  Gallifa rubbed his aching eyes and rested. How many hours had passed since he had slept or eaten? It was fully light now, although the dawn sky was gray because of the clouds. A strong wind pulled at his hair, and the first heavy drops of another rainstorm pelted against his face. Gallifa moved under the half-top canvas and wished for a slicker. The rain was cold. The crackle of small arms brought Gallifa to the edge of the truck. He hadn't realized how still the camp really was. The tension was a live thing, coiled in the wet air. There was no doubt the firing came from the mess hall. The bio team had all of the weapons. Gallifa was sure he could stop the panic if he could contact the men. If only they weren't so scattered. He had to try. He gave another quick look at the hospital door, then sped around the Administration Building. Something hit him from the side and hurled him joltingly to the sharp gravel. Gallifa rolled to a fighting crouch, dimly realizing that his right arm was almost paralyzed. He shook his head hard against the pain. The man was Nolan—and he was the most frightened man Gallifa had ever seen. His face was convulsed with such abject terror that Gallifa was stunned. He was like an animal at bay, with all moving life his enemy. Gallifa remained perfectly still, his eyes on the surgeon's scalpel in Nolan's hand. Then from the mess hall came another rattle of fire. Gallifa couldn't help jumping. Nolan drew his tight lips away from his teeth and gestured menacingly with the scalpel. Then a beefy arm appeared from nowhere and struck the corpsman a chopping blow at the base of the skull. He dropped the scalpel and fell silently to the ground. MacFarland stepped around the corner of the building. Gallifa tried to rise, then gave way to the weakness of his limbs. The ground spun crazily past his face and he passed out. "Gallifa! Snap out of it! Wake up, boy!" Rough hands were shaking him. He opened his eyes. "I didn't kill Doc," MacFarland said quietly. "There wasn't time to explain. I had to act fast. He had enough knockout juice in that needle to put you away permanently." Gallifa searched the other man's face. Then, slowly the tension went out of his features. "I heard shots?" "Your boys took a few shots at me," MacFarland admitted. "I guess they thought I was rushing them." Gallifa stared at Nolan. "We've got to contact the men before it's too late," he said. "I know what caused the epidemic—and how to stop it. Anyway, temporarily. If I can only find some way to get them to listen." MacFarland said: "We'll find a way. Tell me about it." "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.
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