The Unprotected Species Part 4

The men received their shots in an uncomfortable silence and disappeared into the night. Gallifa, MacFarland, and Dr. Thornd.y.k.e remained in the Administration room.

"Any idea what it is, doc?" MacFarland asked huskily.

"I hardly had time to take care of the patients," Dr. Thornd.y.k.e replied bitterly. "Did you honestly expect me to find out what was wrong with them in a few short hours?"

"But--" Gallifa began.

MacFarland suddenly started, and leapt to his feet. The doctor moved away, his face paling.

"What's the matter?" Gallifa asked, alarmed.

"Don't be so old womanish," MacFarland snapped. "I'm not catching it. I just thought of something. c.u.mmings had a gun. Where did he get it?"

"The storeroom!" Gallifa exclaimed. "I'd forgotten we had weapons and ammo in the storeroom! If things got bad enough, we _could_ wipe ourselves out. We'd better check."

"I'm going back to the hospital," Dr. Thornd.y.k.e said bluntly. "I'm going to lock the door. If anyone comes banging around he d.a.m.n well had better know who he is and talk intelligently--or I'll slice him from his wishbone to his crotch." He stalked out.

Gallifa stared blankly after Dr. Thornd.y.k.e. It was funny hearing him talk this way. He had always thought of the doc as being rather mild-mannered. d.a.m.ned flexible, humans!

VI

They found the door was torn off the storeroom. It hadn't even been secured. Someone had just been in a terrific hurry. There wasn't a single weapon left. MacFarland studied the disarray, then thoughtfully hefted a broad-bladed pick axe.

"I'm of the opinion," he said quietly, "that in a short time things are going to get a little rough around here."

"Now wait a minute, Mac," Gallifa protested.

"Sorry, boy," MacFarland said grimly. "If I knew everyone else was barehanded, I would go along with you. I may not be the next victim--or the tenth. I'll more than likely have to protect myself against someone who has come down with it, however, and I've got an overwhelming desire to stay alive."

Gallifa let his hands drop helplessly to his sides. MacFarland was right, of course. They hadn't acted soon enough. Was this how panic was born?

"Mac," Gallifa tried huskily. "We've got to keep our heads. If we don't, we'll destroy ourselves."

"I'm open to any suggestions," MacFarland said steadily. "But until I'm satisfied that the danger is past, I'll just hang on to this axe."

"Let's go back over to the hospital," Gallifa said wearily. "We'll use Thornd.y.k.e's projector and go over every inch of micro-film we have. We may be too close to the problem. There must be something we've overlooked."

Outside the rain had slackened into a fine mist. Overhead the clouds still held, but they were somewhat lighter. In a short while, it would be dawn. Every light in the compound was burning fiercely. Gallifa suddenly remembered the generator in the shack behind the Administration Building. If anyone smashed or damaged the generator beyond repair, the camp would be without power of any kind. And they might be forced to warn the colonists to stay away from the planet.

He stopped MacFarland. "I think we better secure the door to the generator shack," he said thoughtfully. "We can put a robot control on the radio, but we have to insure power."

MacFarland understood the reason immediately. But before he could answer angry voices rang out somewhere across the compound.

Gallifa hesitated. "You better see what that is," he told MacFarland.

"And I'll check the generator."

MacFarland nodded and slipped away. Gallifa detoured around the hospital and carefully approached the Administration Building. Once he saw something moving in the half-light and halted abruptly. It was only a few of the little gnomes moving through the camp.

Gallifa quickly rummaged through the spare parts cache in the shack and drove stout pegs into the door jamb and the door. Then he expertly wove a short length of wire around the pegs and drew them tight with a pair of wire nippers. He leaned a shoulder against the door until he was satisfied it would hold. Then he returned to the hospital.

MacFarland met him at the back entrance. The five corpses still lay shackled to the bunks in a mute and grisly reminder of how quickly deterioration had spread through the embryonic colony. Gallifa felt his jaw muscles tighten.

"The bio team stole all the weapons," MacFarland said without preamble.

"They've barricaded themselves in the mess hall and threaten to shoot anyone who comes within ten feet of the door."

Gallifa waited, his expression somber.

"The other teams are mad clear through," MacFarland continued. "I convinced them to go back to their own shacks, but I don't know how long they will stay there."

Gallifa nodded. "If the other teams decide to rush the mess hall--" He let the sentence trail off and grimly began to sort the micro-film.

A few hours later he had uncovered a series of very surprising--and confusing--facts. He was amazed by the extent and completeness of the data the teams and machines had a.s.sembled during their brief stay on the planet. Gallifa closed his eyes and began to sift through the data with the queer, persistent sixth sense of all true research men.

The field of biology isn't limited. It begins just under the crust of a planet, encompa.s.ses the surface, and extends ... as far as needs be.

Gallifa was a good biologist. And now he had a series of incredible facts at his command. He thought he had the answer to the epidemic. Only if he was on the right track--and he was almost sure of it--the cure might be so simple that it would be no cure at all.

How did you cure fear?

MacFarland was dozing across the room. Gallifa suddenly realized how tired he really was. Perhaps the doctor could give him a stimulant. In any case, he wanted to discuss an idea with Dr. Thornd.y.k.e. He stood up and gathered together the papers lying scattered on the desk.

MacFarland was immediately awake. He held the axe loosely in one big hand, but a slight tensing of the muscles in his forearm denoted his readiness to use the weapon.

Gallifa noticed only that MacFarland was awake. He gestured vaguely and walked through the room to the doctor's office.

"Dr. Thornd.y.k.e!" Gallifa called.

"Eh!" The doctor was startled. He walked quickly over to a wall cabinet and busied himself with an electronic sterilizer. When he turned he was holding a short-barreled, hair-thin hypodermic jet.

"I've been hoping you'd come by," he said. "That cut in your cheek. You should have had a teta.n.u.s shot."

Gallifa automatically bared an arm and leaned on the table. The doctor held the needle up to the light and exerted a minute pressure on the plunger. He reached for Gallifa's arm.

MacFarland was across the room in five quick strides. He hit the doctor across the side of the head with the broad blade of the axe. Dr.

Thornd.y.k.e sighed and collapsed loosely on the floor. The point of the dropped hypodermic shattered and a milky fluid oozed from the splintered end.

Gallifa's reflexes were slow. For a long moment he stood as though stunned. Then shock caught at him. But the slow-motion time which gripped him wouldn't allow him to take more than two steps before the axe in MacFarland's big hand would come cras.h.i.+ng down. He wished he could have activated the transmitter before it happened. Dazed, he wondered who would warn the colonists?

Gallifa suddenly realized he had placed the portable operating table between himself and the other man. He drew his first breath, and it caught in his throat. Then he was through the door and running across the compound. He stumbled towards the equipment shack and threw himself in the back of a truck.

MacFarland didn't follow.

VII