shacks, but I don't know how long they will stay there."

Gallifa nodded. "If the other teams decide to rush the mess hall—" He let the sentence trail off and grimly began to sort the micro-film.

A few hours later he had uncovered a series of very surprising—and confusing—facts. He was amazed by the extent and completeness of the data the teams and machines had assembled during their brief stay on the planet. Gallifa closed his eyes and began to sift through the data with the queer, persistent sixth sense of all true research men.

The field of biology isn't limited. It begins just under the crust of a planet, encompasses the surface, and extends ... as far as needs be. Gallifa was a good biologist. And now he had a series of incredible facts at his command. He thought he had the answer to the epidemic. Only if he was on the right track—and he was almost sure of it—the cure might be so simple that it would be no cure at all.

How did you cure fear?

MacFarland was dozing across the room. Gallifa suddenly realized how tired he really was. Perhaps the doctor could give him a stimulant. In any case, he wanted to discuss an idea with Dr. Thorndyke. He stood up and gathered together the papers lying scattered on the desk.

MacFarland was immediately awake. He held the axe loosely in one big hand, but a slight tensing of the muscles in his forearm denoted his readiness to use the weapon.

Gallifa noticed only that MacFarland was awake. He gestured vaguely and walked through the room to the doctor's office.

"Dr. Thorndyke!" Gallifa called.

"Eh!" The doctor was startled. He walked quickly over to a wall cabinet and busied himself with an electronic sterilizer. When he turned he was holding a short-barreled, hair-thin hypodermic jet.

"I've been hoping you'd come by," he said. "That cut in your cheek. You should have had a tetanus shot."

Gallifa automatically bared an arm and leaned on the table. The doctor held the needle up to the light and exerted a minute pressure on the plunger. He reached for Gallifa's arm.

MacFarland was across the room in five quick strides. He hit the doctor across the side of the head with the broad blade of the axe. Dr. Thorndyke sighed and collapsed loosely on the floor. The point of the dropped hypodermic shattered and a milky fluid oozed from the splintered end.

Gallifa's reflexes were slow. For a long moment he stood as though stunned. Then shock caught at him. But the slow-motion time which gripped him wouldn't allow him to take more than two steps before the axe in MacFarland's big hand would come crashing down. He wished he could have activated the transmitter before it happened. Dazed, he wondered who would warn the colonists?

Gallifa suddenly realized he had placed the portable operating table between himself and the other man. He drew his first breath, and it caught in his throat. Then he was through the door and running across the compound. He stumbled towards the equipment shack and threw himself in the back of a truck.

MacFarland didn't follow.

VII

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