Cole found no parasites in hundreds of dissected piskies, but his cultures were frequently contaminated by a fungus that formed dark red, globular fruiting bodies. When he turned to cytology he found that what he had supposed to be an incredibly complex autonomic nervous system was instead a fungal mycelium, so fine as to be visible only in phase contrast. He experimented with staining techniques and verified it in a dozen specimens, then danced the surprised Dr. Rudall around the lab. "I've done it! One man against a planet!" he chortled. "We'll culture it, then work up mutant strains of increasing virulence--oh for a Belconti geno-mycologist now!" "It's not pathogenic, I'm afraid," Dr. Rudall said. "I ... ah ... read once, that idea was tried centuries ago ... all the native fauna have fungal symbiotes ... protect them against all known pathogenic microbiota ... should have mentioned it, I suppose...." "_Yes_, you should have told me! My God, there go half the weapons of applied ecology over the moon ... my time wasted ... _why_ didn't you tell me?" The ecologist's sharp face flushed red as his hair with frustrated anger. "You didn't ask ... hardly know what ecology means ... didn't realize it was important ..." the old doctor stammered. "_Everything_ is important to an ecologist, especially what people won't tell him!" Cole stormed. He tried to stamp out of the lab, and progressed in a ludicrous bouncing that enraged him even more. He shouted for Hawkins and went home early. * * * * * In his rooms he brooded on his wrongs for an hour, then went downstairs and thundered on the locked door into the main house, shouting Garth Bidgrass' name. The sounds beyond hushed. Then Garth Bidgrass opened the door, looking stern and angry. "Come into the library, Mr. Cole," he said. "Try to control yourself." In the library Cole poured out his story while Bidgrass, standing with right elbow resting atop a bookcase, listened gravely. "You must understand," Cole finished, "to save the stompers we must cut down the piskies. Crudely put, the most common method is to find a disease or a parasite that affects them, and breed more potent strains of it. But that won't work on piskies, and I could have and should have known that to begin with." "Then you must give up?" "_No!_ Something must prey on them or their eggs in their native habitat, a macrobiotic limit factor I can use. I must learn the adult pisky's diet; if its range is narrow enough that can be made a limit factor." The old man frowned. "How would you learn all this?" "Field study. I want at least twenty intelligent men and a permanent camp somewhere in Lundy Forest." Bidgrass folded his arms and shook his head. "Can't spare the men. And it's too dangerous--stompers would attack you day and night. I've had over two hundred egg hunters killed this year, and they're trained men in teams." "Let me go out with a team then, use my own two eyes."