There were _one hundred_ of them, ranging in size from a hunk of rock the size of Mars' Deimos to one massive high-albedo satellite almost a thousand miles in diameter. They marched across the sky in stately order, filling the Polluxian night with brightness. Only we didn't feel much sense of wonder. We buried Max in a crude grave, laid him to rest under the light of a hundred moons, and then withdrew to the ship to consider our problem. "Where'd it come from?" Doc Graves asked. "Nowhere," I said. "Just nowhere. One second it wasn't there, next second it was. It vanished the same way." "How could that be?" Donaldson asked. "Matter doesn't work that way; it's flatly impossible." Holding myself in check, I said, "Maybe so, Donaldson. But the thing was _there_." "How do you know?" the anthropologist persisted, sneering a little. "You sure it wasn't a mass illusion of some kind?" "Damn you," Forster shouted, "_You_ weren't there. We were--and we saw it. _Max_ saw it. Ask _Max_ if it was there!" Evenly, Donaldson said, "On the basis of your description, I'm convinced it must have been an illusion. I'm willing to go out there and have a look first thing in the morning--either alone or with any of you, if you can work up the courage. Fair enough?" "Fair enough," I said. "I'll go with you." * * * * * The next morning we left the ship, clad in thermosuits, armed to the teeth--at least I was. I carried a subforce gun and a neural disruptor; Donaldson scornfully packed only the prescribed blaster. We crossed the flat plain together, without speaking. I led the way, looking back nervously every few paces, but there was nothing behind me but Donaldson. We made a complete reconnaissance of the area, picked up a few interesting outlying fossils--Donaldson thought they might be relics of the dead race of Pollux V--and reached the bare face of the mountain without any difficulties. "Well?" Donaldson asked sneeringly. "Where's your monster this time? He afraid of me?" "So it didn't show up," I snapped. "That doesn't prove anything. For all we know it might jump us on the way back to the ship." "So it might. But I doubt it. For one thing, I've been checking footprints in the sand. I've counted six tracks--one each for you, Feld, Hamner, Laurence, Forster, and Mickens. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave any for your monster. There's no sign of him anywhere." I was a little startled by that. I glanced around. "You're right," I admitted, frowning. Licking dry lips, I said, "There ought to be some trace--unless the wind's covered it." "The wind hasn't fully covered the traces of you six yet," Donaldson pointed out with obstinate logic. "Why should it obliterate only those of your nemesis?" I scowled, but said nothing. Donaldson was right again--but I still found it hard to convince myself that what we had seen was only an illusion.