Sawyer was a fat bald man with popping green eyes. He said, "Ed, I
don't like to make a snap judgment. We haven't seen much yet. But it's
possible, of course.
"The theory is that life spores, propelled by light rays, lodged on
Earth a few million years ago. The conditions were favorable, and they
multiplied, developed.
"The result of our expedition to Mars favors the theory somewhat. The
same spores must have bathed the entire solar system, but conditions
were too unfavorable for life on the other planets.
"After all, life is a fermentation, a festering on the surface of a
planet. The other planets were highly antiseptic. But Earth couldn't
repel the parasitic growth!"
"What a horrible theory!" Lynn burst out.
Matt asked, "If that's the case, then Mars must have been smothered in
the life spores this time, too. Why didn't we catch the plague?"
The biologist said, "We were sealed in the _Argus_ or our space suits
all the time. The spores couldn't get at us."
"But isn't there a chance we might catch the disease now?"
"If there is," said the biologist with a shrug, "we've already been
exposed. There's nothing we can do about it."
An uneasy silence possessed them. Matt was conscious of a faint wind
rustling the tree leaves outside.
"Suppose we look around," he said at length.
Almost reluctantly, they followed him back through the house. Dirty
dishes were piled on the dining room table, more dirty dishes in the
kitchen sink. Dirt and dust lay thick on everything.
They climbed the stairs. Matt pulled the first door open. A strong
fetid stench met his nostrils. He hastily shut it.
"There's another one in there," he said. "The pigs couldn't get to the
body, I suppose."
"Let's get out of here!" Lynn pleaded. "We've seen enough!"
Matt saw that they all appeared pale and sick. He wasn't feeling too
robust himself. "O.K. Let's go!"
They stumbled down the steps and out the back door. There was a pump in
the yard and, a hundred yards or so from the house, a large weathered
barn. They advanced cautiously toward it.
A cow had died in one of the stalls, starved to death. There was also
a large truck and a sedan. A cat, wild as any rabbit, shot suddenly
across their path and scooted under one of the stalls.
Matt ignored it as he went to the car. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "The fuel
gauge registers three-quarters full. We can cover a lot of ground in
the car."
"Do you suppose it's in running order?" Captain Bascom asked.
Matt shrugged. "We can see. It's an old-type internal combustion
engine." He glanced down at the wheels. "Those are foam rubber tires.
They're O.K. The motor shouldn't have rusted, protected like this."
He slid behind the wheel. The key was in the ignition; he switched it
on and pressed the starter button. The motor ground and then burst into
noisy sputtering life.
"Get in," he said.
They all bundled into the sedan. Matt backed out of the barn, turned
around and drove cautiously along the rutted drive.
They passed the house and reached a dirt road in front. "Which way?"
asked Matt.