"No. Not entirely. But they haven't our strength against such--not by a jugful. They're right on the edge of the Solar sector, as I get it. They have some fungi, but it's nothing like the stuff we have on Terra. I think that Sol may be the center--the evolution may well have started there, mutated there, and anything that grows elsewhere may be spore-born on the Arrhenius Theory to the rest of the Galaxy. Brother, we're tough!" "Well, what have we accomplished besides killing guinea pigs, discovering a set of new weapons, and blasting the guts out of a couple of their best craft?" Lane smiled. "I've succeeded in carrying over to them the problem of why we're here. They do not understand any more than we do, but they're willing to let us seek out the machine." "What about blasting their ships?" "Won't bother them too much. They'll rather enjoy the development of the slicing cut--after all their human appearance, they're still cats. They like to fight silently, and slash quietly, and then to slink away in the night. They're strictly predators, and their evaluation of life is rather low." "So?" "You may have to prove your prowess with a bit of fighting, Downing. Personal, I mean." "Well--" "And you may not. You've always accused me of being brash, bold, and impulsive. All three of 'em got me across to this gang. I've always accused you of being quiet, shy, and coldly-calculating. They'll like those features, too." * * * * * Three white-clad doctors surrounded Downing with their sprays. "That stuff they have is better than the glook they sprayed me with," remarked Lane. "But it doesn't smell as good and it is inclined to sting a bit. They developed it after making me live in a glass-inclosed laboratory for about two weeks." Downing submitted to the spray with scratching and shrugging. "Tell me," he clipped, "how're the women?" "Cats," grinned Lane. Downing grunted. "Sounds like 'sour grapes' to me." "Frankly, they ain't bad, Downing. But a guy can't do much when he's living in a laboratory." Downing laughed. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't." "Shouldn't what?" "Shouldn't--period!" "Well, I intend to return after we get this thing off of our chests. This gang is not human. They aren't the kind you could trust, but they are interesting. It is really something to see their civilization--and to see just how catlike they behave. They never laugh. Their exhibition of amusement is a deep-throated purr. And when one of 'em gets his feet stepped on, he hisses like a couple of cats squaring off on the back fence." * * * * * Thompson came up, followed by the spraying doctors. "This is all very fine," he said. "But we've wasted a lot of time. The Little Men are getting quite nervous." Downing looked at Lane. "I'm sort of glad you turned up," he said flatly. "Especially with permission to hunt that thing."