Harmless beings, these, the _Mumums_ of Phoebe. They resembled Earthly pygmies in stature, but were wholly alien in anatomy. Hairless and ebon-skinned, they wore only a loincloth as protection against the elements. Depending from this brief garment by means of a length of chain swung a small silvery, tubelike affair. Some sort of tribal fetish, Farr thought, intended to ward off evil spirits. The tubes gave off a musical tinkling whenever the pygmies moved, and he almost had to laugh at their ignorance in believing such nonsense could avert sickness and injury. They seemed to be attempting to bar his way. He drew his blaster and balanced it in his hand, smiling grimly. If nothing more ferocious than these miserable beings were to test his strength and cunning, securing the life secret was going to be an easy task. He stepped forward. The _Mumums_ did not move. His steps brought him closer, and still they remained in his way. Farr curled his lips and raised his blaster. If it was necessary to teach them a lesson, he would. One more stride and he would be touching them. "You asked for it," he gritted and squeezed the release. [Illustration: _"You asked for it," he gritted and squeezed the release._] There was a hissing crack and a bright stab of flame. The _Mumum_ in front of Farr fell stiffly over backwards without a sound, an ugly smoking hole drilled clean through him. The others cringed and drew back as Farr swung the blaster in a threatening arc. "Get the idea?" he grinned. * * * * * Sweat plastered Farr's shirt to his back and streamed copiously down his masklike face. It was only an hour since he had entered the jungle, but already he was beginning to tire. His wiry muscles ached and his breath came wheezily, laboriously. Wearily he sat down on a porous rock and produced a vacuum-carton from his tunic pocket. The mushy food mixture contained in the carton was tasteless, but nourishing, and he ate in contemplative silence, keeping a wary eye on the foliage around him. Thus far he had successfully avoided contact with malignant life-forms, but he did not allow this fact to lull him into a complacence that might prove his undoing. Even though the jungle denizens had not yet manifested themselves, he knew they were there, waiting for him to grow lax in his vigilance, waiting for his eyes to close in sleep--a sleep from which he would never awaken. The _Mumums_--the pygmy people--were still with him. They stood a few feet away, soulful eyes watching him devour his meal. Their stares vaguely irritated Farr. What made it the worse, was that they never uttered a sound, but just watched silently, fingering those crazy silver tubes, moving when he moved, freezing into immobility when he called a halt, always keeping between him and the goal toward which he progressed.