I had made only one trip to drop off a prospecting party on the north polar plains. That was two years ago, and all the word I'd had since was a couple of double-talking messages relayed from Centaurii III, asking either double wages or immediate pickup and dismissal for the whole party. Sometime in the near future I must get out there and investigate personally, but I had been stalling the trip to accumulate the liquid assets it took to lease a ship and outfit from the main base on Centaurii III. "Been all over it," I lied. "It's not much for comfort, but it's hell for targets. Some really big stuff out there." This last was true. In the week I had spent on the edge of the grassy plateau I had seen a number of herds of heavy-bodied four-leggers galumphing about. "We'll make up a little party," the Major decided. "Get yourself and your friends out to Centaurii III, and I'll provide a small craft and the gear for the hop over to, to--what did you call it?" "Tigursh II," I told him happily. This was what I had hoped. The $80,000 passage out to the system I could afford, and with Daphne footing the rest of the bill I would save myself quite a piece of change. "How many will be in your party?" he wanted to know. "I'll send word ahead for suitable accommodations and supplies." "I hunt light," I told him. "There'll be just me." "Hmm. You must be nuts about the sport. You don't mind if I bring along a little diversion?" "It's your party," I reminded him, more to confirm that he was expected to foot the bills than just to be agreeable. "I'll keep my party small, too," he promised. "Just the wife and--a few nieces." * * * * * The Major and his party were already gassed and crated when I arrived at the space-deck for the big jump, so it wasn't until they pulled the needle out of me on Daphne's planet at main base that I got a look at his wife and _nieces_. From that moment until we put down on Tigursh II, the shuttle trip was one continuous party. Beside Daphne, there were Annellica, his legal wife, and six variously-hued, large-breasted, slender-hipped young women, each of different planetary origin and talents. When we were gathered in the cushion-lined salon of the Major's "cosy", 200-foot hunting craft, he introduced them in two sections. "My wife, Annellica," he said with a casual bow in her direction, "and my nieces." His face brightened with pleasure as he regarded them tumbled around on the billowing underfoot. Although their costumes were of different colors, they were all of singularly identical design. They wore one-piece dresses, demurely high-necked, puffed at the shoulders, belted at the narrow waists--and that was all. The flounced skirts stood out as if heavily starched, but they rippled and floated in the diminished gravity with a most titivating effect. Annellica wore pants.