* * * * *
_January 19_
Today we made planetfall. It took Max a few hours to home in on the test
colony ship. He finally found it, on the shore of an inland sea that
gleamed like wrinkled blue satin. For a time we cruised in widening
spirals, trying to detect some signs of life. There was nothing.
We finally landed. Max and Armitage donned spacesuits and went toward
the colony ship. They came back in a few hours, very pale.
"They're dead." Armitage's voice cracked as he came out of the airlock.
"All of them."
"Skeletons," Max said.
"How?" Bishop said.
Armitage's hands were shaking as he poured a drink. "Looks like civil
war."
"But there were a hundred of them," I whispered. "They were
_dedicated_--"
"I wonder," Bishop said thoughtfully. "White and brown and yellow.
Russian and British and French and German and Chinese and Spanish. They
were chosen for technical background rather than emotional stability."
"Rot!" Armitage said like drums beating. "It's some alien bug, some
toxin. We've got to isolate it, find an antibody."
He went to work.
* * * * *
_January 22_
I'm scared.
It's taken three days to finalize the atmospheric tests. Oxygen,
nitrogen, helium, with trace gases. Those trace gases are stinkers.
Bishop discovered a new inert gas, heavier than Xenon. He's excited. I'm
currently checking stuff that looks like residual organic, and am not
too happy about it. Still, this atmosphere seems pure.
Armitage is chafing.
"It's in the flora," he insisted today. "Something, perhaps, that they
ate." He stood with a strained tautness, staring feverishly at the
chronometer. "Senator Farragut's due to make contact soon. What'll I
tell him?"
"That we're working on it," Bishop said dryly. "That the four best
scientists in the Galaxy are working toward the solution."
"That's good," Armitage said seriously. "But they'll worry. You _are_
making progress?"