ters. 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 workin