Part 3

One of the lockers, as would be expected aboard a prospector's ship, contained an assortment of standard chemicals, and Archer lost no time in locating a bottle of ethyl alcohol. There was also a balance and a set of weights.

"The next step is simple," he said, anticipating Stokely's question. "I make up a solution of antitoxin. There are hypodermics in the medical kit, which is in the control room. The doctor put the one we found up there in it, and I'm pretty sure I noticed a couple of others. Perhaps you will trust Evans to go get it, and in the meantime, I'll trouble you for about 30 carats of jade."

"Thirty carats! That's enough for all three of us! We may not all be infected."

"No--as a matter of fact the odds work out to be only a little better than 50-50 that we all have it. But we've all got to have the means of doing something about it if we find out--otherwise the plan won't work.

"_If_ we find out!" Stokely echoed harshly. "Archer, you've stalled around long enough! What is this plan?"

Archer looked at him in open disgust. "_You've_ stalled around long enough! There's only 20 more minutes until the three-and-a-half hour deadline. Let me get the stuff made and then we'll talk about it. Incidentally, 30 carats is less than the share you offered me--and also a lot less than I value my life. So you can figure the shots are on me."

With a reluctant grimace, Stokely removed the utility kit from his belt and poured out a small but dazzling cascade. Archer weighed several combinations of the smaller gems, and found one group of three which came to a little under six and a half grams or about 32 carats.

Unceremoniously, he dumped them into a small beaker, and poured in a little alcohol. After a minute or so, they softened and dissolved. Archer added distilled water and stirred the solution gently.

Evans returned from the control room and handed the medical kit to Archer, who took out the three hypodermics. Forcing himself to take great pains, he divided the solution among the three.

"No time to sterilize these," he said. "Not that they should need it. Here is the one used by the dead man--I don't mind taking it, if anybody else does. This next one has a little more in it than the others. Stokely, you're the biggest, so--but suit yourself. Now let's get these suits off and get outside."

"Why can't we wear the suits?" asked Evans. "It's freezing out there!"

"Because they're opaque," said Archer patiently, "and the aura is so faint that your cranium alone probably wouldn't give off enough to be visible. Personally, I'm going to strip to the waist. I'd be inclined to strip further, if it weren't for the fact that some of those crawling things out there are about as deadly as the virus."

* * * * *

In silence, the three men climbed down from the airlock, their flashlights cutting holes in the thick darkness. Faria was a moonless planet, and the hour was late.

Under the watchful eye of Stokely, Archer walked clear of the retractable landing supports and shone his flashlight about the small level area in which the ship was fairly centered. He held the beam steady on an outcropping of rock about 40 feet away.

"There's a good background for you, Stokely. It faces the lock, and I imagine you'll want to do the same."

He swung the flashlight slowly around. There were several piles of boulders standing about, and Archer indicated two of them, each about 120 degrees from the first.

"Evans and I can take those two positions. That way we'll form a triangle, each of us about 40 feet from the ship, and in plain sight of the others--that is, _if_ we develop that fatal glow. In any case, Stokely, I think you can depend on us staying put until we find out, since--"

"And then what happens?" Stokely demanded impatiently. "How do we find out--without trusting each other? The whole set-up sounds silly to me!"

"It's my life, too," Archer reminded him. "And in case you're in any doubt, I don't trust you, either. Here's the plan: As you know, all of us were exposed within a very few minutes of each other. That means, according to our late friend, the doctor, that in ten to 12 minutes from now--perhaps a few minutes longer--one or more of us should show the symptomatic aura.

"Now there's the point: _one or more_ of us. There's an excellent chance we won't all show it. Allowing an adequate margin, the next 20 minutes should reveal who has the infection and who hasn't. I propose that at the end of that time each of us in turn announces, not which of the others shows it but simply whether he sees the aura at all. He doesn't tell whether one or both of the others shows it, but merely whether _at least one_ does."

"What good would that do anybody?" asked Stokely glumly.

"None, in itself. But you forget that all of us will be reporting. For instance, supposing Evans says he sees it, but I don't show it, or vice versa--two very distinct possibilities. Then you'd know that the only place Evans could have seen it--"

"What if he were lying?" Stokely put in sharply.

"That's the general idea in back of the whole scheme. He couldn't get away with it. If he said he saw it and didn't, it could only mean that neither you nor I showed it. In that case--which is one of the lesser possibilities, incidentally--I'd be led into the same error that you would. But it would then be very much to our mutual benefit to compare notes before taking any injection.

"If he said he didn't see it, and either of us had it, the other would know he was lying. If we can't trust each other to tell the truth, we can't very well depend on each other to back up our lies--especially when there is everything to lose by it. If you knew Evans was lying about me, how would you know whether he was telling the truth about you?"

"Now listen!" protested Evans, who seemed to be shivering as much with fear as with the cold, "you guys talk like you expected me to pull a fast one. Hell, it's complicated enough if we all tell the truth--don't worry about me!"

"I was using you for an example," Archer told him. "The same thing applies to each of us, and we should all be able to see that honesty is the only workable policy. There's one more little matter to be decided: the order in which we report. I think it would be fair to reverse the order of exposure, which would probably make it the order of observation. I was exposed last, so I'll report first, then Evans, then Stokely.

"Now I'd suggest we take our positions, so we can kill these lights and let our eyes get used to the dark. There's only six to eight minutes to go."

Archer turned and started off, half expecting some last-minute objection from Stokely. But the latter merely waited to assure himself by means of his flashlight that Archer and Evans were half-way to their appointed places, then started making his way toward his own.

* * * * *

The spot to which Archer had assigned himself turned out to be a jumble of loose rocks, complete with small and unpleasant denizens. He frowned. The footing would be very bad for dodging bullets, should matters turn out unsatisfactory to Stokely.

As the latter reached his position, about 75 feet away, Archer called out:

"Let's all face the ship, and don't anybody move after the lights are out, or you'll lose your orientation. Don't even shift your feet! Four to six minutes to go--but it could be sooner! I'm stripping down now."

He switched off his flashlight, and after a moment, Stokely and Evans did likewise. The night closed in disconcertingly, the utter dark wiping out all visual cues and rendering one's very balance momentarily precarious.

Archer removed the watch from his wrist and placed it in his pocket. Its face was luminous, and he was uncertain of its possible competition. He doffed his jacket and tied it about his hips, then unzipped his shirt to the waist and slipped it from his shoulders, tucking the sleeves into his belt.

The air was too dry for a sudden shock of cold, but within seconds his outer flesh began to ache dully, and there was difficulty in expanding his chest sufficiently to breathe. He wondered how much of it a healthy man could stand before pneumonia became certain.

Stokely was apparently trying to warm things up in his vicinity with a muttered string of vehement oaths, and Archer thought he heard a low groan from the direction of Evans.

The black border of the horizon was becoming visible now against the lesser darkness of the sky. Directly before him was the outline of the ship, the control-room ports showing dim and ghostly above with the light seeping up from the waist compartment.

Archer began turning his head back and forth at about ten-second intervals, staring into the blackness approximately 60 degrees each side of center, swinging his arms and flexing the muscles of his torso in a losing battle against the advancing numbness.

He started suddenly at a slight sound of movement in the rocks not two yards away in the direction of Evans. But it was far too faint for human feet on that treacherous ground. More probably it was some small monster--quite possibly attracted by the dubious warmth of Archer's body, which was certainly radiating for all it was worth.

Wryly, he thought of one of the more abhorrent of the local fauna, a lizard-like creature which attacked any animal which had the single qualification of being within a considerable jumping range. The beastie combined the least intelligence with the most virulent poison in several star-systems. With barbed feet and tail, it clung to its victim through the death throes--which usually began immediately--and unless torn apart or crushed in the process, it fed. Fortunately, the species was one of hundreds equally numerous and generally less deadly.

* * * * *

At least five minutes had passed, by the most meticulous of estimates, when Archer saw the glow. He had been looking at it for several seconds, in the direction of Stokely, before he realized what it was.

He had expected a modification of the greenish luminescence of the jade itself. But this was a mere patch of gray in the blackness, to begin with. It whitened, gradually revealing the blurred silhouette of the man within it. At that level it remained, and his outline grew no sharper. By blinking several times, Archer was able to distinguish the arms from the rest of him, and assumed from their respective positions that Stokely was holding his gun in his left hand, the syringe in his right.

It seemed twice as long--by which Archer judged it was about half--before a similar dusky patch became visible in the direction of Evans. He showed up very soon thereafter, because unlike Stokely, he was churning his arms as if in direct combat with the cold.

Archer began to count slowly to himself, swinging his arms in a period of about a second. He had not done so before, because it would have served no particular purpose, and would have made the time seem even longer. Now it was important not to allow too long an interval following the second revelation of the deadly symptom. There must not be too much time for the others to think about the situation.

Yet there must be enough to insure his showing the symptom himself, if he were going to. He estimated that Evans' period of "incubation" had varied from Stokely's by about a minute, allowing for the difference in the time of exposure. If Archer's varied from Evans' by as much as two minutes, there could still be three minutes or more to go. Of course, it was possible that he already showed it--or even that he had been the first. Five minutes should allow a safe margin, he decided.

Two minutes of it were now gone. Archer's arms felt like lead-weighted pendulums, yet he restrained the tendency to urge them to more rapid motion. The count of 60 took a small eternity.

Three minutes. His arms were so numb it was occasionally difficult to tell for sure when they had reached the end of their swing. It would have been reassuring to be able to see them. He widened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to penetrate the dark, and momentarily he almost fancied he saw a dim haze about him. He thought of the dead man they had found in the pilot's seat. There were no limits to the fallacy of human vision, under emotional stress.

Four minutes. If the original 20-minute period happened to be over and the others were aware of it, they made no sign. That would not be strange. Having agreed that Archer would make the first report, they would hesitate to venture any comment, for fear of dropping some kind of hint.

Five minutes. Archer fumbled awkwardly for his watch. If all his estimates, pieced together, were correct, there should still be a minute to go.

He was amazed to find that there was not. By leaning over backward in his guesses, he had actually managed to be conservative. The time was up--in fact, it was almost 15 seconds past. It was time to get the formalities over with and end this desperate game.

"All right!" Archer said loudly, his voice cracking slightly. "It's time to report, and here's mine--" He paused briefly, then finished: "I see it."

* * * * *

It was now up to the others either to lie or to admit they saw it. It didn't particularly matter which, but Archer rather expected the truth. Evans was next.

After a moment, the latter's voice came somewhat falteringly, but clearly enough: "I see it."

Surprisingly, Stokely did not keep them waiting. His report came immediately, in a hoarse monotone: "I see it."

_Now._ Archer's gaze swung back and forth between the two others during the space of a long breath. Their shadowy figures did not move, but stood irresolute.

Archer exhaled with vast relief. "Okay, you fellows," he announced, "we've all got it. Here goes my injection."

Watching Stokely carefully, he plucked the syringe from his belt with enormous caution, and forced his feeble right hand to drive the needle into his left forearm and press the plunger all the way. There was one slight advantage to the cold, after all--he hardly felt the perforation.

He dared not pull up his shirt as yet. It could very easily have the effect of making him fade partially from Stokely's view, and might provoke the big man into blazing away at him.

It was quite possible that Stokely would shoot anyhow, though under the circumstances his aim might not be at its best.

"You lie!" Stokely said suddenly, as between clenched teeth. "The only way you could know about yourself would be if I didn't have it. Then you'd know where Evans must have seen it."

"One minute ago," said Archer, "that would have been true. And if you had thought of it a minute ago, instead of just now, things might have been different. But putting yourself in my position with respect to Evans, or in his with respect to me, was too big a step for your egocentric mind. You haven't quite done it yet, or you would understand this:

"If you hadn't shown the aura, I would have known _instantly_ that I did. Also, Evans would have known about himself, immediately. But we didn't know, immediately. None of us did. And there is only one way we could all see it and remain uncertain. That is for all of us to have it. I didn't know, you both didn't know--and therefore I knew. Can you follow that?"

After a pause, Archer went on: "Incidentally, I wouldn't let a dog die the way both of you are going to in the next few minutes unless you do something about it. That's why I've taken the trouble to explain it."

Evans suddenly cleared his throat, and his voice came plaintively: "Uh--are you sure I've got it, Mr. Archer?" The necessity of the conclusion was clearly beyond him.

"Quite sure," Archer returned, noting that Evans had sought the truth from him instead of his own colleague in crime.

"That's good enough for me." Evans' motions showed dimly that he was making the injection.

But Archer spared him only a glance and turned back to watching Stokely. The latter had not yet moved.

"Okay, Stokely," said Archer, "I'll give you a better break than you'd give me--I'll prove it to you. You're facing me now. Raise either arm, and I'll tell you which one it is."

Stokely seemed to hesitate, then raised both arms to the horizontal.

"You're pretty sharp, at that," Archer told him, "when it comes to thinking from your own corner. You raised both of them."

Stokely's arms dropped, but not all the way. There was a motion as of applying the hypodermic.

Quickly, Archer drew the sleeves of his shirt over his arms. But he had counted too heavily on Stokely's preoccupation. The latter turned rigidly, as if continuing the injection, and fired.

Archer felt a shock which spun him half around, but could not tell just where he was hit, for the moment. He began to run awkwardly through the loose rocks toward the sanctuary of the pile of boulders, raising his jacket high to screen his head. In doing so, the location of his wound became evident with a jab of pain. His left arm was useless.

The next instant, the glaring beam of Stokely's flashlight picked him out, and the second bullet spanged against a boulder just as he ducked behind it, peppering his cheek with rock dust.

Stooping low, Archer moved around the pile, as the crunching sound of Stokely's rapid footsteps came closer. He cursed the luck that had enabled Stokely to cripple him. He felt his paralyzed arm gingerly--the bullet had struck just below the shoulder, and he guessed that the bone was broken, but the wound did not seem to be bleeding much.

There was no use making a break for the next heap of rocks over this treacherous ground, even if he knew precisely where it lay. He would simply have to play tag with Stokely until--

Suddenly, the footsteps slowed and seemed to stumble. There was a clattering among the rocks and the lancing beam of the flashlight cut off. Darkness and silence descended.

* * * * *

Will Archer waited tensely. If all were well, Stokely should be out like the light he had been carrying. But Archer was in no hurry about using his own. It would make him altogether too vulnerable, in case this just might be a ruse.

Then from a little distance came the welcome beam of Evans' light. Archer peered out carefully and beheld the prone, unmoving figure of Stokely, his arms doubled under him as if to break his fall.

Unhurriedly, Archer turned on his own flashlight, walked around and set it between two rocks so that its beam made a path of light between himself and the ship. He rolled the big man over with a thrust of his foot, exposing the gun underneath. This, and one gun from the unconscious man's two holsters, Archer picked up and stuck in his belt. The remaining one--Archer's own--he pointed at Evans, who had stopped ten yards away.

The latter wore a puzzled expression--apparently at having found the wrong body.

"What did you do," he asked Archer, "hit him with a rock? Is he dead?"

"I wish I had," said Archer without humor, "and I wouldn't feel a bit bad if he were. In fact, I intend to see to it that he is lawfully executed. But in order to do that it will be necessary to get him back to the base. You're elected to drag him over to the hoist."

Archer stooped again, without taking his eyes off Evans, and laid his gun on the ground. He took the kit of jade from Stokely's belt and pocketed it, then picked up the gun again and stepped back a few paces.

"You can fasten his arms with his own belt," he told Evans, "and his legs with yours. He should sleep for hours, but there's no use taking chances."

Evans came forward meekly and bent over Stokely, then looked up, startled. "The hypodermics! You must have put something in ours that--"

"Not yours. Do you recall how willingly he took the one with the most in it? Well, he got no more antitoxin than you and I did. The rest was a quick-acting sedative that the doctor brought aboard in case we ran into a lunatic. I emptied most of it into the distilled water, but I left enough to do the trick. I trust you're buckling that belt good and tight."

Evans' blue lips twisted glumly as he pulled off his own belt and applied it to Stokely's ankles. Suddenly, he smiled.

"Say! What makes you think they'll believe your story about what happened? It's your word against ours. Suppose we tell 'em that--"

"You're daydreaming," Archer broke in. "You'll be a lot better off to resign yourself to spending five or ten years in a penal colony--probably on some planet worse than this one.

"In the first place, you could never pass the lie-detector test, although Stokely might. In the second place, it isn't just my word against yours--our psychometric ratings will be weighed, too, and I'll let you guess whose will be found wanting. And finally, what kind of criminal will murder for profit, then change his mind and toss the loot on the manager's desk, of his own free will?

"Which is just what I intend to do. But there'll be one string attached. A sizable hunk of this stuff, together with a shiny new mallet, goes to Dr. Grimwood's pals."