Thompson looked at Downing for a long time, saying nothing. Then he turned and left, still without comment. * * * * * Cliff Lane and his ship were herded down to the ground. His ship was surrounded by the six catmen, their beams pointed at him, waiting. For an hour they waited, using all the patience of the feline. It got on the nerves of the humans, and they wanted to do something. Their trouble was that they didn't quite know what to do. Cliff, after the full hour had ticked off, said: "I'm thinking of the cat that got a neuropsychosis over mice because one came out of the hole and kicked him in the face." "Think it's wise?" "Never was very fond of cats," admitted Lane glumly. "I find them even more obnoxious when I see them employing intelligence. That makes it worse--" "But just going out--?" "D'ye want to sit here for months?" "Think they would?" "Probably. At least, long enough to have us tearing out each other's hair." "But--" "But nothing. Have we got the planet-analysis yet?" The aide pawed through the delivery basket on Lane's desk and came up with a sheet of paper. He read: "Pressure sixteen point three. Temperature eight-one, humidity thirty-seven. Air: Oxy twenty-one, nitrogen all the rest--with a trace, of course, of CO_{2}. Pollen count not too bad, bacteria count about normal, but the spore count is zero." "No spores?" "Nope." "Gosh," smiled Lane. "Imagine a world where they can't smother a steak with mushrooms!" "So what are you going to do?" "Me? I'm going out there and tell 'em what they're missing. Imagine--no mushrooms!" "I'm just thinking of what a nice world this would be to do tropical research. I've even seen fungus growing on steel." "No, you haven't. Bakelite I'll buy, but when the stuff grows on steel it is growing on the dust that has collected. Well, tell the boys in the back room to cover me as I emerge." Lane undogged the spacelock and the rams pulled it back out of the frame. Riding on the front of the automatic runway, Lane stood in an indolent attitude, the thumb of his right hand hooked over the belt just one-half inch from the butt of his modine. His other hand held a cigarette. As the runway hit the ground, Lane took a last puff of the cigarette, stepped to the ground and dropped the glowing butt. He crushed it with his heel, and then took five forward steps, looking about himself with open curiosity. The catman ship directly in front of him opened its spacelock and one of the catmen emerged. Lane walked forward boldly to inspect this alien creature. He acted as though he were not a prisoner, but a visitor--and it was probably that attitude that saved him from further cat-and-mouse, for the catman seemed unsure of the next move.