* * * * *
I followed him swiftly down the ramp, through the corridors, and into
the sick bay. There were a half dozen of the men in there receiving
first aid treatment from one of Dr. Mallory's assistants. Wilson was in
one of the private wards off the main hospital room.
He turned his head slowly as I entered, essayed a grin that froze,
suddenly, as a spasm shook him. But he said, in a low, husky voice,
"Hyah, Cap!"
I said, "Hayah, yourself, soldier!" and motioned the others to get out.
The door closed softly behind them. "Got a blighty one, did you?" I
said.
He said laboriously, "You wouldn't kid a guy, would you, Brian? I got
a west one this time." His hands plucked at the sheet covering him,
drew it down. Even the bandages had not been able to staunch that slow,
staining seepage. I drew the cover back again.
"You're tough, Irish," I told him. "You'll get over that one before
breakfast."
But I had a hard time saying it; the words rang false from my lips. I
was lying, and he knew it as well as I. He shook his head.
"I don't much give a damn, Brian. I got the guy who done it, and a
couple others for good measure. There's only one thing I'm sorry about."
"Yes, Irish?"
"That story. It was about a guy named Kinniston. A Lensman. He was
in a hell of a jam. I'd like to have known if he got out." He said
plaintively, "I can't lift my hands, Brian, boy. They're so damned
weak...."
I said, "One of those magazines? Where is it?" He nodded to the chair
beside his bed. I picked the thing up, found the place where he'd left
off. I started reading to him the story that had captured his fancy.
It wasn't easy. I hadn't read much of anything since I left military
training school at the age of thirteen. A lot of the words were
unfamiliar, and I guess I made pretty heavy weather of it.
But he seemed to be enjoying it. He lay back on the pillows, breathing
hard, so intent on the adventures of this "Gray Lensman," printed in an
old and yellowed fiction book, that he almost forgot the icy fingers
closing in upon him.
He only interrupted me once. That was to say suddenly, "Brian--it was
Krassner, you know."
"What?"
"He fired ... the shot."
The shot that had betrayed us! I was reminded, forcibly, that I hadn't
seen Krassner aboard ship. I didn't know whether he'd made it or not.
But if he had--
"Go on ... Brian. Get him out of trouble before...."
So I read on. It was weirdly strange, sitting there reading a story of
spaceflight adventure written twenty years ago. While we, ourselves,
soared the void in a craft bound for Earth's satelite. But I read on.
And it must have been ten minutes before I sensed something wrong. At
first I couldn't figure what it was. Then, suddenly, I realized. It was
the fact that Danny's breathing no longer rasped beside me....
I rose and closed the magazine. I hope that somehow he knows, now, how
the Lensman fought his way out of that jam.
* * * * *
I went back to the turret, then. But on the way I sought out Ronnie and
Mac and Rudy. I asked them about Krassner. They hadn't seen him.
"But we will! If he's aboard this ship, we'll dig him out!"
They were gathering their squads into search parties as I left. In the
control room, Dr. Mallory had just completed another check-up and minor
course revision. He was jubilant because the _Jefferson_ was reacting
so beautifully. "Another six hours, Brian, and we'll be there. I've
been teaching Maureen to operate the ship. She's an apt pupil."
Maureen flushed with pleasure. Mallory continued, "I'm glad we have
another pilot. Now she can make the next trip back to earth, pick up
more colonists while we build our Lunar colony--"
I started, and looked at him swiftly. Then he didn't know! I said,
"Doctor--those spores. How swiftly do they propogate?"
"With drastic swiftness, Brian, lad. That's why I kept them in a
sealed, sterile chamber. Had they ever been loosed, within two month's
time all Earth would have succumbed to their somnivorous power. But why
do you ask--?" A sudden look of fear swept his features; his voice rose.
"Brian! You destroyed the spores? I saw flames leaping before you
entered the tunnel--"
And then I told him.
It took him a good while to speak again. And when he spoke, his voice
was deep with sorrow. He glanced at the dim shadow of earth outlined on
the polaroid window, and his hands made a yearning gesture.
"That which I feared most has come to pass. We are powerless to prevent
it. We might have time for two, three, a half dozen trips to Earth to
save a few refugees from the sleep to come--but even that is unsafe.
Were a single spore to get into the ship, be borne back to Luna, our
colony, too, would be stilled in centuries, aeons of slumber. You're
_sure_ the spores escaped, Brian?"
"I'm sure."
"Then soon we will be the last of Earth's waking children. Our
responsibility is graver than ever. Now must we not only keep alive the
spirit of liberty, but all man's dreamed-of future is in our hands."
Maureen cried desperately, "But the responsibility is too great,
Dr. Mallory. Surely you, who invented the spores, know some way to
counteract their action? Isn't there some way to effectively destroy
them?"
"None, my dear. None ... except ..." His eyes dimmed uncertainly. "I
don't know. Maybe. There's a faint, far possibility. Once, as I was
experimenting, I happened to expose certain of the spore-plasm to
synthetic chlorophyll. A reaction took place, a sloughing of the spore
cell. I was not interested in that at the time, so I didn't pursue the
experiment. But it is remotely possible...."
"We must try, then," I told him. "As soon as we get to Luna, you
must try that experiment again. Try it on your sleeping assistant,
Williamson. Better he should die now than slumber on forever in his
glass coffin.
"And if the antidote works, we'll be in a position to reclaim Earth.
Sweep away the plague, and while doing so, end the war in the very
fashion you once planned."
"I'll do it!" he cried excitedly. "Chlorophyll must be the answer! As
soon as we reach--"
He stopped abruptly. Footsteps were pounding up the runway; breathless
men were tumbling into the room. Big Mac was at their head, his brow
was red with unbridled rage. He yelled at me, "Brian! We've found him!
We've found the dirty, skulking rat!"
"Krassner, you mean?" I thought again of Danny, and of those others who
had died because of Krassner's revealing gun shot. My anger flared to
match MacGregor's. "Where is he? Bring him in!"
"We've got to take him. He's barricaded himself in the aft storage
compartment and threatens to blow the ship to hell if we make a move!"