"I don't think so, when you see the point. You're forgetting that in
this case, a false cure is just as deadly as the disease. I don't
know just how full of the virus the air is hereabouts, but as far as
either of us can tell, you may be cutting down your chances of getting
infected. Evans' chance, and mine, with full exposure, will be four out
of five. That means if we can't find out for sure whether we have it,
we can take an injection and be 80 percent sure of being right.
"How sure can you be?"
Stokely's face set in a grim mask as the realization sank in. He
removed his globe and set it out before him on the ground. Again the
gun raised to Archer's chest.
"Okay, bright lad, you put it on!"
Archer smiled thinly and shook his head. "Could you be sure that I
don't know more about the infection than I've admitted? In which case,
it might be a trick to get the globe for myself."
Stokely's face was twisting dangerously again, and Archer went on
quickly:
"Better leave us all in the same boat, anyhow--it'll work out better
later on."
It was a full, tense minute before Stokely's fury subsided to a point
where he could speak.
"I think I'm making a mistake in letting you live," he said thickly.
"This plan of yours had better be good. How does it work--with mirrors?
Let's have it!"
"Lacking mirrors of a size which would show a good contrast--say about
ten feet square," Archer returned calmly, "we'll have to use other
means. My plan will give each of us an equal chance, at least. I'll
tell you the first part now: we take all the jade we can find around
here, before dark if possible, and go back to the ship. I'll tell you
the next step when we get there. If that isn't good enough--or if an 80
percent chance _is_--you can shoot and be damned!"
* * * * *
It was nearly three hours later, very dark and very cold, when they
returned to the ship. Archer and Evans carried Dr. Grimwood's body,
consigned to the same storage compartment as the dead prospector's.
Stokely evidently had not altogether abandoned his original plan for
disposing of the evidence. The question now, Archer thought grimly, was
how many bodies there would be.
Stokely himself carried the jade, of course. Under his prodding, they
had literally left no stone unturned in the vicinity of the deposit. It
had yielded nine pieces of varying size and a total weight of perhaps a
hundred and fifty carats. They added up to riches beyond imagining.
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."