"No," Harvey said, "we're going to keep working--but for ourselves,
not for you, Colonel. You see, Dr. Lurie here has put his scientific
brain to work and come up with a substitute for your oxygen pack."
"How incredible," Baker said pleasantly. "And what is the substitute,
if I may ask? Alcohol?"
"No, it's still oxygen, Colonel, but not the way your pack handles it.
You see, Dr. Lurie has figured out a way to use atomic, not molecular,
oxygen--O instead of O_{2}, if you follow me--and to give it by
injection in a highly concentrated form. As you see, we're not wearing
oxygen packs any more."
"So I noticed. But I'm afraid your little hoax can't go on very long.
In another two minutes, my friends, you'll be gasping like fish and
running frantically home to get those pesky oxygen packs."
"Why don't you time us?"
Baker sipped his coffee. "I _am_ timing you, my friends. There are
certain principles of physiology that can't be contravened. We're at
the oxygen equivalent of a 27,000-foot elevation. The average duration
of useful consciousness is two and a half minutes."
Baker sipped his coffee, watching the faces of the two men. The clock
on his desk moved past two minutes. Two and a half minutes. Baker
shrugged. He knew there were some exceptions. Some persons in superior
physiological condition had proved in aeronautical tests on Earth to
be able to go on for as long as four minutes in as rarefied oxygen as
existed here. But no more than four minutes.
The clock hand reached four minutes. The men still sat there.
He had timed them wrong. He had missed a minute. Certainly. They were
going to start sagging now. Now.
Another minute went by. Another minute. The men sat there, looking
straight at him through the tele-screen. There was a cynical smile on
their faces, as if they knew the camera was on them--as if they could
actually see him.
Another minute passed.
Another minute.
Baker leaped to his feet. "Die, damn you!" he screamed.
The two men burst into laughter that exploded all over the screen. With
a curse, Baker switched off the set and stood there, breathing hard.
A moment later, he flicked it on again. The two men were leaving the
booth. "Come back," he yelled.
They turned, part way. Their indifference was maddening.
"Come up here," Baker commanded. "I want to see your invention. I want
to buy it."
"Not interested."
"Damn you, you must!" Baker shouted, his heart beating furiously.
His hypnotized eyes kept swinging back to the clock. At least eleven
minutes had passed!
"We're not walking into any trap, Colonel," Harvey Flanders said. "If
you want to do any dickering, you'll have to come see us. You know
where to get us if you want us."
The two men started up the road. Baker watched them with sick eyes as
they went with firm steps to Harvey Flanders' house, and disappeared
inside the doorway.
* * * * *
Inside Harvey Flanders' doorway, Dr. Lurie staggered. Harvey caught
him, but didn't have the strength to hold him, and both sagged to the
floor. "Quick, Ruth," Harvey said, gasping.
She was waiting with the oxygen packs. Red Brace was with her. They
fitted the masks quickly over the faces of the two men on the floor,
and anxiously watched their rapid, intense breathing.
In a little while, Harvey and Dr. Lurie were breathing at a normal
rate. They got up and sat at the table, where Ruth had breakfast ready.
"Do you think he'll come?" Dr. Lurie said.
"He has to," Harvey said. "He can't afford to let anybody spread a new
gospel among his people."
"Would you guys mind explaining what this is all about?" growled Red
Brace.
Harvey laughed. "Sure, Red. It's nothing complicated; not very, anyway.
Baker keeps plugging away at the fact that this is the same as living
at a 27,000-foot altitude. It struck me suddenly that if that were
really the case, some of us would be suffering from nose bleeds and
other symptoms you get when you go up to a thin atmosphere, where the
outside pressure is less than the body's blood pressure. But nothing
like that has happened. So obviously, the atmospheric pressure must be
about normal--the same pressure we have on Earth. There's less oxygen,
but there's more carbon dioxide and there must be more of other gases,
like nitrogen, to make up the full amount of pressure.
"So you see where Baker figured wrong. He figured that if the amount of
oxygen here is the equivalent of what exists at 27,000 feet, on Earth,
then the survival time here ought to be the same as at 27,000 feet.
But the analogy is wrong. At 27,000 feet above Earth, the atmospheric
pressure is so light that whatever oxygen is in your blood bubbles out
pretty fast. But here, where we have normal pressure, the atmosphere is
pushing in on us a lot harder and keeps the oxygen in the blood longer.
You follow me?
"Anyway, I put all this to Doc Lurie last night and he said I must be
right. So he got out some of his books and did some figuring, and what
he came up with was this: If we rested--didn't move--while we breathed
from our packs, getting our blood a hundred percent saturated, then we
could take off the packs and go as long as fourteen or fifteen minutes
before we keeled over. Long enough to convince that old buzzard that
we've invented a new gimmick for giving oxygen by injection. He's
up there in his palace now tearing out his hair--or more probably
hotfooting this way."
Red Brace leaned against the doorpost and grunted contentedly. "Boy,
when I get my mitts on him."
"Red," Harvey said, "this time you can get as rough as you like. I
don't care what happens to him. You keep a lookout at the window. Soon
as Baker gets close, everybody take off your oxygen mask and stow it
out of sight. We don't want him getting suspicious about the Lurie
invention. Another thing: We'll need something for him to see when he
walks in the door--a box that looks as if it contains some sort of
instruments."
"I've got some boxes," Ruth said, going back into the bedroom.
"Okay. Now, Doc, you'll do the talking, and Red and I will do the
grabbing. But look casual as hell when he walks in."
Ruth placed a covered box on the table. "Impressive," Harvey said.
"Now, everybody, sit down and relax. It might be a long wait."
"Not so long," said Red Brace a little while later. "They're coming
over the crest right now."
"Who's with him?"
"Looks like Carsing."
"I might have guessed that." Harvey watched a while at the window, then
turned back. "Okay, everybody, masks out of sight."
* * * * *
There was a pause; a sound on the outside step. Then into the doorway
walked Carsing. His hand made a swift motion inside his coat and out
again.
The squat, ugly barrel of an explosive scatter-gun glinted at them.
"Everybody back against the wall," Carsing said. "Colonel Baker doesn't
want to be crowded."
Slowly, tensely, staring at each other, they moved to the wall opposite
the doorway. Baker walked in. His eyes made a quick circuit of the
room, stopped briefly at the box, then turned to them.
"What's the gun for?" Harvey said bitterly.
Baker smiled. "You didn't trust me, hence I didn't trust you. Mistrust
begets mistrust. Now, gentlemen," he said briskly, "explain this
invention you told me about."
"Before we do any explaining, we want you to know what we want."
"Go right ahead." Baker pulled a chair to the doorway and sat down.
"Name your price."
"We'll take the gun."
Baker's eyebrows rose. "Impossible. This is the only weapon on the
planet."
"That's all right with us. Hand it over and we'll tell you all about
our invention."
"I'm sorry, this weapon must remain in our hands. We're responsible for
maintaining order and stability--it wouldn't make sense for anyone else
to have custody of it. Now let's get on with the business. This box, I
presume--"
"Not a word until we get the gun," Harvey said.
Baker's eyes narrowed. "Young man, you'd better hold your tongue. Dr.
Lurie, I'm talking to you. I want the facts--immediately. And I must
tell you, you're in no position to negotiate. Now speak up."
"I, sir--I--" Dr. Lurie's voice broke--he began again--"I'll do what
Mr. Flanders says--"
"We'll see about that," Baker said grimly. He stood up. "You're coming
with me. Carsing, take the box."
Carsing, holding the gun out warily in front of him, moved to the table.
"Don't you dare open it!" Ruth cried out.
Carsing stared at her. Then, holding the gun against his armpit with
one hand, a finger on the trigger, he reached with his free hand and
unhooked the lid--