SURVIVAL FACTOR By CHARLES V. DE VET Illustrated by ORBAN _They were trapped on a viciously primitive planet, by an electronic bloodhound that was viciously unpredictable!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity September 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The survey team was seven parsecs beyond the Rim when the bloodhound picked up their trail. Three years earlier the inevitable had happened. The humans of the Ten Thousand Worlds had met another race with the faster-than-light space drive--and an expanding population. The contacts had been brief--and violent. Each race had set up defenses against the other, and maneuvered for position and control of the habitable worlds separating them. The aliens' bloodhounds formed the outer circle of their defense perimeter. The s-tracer continued its bleak chirping as Wallace read the figures on its dial and made a swift calculation. "We have time for one dip into spacebridge," he informed Saxton, the other member of the team. "If we don't find a planet fast when we come out, we've had it." Saxton nodded. "We'd better backtrack. Set the bridge for that star group we recorded yesterday. Hurry. We haven't any time to spare." Four minutes later Wallace brought the two handles of the bridge control together--and the ship winked into hyperspace. Wallace's body jerked upright, and he sat stiff and straight, fighting the impulse to retch that rode his stomach muscles. The room around him took on the visual consistency of thin milk. The low hum of the ship's instruments increased in intensity through the hands that he pressed tightly to his head. Mingled with the sound of the small motors was Saxton's high-strained muttering: "I can't take any more of it! I can't take any more of it!" Then all was normal again. They were out of hyperspace. Wallace reached for a knob on the board in front of him and began turning it slowly. Both men watched the vision panel on the front wall. After a minute a blue globe floated in from one side. "We'll have to try that one," Wallace said. "It at least has atmosphere." "We don't have any choice," Saxton answered. With his head he indicated the s-tracer. Its stark chirping had begun again. "The hound's closer than I thought," Wallace complained. "We'll have to risk a faster passage to the surface than would ordinarily be safe." Drops of perspiration that had gathered on his forehead joined together and ran down the side of his nose. He shook his head to clear them away.