio team left the mess
hall, and Gallifa let the heavy horn drop. What now? The present
nightmare was almost over, but what of the future?
"We will be able to control the gnomes locally," MacFarland said,
seeming almost to guess his thoughts. "As we expand, they will have to
give."
"Maybe," Gallifa said. "But just because they are rodents. Don't
underestimate their possibilities.
"The creatures of this planet have never been pressed. Nothing has been
able to push them up the evolutionary ladder. We'll be the toughest
environment they've ever faced, for we know the power of their defensive
mechanism. How well will we be able to compete if they learn to use it
as an offensive weapon?"
"We can't," MacFarland said.
"We know it's selective," Gallifa corrected. "They didn't bother either
Samuels or myself when we first contacted them. We also know all of the
stricken men weren't actively molesting gnomes. Therefore, some were hit
due to the actions of others. The only question is--how selective is
their power?"
"Then how _can_ we handle them?" MacFarland questioned soberly.
Gallifa shrugged. "I don't know," he said simply. "We're committed here,
and we'll stay. This isn't the first time the human race has been
challenged--it won't be the last."
Gallifa turned and walked toward the Administration Building. Humans had
solved a hundred problems on a hundred planets. Problems existed to be
solved. This one, too, would be solved. But no matter how hard or how
easy, it would be an experiment.
As all humanity was an experiment.
[Footnote: _Melvin Sturgis is a mechanical engineer employed by_
ROCKETDYNE, _Propulsion field laboratory--a division of North American
Aviation, Inc. Like many another brilliant young technician with an
extra-curricular, electronic string to his bow he has also been a
free-lance magazine writer for the past five years. We think you'll
agree he has scored heavily here, on the planet of a far-off star!_]