THE CHASERS By DANIEL F. GALOUYE Illustrated by Harrington [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine February 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Civilizations must make sense somehow. But was this one the gaudy, impossible exception? As the dust drifted clear of the ship's landing skids, at least two things became obvious: One--although they had missed the city (if that's what it was) by miles, they had nevertheless managed to slam down near one of the numerous rural estates. Two--the landscape would be crawling with Zaortian Fuzzy Tails for a long while to come. They were still pouring out of hatches sprung open by the crunching impact. Kent Cassidy untangled himself from the control column and plucked one of the Fuzzy Tails from his neck. The creature scampered around until it found the ruptured hatch, then scurried through to join the squealing zoological exodus. "There goes ten thousand credits' worth of cargo," groaned Gene Mason. His stout form was slumped in dejection before the view port. Cassidy sniffed the refreshing air that was drifting into the ship. "Any idea where we are?" "After the directional stabilizer blew, we made three blind jumps, all in the direction of Galactic Center. We could be _anywhere_ between Zaort Seven and the Far Rim." "Hey, look," said Cassidy. From the hatchway, the sumptuous estate sprawled nearby, its many gabled manor closed off behind a high wire fence. Cassidy squinted, but failed to recognize the bold, flowing architectural style. A small, bent figure clung to the wire netting of the fence. He was shouting at the ship, but his excited words were no match for the decompression hisses of the auxiliary drive. "Humanoid?" Mason suggested. "Human, I'd say." Cassidy gestured toward the gear locker. "Better break out the translator." In baggy trousers and sagging blouse, the man raced back and forth behind the fence--the picture of frustrated anger. However, large, doleful eyes, complemented by a bald head and huge, pendulous ear lobes, belied his furious actions. Presently the squeals of the Fuzzy Tails trailed off in the distance and the auxiliary drive quieted with a final sigh. And now the native's shouts rang out distinct and loud: "Quick! From here get you! Shoo! Scram! Or out there I'll come and apart tear you!" "It's English!" Mason exclaimed. "Of a sort. Archaic, but understandable. And not at all friendly." Mason scratched his blunt chin. "Guess we're not too far off the beaten star paths, eh?" Cassidy could find no grounds for challenging this observation as they started down the ladder--not until he looked overhead and saw three suns shining in the same sky. As far as he knew, there were no settled trinary systems.