"That's right," Kramer said, lowering himself through the hatch. In a moment the swamp-buggy shuddered and made growling noises and shook itself clear of the mud. Out of habit, Harry and I waved as the buggy churned across a hundred feet of thick mud and moved ponderously toward the stockade gate. We stood there and watched the buggy fade into the green twilight swamps of Venus. It was very hot out there in the open and Harry and I were drenched with sweat before the sound of the buggy's motor faded entirely. "A hunter's paradise," Harry said. "Aw, lay off," I told him. Nearby, the buggy suddenly roared again, its motor racing. "Is he coming back?" Harry asked hopefully. "It wasn't the buggy," I said. "Are you kidding. I'd know that motor anywhere. She needs a valve job like we need customers." "That," I said without smiling, "was the Wompan." "You're joking." "I wish I was," I said, closing the gate. "It sounded just like the swamp-buggy." "I know. Probably looks like it too--for now." "Are you nuts?" "Why do you think the natives ran away--and Kramer too. Wompan's deadly dangerous game." "So stop smiling about it." "I think it's funny," I said, "being left alone like this. You know what Wompan means in the Ringin dialect?" Harry said he did not. "It means, mimic." "Oh," Harry said. He seemed relieved. "You mean it can imitate sounds--like the swamp-buggy's motor?" "Yeah," I said. "It can imitate sounds. And other things. It can look like a swamp-buggy or the video star Laura Laurene or maybe Talbot Kramer or even you. It's a mimic." "What does it look like in real life?" "No one ever saw one in real life. Only in real death." "Very funny." "No. I mean it, Harry. The Wompan assumes its own shape when its killed. If it's killed because that's rare. Then it looks like a shapeless, jelly-like mass of protoplasm." "Then what's so dangerous about it?" "It can mime anything. A swamp-buggy. A man. A blaster." "A blaster?" "It can make like a blaster and blast the hell out of you," I said. "It can make like a beautiful woman and then strangle you when you're at your weakest. It can--" "Did you lock the gate?" Harry asked. I felt a little sorry for him. Maybe I'm no Frank Buck, but Harry wasn't cut out for the frontier at all. I told him I locked it. We went back to the cabin and had lunch out of cans. When we were working on a dessert of canned peaches, the spaceship came down. * * * * * I beat Harry outside by three steps. The spaceship, a small sportster, sank, on its keel tubes in the mud. It would be a devil of a job getting her airborne again, but we would worry about that later. I looked at Harry. Harry looked at me. "Customers?" I said in a small voice. Harry said, "I don't believe it."