as hunting for another stronger one when he
caught the motion in a nearby clump of brush.

He watched closely for a moment and there was nothing, so he resumed
the hunt for a stronger twig. He found one and started poking at the
muzzle and there was another flash of motion.

He twisted around. Not more than twenty feet away, a screamer sat
easily on its haunches. Its tongue was lolling out and it had what
looked like a grin upon its face.

And there was another, just at the edge of the clump of brush where he
had caught the motion first.

There were others as well, he knew. He could hear them sliding through
the tangle of fallen trees, could sense the soft padding of their
feet.

The executioners, he thought.

The Cytha certainly had not wasted any time.

He raised the rifle and rapped the barrel smartly on the fallen tree,
trying to dislodge the obstruction in the bore. But it didn't budge;
the barrel still was packed with sand.

But no matter--he'd have to fire anyhow and take whatever chance there
was.

He shoved the control to automatic, and tilted up the muzzle.

There were six of them now, sitting in a ragged row, grinning at him,
not in any hurry. They were sure of him and there was no hurry. He'd
still be there when they decided to move in.

And there were others--on all sides of him.

Once it started, he wouldn't have a chance.

"It'll be expensive, gents," he told them.

And he was astonished at how calm, how coldly objective he could be,
now that the chips were down. But that was the way it was, he
realized.

He'd thought, a while ago, how a man might suddenly find himself face
to face with an aroused and cooperating planet. Maybe this was it in
miniature.

The Cytha had obviously passed the word along: _Man back there needs
killing. Go and get him._

Just like that, for a Cytha would be the power here. A life force, the
giver of life, the decider of life, the repository of all animal life
on the entire planet.

There was more than one of them, of course. Probably they had home
districts, spheres of influence and responsibility mapped out. And
each one would be a power supreme in its own district.

Momism, he thought with a sour grin. Momism at its absolute peak.

Nevertheless, he told himself, it wasn't too bad a system if you
wanted to consider it objectively.

But he was in a poor position to be objective about that or anything
else.

* * * * *