ject
that resembled nothing quite so much as the stripped skeleton of a
Thanksgiving turkey. But it was a most extraordinary Thanksgiving
skeleton, for it throbbed with pulsing life and glowed with a steady
violet light.

Chitterings and squeakings came out of the pit and the soft patter of
tiny running feet, and as Duncan's eyes became accustomed to the
darkness of the pit, he began to make out the forms of some of the
scurrying shapes. There were tiny screamers and some donovans and
sawmill birds and a bevy of kill-devils and something else as well.

Duncan raised a hand and pressed it against his eyes, then took it
quickly away. The little faces still were there, looking up as if
beseeching him, with the white shine of their teeth and the white
rolling of their eyes.

He felt horror wrenching at his stomach and the sour, bitter taste of
revulsion welled into his throat, but he fought it down, harking back
to that day at the farm before they had started on the hunt.

"I can track down anything but screamers, stilt-birds, longhorns and
donovans," Sipar had told him solemnly. "These are my taboos."

And Sipar was also their taboo, for he had not feared the donovan.
Sipar had been, however, somewhat fearful of the screamers in the dead
of night because, the native had told him reasonably, screamers were
forgetful.

Forgetful of what!

Forgetful of the Cytha-mother? Forgetful of the motley brood in which
they had spent their childhood?

For that was the only answer to what was running in the pit and the
whole, unsuspected answer to the enigma against which men like
Shotwell had frustratedly banged their heads for years.

* * * * *

Strange, he told himself. All right, it might be strange, but if it
worked, what difference did it make? So the planet's denizens were
sexless because there was no need of sex--what was wrong with that? It
might, in fact, Duncan admitted to himself, head off a lot of trouble.
No family spats, no triangle trouble, no fighting over mates. While it
might be unexciting, it did seem downright peaceful.

And since there was no sex, the Cytha species was the planetary
mother--but more than just a mother. The Cytha, more than likely, was
mother-father, incubator, nursery, teacher and perhaps many other
things besides, all rolled into one.

In many ways, he thought, it might make a lot of sense. Here natural
selection would be ruled out and ecology could be