Wallace's answer, from the bunk where he lay, was a discourteous grunt. "I thought so too," Saxton quipped. He went on reading. Almost an hour went by before he spoke again. "This might help put our savages in the proper place in their cycle," he said. "Quote: 'Giambattista Vica, a native of Naples, held a theory that human history progressed in cycles, each of which followed the same course. The first move in a civilization began when man, terrified by the forces of nature, invented and worshipped gods in order to placate them. Next, he made up myths of demi-gods and heroes, and arrived at the idea of kingship. Finally, from kingship he came to democracy, which degenerated into chaos; after which the next cycle started and the process was repeated." "Interesting," Wallace said. "But even if it fits, I think we understand well enough where these people are in their cycle. What we want now is a clue as to what makes them different." Wallace was about to doze off when Saxton said, "Listen to this: '... in which he first injected the hormone that produces milk in the breasts of nursing mothers into the bloodstream of starved virgin rats and then introduced newly hatched squabs into their cages. Instead of devouring the luscious meal placed before them, the starved virgin animals acted as tender foster mothers to the helpless creatures.'" He looked across at Wallace expectantly. "I'm afraid I don't--" Wallace began. "Don't you see?" Saxton asked. "Something about the food here has made the natives different. We've got to find that food." "That might be true also," Wallace answered slowly. "But I'm not as interested in finding what caused the difference as I am in finding the difference itself." "Find one and you find the other," Saxton argued. He held up his hand as Wallace made as though to speak. "Sleep on it," he said. "Maybe we'll have some ideas by tomorrow." * * * * * They were able to extract no new clues from the tracking of the bloodhound by the next forenoon. Neither man could arrive at any means of thwarting the alien machine. Wallace had checked the graph track minutely, looking for signs of a cycle, or cycles, in its movements. He ended up convinced that none existed. It apparently operated entirely at random. At the mid-day meal Saxton suggested, "Let's pay those fellows in the woods another visit." "We may as well," Wallace agreed. "We're helpless here until we can come up with some new idea." They finished eating and strapped on their sidearms. They were not certain that the path they took through the woods was the same they had taken with Al-fin two days before, but at least it led in the same general direction. An hour later they were lost. Their way had not led them to the tribe of naked savages and they had no idea where else to look. They were debating whether or not to return to their ship when they stepped out into a clearing--one larger than any they had come on earlier.