The Night of No Moon By H. B. FYFE Illustrated by ORBAN A rough planet, Boyd III--where survival of the fittest gave way to survival of the worst tempered! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Infinity June 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The main trouble with the planet Boyd III was one satellite too many. Had there been no third moon, large and close, the tides might have been less confused and the weather more predictable. Certain peaks of atmospheric wildness, recurrent coastal catastrophes, logical but distressing customs of the natives--lack of these factors would have made Boyd III a much more attractive world. The same lack, however, would not have tempted Pete Guthrie to survey such conditions from the surface of the planet as part of his exploratory and mapping duties. But it was too late now to be sorry he had not secured his rocket properly against the incredible tides of the shoreline he had rashly chosen for a landing. He mentioned this, for about the hundredth time, to Polf. "Huh! Cables! Braces! No matter when wind-spirits want you," retorted the local humanoid, darting a cowed glance at the sky from beneath his heavy brow-ridge. "They want you stay, we will keep you." "And I'll be stuck with you forever! Don't you have to make a living?" "I am appointed. Like Retho, who sleeps at your door in the nights." Guthrie scowled and examined the sky. It was a clear blue. One of the moons, named Jhux, was a yellow-white disk, faintly blurred at the edge by its thin envelope of air. The spacer wished he had remained on Jhux to do his observing. With an oxygen mask, a man could be fairly comfortable there. The clear blue sky above him, on the other hand, would be a fearsome sight in a month or so when the storms closed in. "It is good some spoke for you," said Polf, nodding in quiet satisfaction. Guthrie frowned at him. Every so often, his companion's thought pattern eluded him. The Skirkhi, as they named themselves, used a typically developed humanoid language, and he had managed to learn enough for communication. It was the way they thought that baffled him. "Last season was not as bad as some," continued Polf, staring over the flat plain from their trifling eminence on the hill. "Elders say living will be hard this storm. It is a time of heat." Guthrie also stared off into the distance, toward the seacoast beyond the plain. He tried to show no expression, for he suspected that these people were cunning at reading faces.