Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from an Ace Books paperback, 1973. Extensiveresearch did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on thispublication was renewed. 

[Illustration: BADGE OF INFAMY

LESTER DEL REY

EARTHMEN BECOMING MARTIANS]

 The computer seemed to work as it should. The speed was within acceptable limits. He gave up trying to see the ground and was forced to trust the machinery designed for amateur pilots. The flare bloomed, and he yanked down on the little lever. 

 It could have been worse. They hit the ground, bounced twice, and turned over. The ship was a mess when Feldman freed himself from the elastic straps of the seat. Chris had shrieked as they hit, but she was unbuckling herself now. 

 He threw her her spacesuit and one of the emergency bottles of oxygen from the rack. "Hurry up with that. We've sprung a leak and the pressure's dropping. "

 * * * * *

Turn this book over for a second complete novel. 

[Transcriber's Note:The second novel is not present in this etext. ]

 * * * * *

BADGE OF INFAMY

By LESTER DEL REY

 * * * * *

ace booksA Division of Charter Communications Inc. 1120 Avenue of the AmericasNew York, N. Y. 10036

BADGE OF INFAMY

Copyright © 1963 by Galaxy Publishing Corp. Copyright © 1957 by Renown Publications, Inc. 

A shorter and earlier version of this story appeared in _SatelliteScience Fiction_ for June, 1957. 

 * * * * *

_First Ace printing: January, 1973_

 * * * * *

THE SKY IS FALLINGCopyright © 1954, 1963 by Galaxy Publishing Corp. 

 * * * * *

Printed in U. S. A. 

I

Pariah

The air of the city's cheapest flophouse was thick with the smells ofharsh antiseptic and unwashed bodies. The early Christmas snowstorm haddriven in every bum who could steal or beg the price of admission, andthe long rows of cots were filled with fully clothed figures. Those whocould afford the extra dime were huddled under thin, grimy blankets. 

The pariah who had been Dr. Daniel Feldman enjoyed no such luxury. Hetossed fitfully on a bare cot, bringing his face into the dim light. Ithad been a handsome face, but now the black stubble of beard lay overgaunt features and sunken cheeks. He looked ten years older than hisscant thirty-two, and there were the beginnings of a snarl at thecorners of his mouth. Clothes that had once been expensive were wrinkledand covered with grime that no amount of cleaning could remove. Histall, thin body was awkwardly curled up in a vain effort to conserveheat and one of his hands instinctively clutched at his tiny bag ofpossessions. 

He stirred again, and suddenly jerked upright with a protest alreadyforming on his lips. The ugly surroundings registered on his eyes, andhe stared suspiciously at the other cots. But there was no sign thatanyone had been trying to rob him of his bindle or the precious bag ofcheap tobacco. 

He started to relax back onto the couch when a sound caught hisattention, even over the snoring of the others. It was a low wail, thesound of a man who can no longer control himself. 

Feldman swung to the cot on his left as the moan hacked off. The manthere was well fed and clean-shaven, but his face was gray withsickness. He was writhing and clutching his stomach, arching his backagainst the misery inside him. 

"Space-stomach?" Feldman diagnosed. 

He had no need of the weak answering nod. He'd treated such casesseveral times in the past. The disease was usually caused by the absenceof gravity out in space, but it could be brought on later from abuse ofthe weakened internal organs, such as the intake of too much bad liquor. The man must have been frequenting the wrong space-front bars. 

Now he was obviously dying. Violent peristaltic contractions seemed tobe tearing the intestines out of him, and the paroxysms were comingfaster. His eyes darted to Feldman's tobacco sack and there was animalappeal in them. 

Feldman hesitated, then reluctantly rolled a smoke. He held thecigarette while the spaceman took a long, gasping drag on it. He smokedthe remainder himself, letting the harsh tobacco burn against his lungsand sicken his empty stomach. Then he shrugged and threaded his waythrough the narrow aisles toward the attendant. 

"Better get a doctor, " he said bitterly, when the young punk looked upat him. "You've got a man dying of space-stomach on 214. "

The sneer on the kid's face deepened. "Yeah? We don't pay for doctorsevery time some wino wants to throw up. Forget it and get back where youbelong, bo. "

"You'll have a corpse on your hands in an hour, " Feldman insisted. "Iknow space-stomach, damn it. "

The kid turned back to his lottery sheet. "Go treat yourself if youwanta play doctor. Go on, scram--before I toss you out in the snow!"

One of Feldman's white-knuckled hands reached for the attendant. Then hecaught himself. He started to turn back, hesitated, and finally facedthe kid again. "I'm not fooling. And I _was_ a doctor, " he stated. "Myname is Daniel Feldman. "

The attendant nodded absently, until the words finally penetrated. Helooked up, studied Feldman with surprised curiosity and growingcontempt, and reached for the phone. "Gimme Medical Directory, " hemuttered. 

Feldman felt the kid's eyes on his back as he stumbled through theaisles to his cot again. He slumped down, rolling another cigarette inhands that shook. The sick man was approaching delirium now, and themoans were mixed with weak whining sounds of fear. Other men had wakenedand were watching, but nobody made a move to help. 

The retching and writhing of the sick man had begun to weaken, but itwas still not too late to save him. Hot water and skillful massage couldinterrupt the paroxysms. In fifteen minutes, Feldman could have stoppedthe attack completely. 

He found his feet on the floor and his hands already reaching out. Savagely he pulled himself back. Sure, he could save the man--and windup in the gas chamber! There'd be no mercy for his second offenseagainst Lobby laws. If the spaceman lived, Feldman might get off with aflogging--that was standard punishment for a pariah who stepped out ofline. But with his luck, there would be a heart arrest and another juicystory for the papers. 

Idealism! The Medical Lobby made a lot out of the word. But it wasn'tfor him. A pariah had no business thinking of others. 

As Feldman sat there staring, the spaceman grew quieter. Sometimes, evenat this stage, massage could help. It was harder without liberalsupplies of hot water, but the massage was the really importanttreatment. It was the trembling of Feldman's hands that stopped him. Heno longer had the strength or the certainty to make the massageeffective. 

He was glaring at his hands in self-disgust when the legal doctorarrived. The man was old and tired. Probably he had been anotheridealist who had wound up defeated, content to leave things up to theestablished procedures of the Medical Lobby. He looked it as he bentover the dying man. 

The doctor turned back at last to the attendant. "Too late. The best Ican do is ease his pain. The call should have been made half an hourearlier. "

He had obviously never handled space-stomach before. He administered ahypo that probably held narconal. Feldman watched, his guts tighteningsympathetically for the shock that would be to the sick man. But atleast it would shorten his sufferings. The final seizure lasted only aminute or so. 

"Hopeless, " the doctor said. His eyes were clouded for a moment, andthen he shrugged. "Well, I'll make out a death certificate. Anyone hereknow his name?"

His eyes swung about the cots until they came to rest on Feldman. Hefrowned, and a twisted smile curved his lips. 

"Feldman, isn't it? You still look something like your pictures. Do youknow the deceased?"

Feldman shook his head bitterly. "No. I don't know his name. I don'teven know why he wasn't cyanotic at the end, _if_ it was space-stomach. Do you, doctor?"

The old man threw a startled glance at the corpse. Then he shrugged andnodded to the attendant. "Well, go through his things. If he still has aspace ticket, I can get his name from that. "

The kid began pawing through the bag that had fallen from the cot. Hedragged out a pair of shoes, half a bottle of cheap rum, a wallet and abronze space ticket. He wasn't quick enough with the wallet, and thedoctor took it from him. 

"Medical Lobby authorization. If he has any money, it covers my fee andthe rest goes to his own Lobby. " There were several bills, all of largedenominations. He turned the ticket over and began filling in the deathcertificate. "Arthur Billings. Space Lobby. Crewman. Cause of death, idiopathic gastroenteritis _and_ delirium tremens. "

There had been no evidence of delirium tremens, but apparently thedoctor felt he had scored a point. He tossed the space ticket toward theshoes, closed his bag, and prepared to leave. 

"Hey, doc!" The attendant's voice was indignant. "Hey, what about myreporting fee?"

The doctor stopped. He glanced at the kid, then toward Feldman, his facea mixture of speculation and dislike. He took a dollar bill from thewallet. "That's right, " he admitted. "The fee for reporting a solventcase. Medical Lobby rules apply--even to a man who breaks them. "

The kid's hand was out, but the doctor dropped the dollar onto Feldman'scot. "There's your fee, pariah. " He left, forcing the protestingattendant to precede him. 

Feldman reached for the bill. It was blood money for letting a mandie--but it meant cigarettes and food--or shelter for another night, ifhe could get a mission meal. He no longer could afford pride. Grimly, hepocketed the bill, staring at the face of the dead man. It looked backsightlessly, now showing a faint speckling of tiny dots. They caughtFeldman's eyes, and he bent closer. There should be no black dots on theskin of a man who died of space-stomach. And there should have beencyanosis.... 

He swore and bent down to find the wrecks of his shoes. He couldn'tworry about anything now but getting away from here before the attendantmade trouble. His eyes rested on the shoes of the dead man--sturdy bootsthat would last for another year. They could do the corpse no good;someone else would steal them if he didn't. But he hesitated, cursinghimself. 

The right boot fitted better than he could have expected, but somethinggot in the way as he tried to put the left one on. His fingers found thebronze ticket. He turned it over, considering it. He wasn't ready tofraud his identity for what he'd heard of life on the spaceships, yet. But he shoved it into his pocket and finished lacing the boots. 

Outside, the snow was still falling, but it had turned to slush, and thesidewalk was soggy underfoot. There was going to be no work shovelingsnow, he realized. This would melt before the day was over. Feldmanhunched the suitcoat up, shivering as the cold bit into him. The bootsfelt good, though; if he'd had socks, they would have been completelycomfortable. 

He passed a cheap restaurant, and the smell of the synthetics set hisstomach churning. It had been two days since his last real meal, and thedollar burned in his pocket. But he had to wait. There was a fairchance this early that he could scavenge something edible. 

He shuffled on. After a while, the cold bothered him less, and he passedthrough the hunger spell. He rolled another smoke and sucked at it, hardly thinking. It was better that way. 

It was much later when the big caduceus set into the sidewalk snappedhim back to awareness of where he'd traveled. His undirected feet hadled him much too far uptown, following old habits. This was the MedicalLobby building, where he'd spent more than enough time, including threeweeks in custody before they stripped him of all rank and status. 

His eyes wandered to the ornate entrance where he'd first emerged as apariah. He'd meant to walk down those steps as if he were still a man. But each step had drained his resolution, until he'd finally covered hisface and slunk off, knowing himself for what the world had branded him. 

He stood there now, staring at the smug young medical politicians andthe tired old general practitioners filing in and out. One of the latterhalted, fumbled in his pocket and drew out a quarter. 

"Merry Christmas!" he said dully. 

Feldman fingered the coin. Then he saw a gray Medical policeman watchinghim, and he knew it was time to move on. Sooner or later, someone wouldrecognize him here. 

He clutched the quarter and turned to look for a coffee shop that soldthe synthetics to which his metabolism had been switched. No shop wouldserve him here, but he could buy coffee and a piece of cake to take out. 

A flurry of motion registered from the corner of his eye, and he glancedback. 

"Taxi! Taxi!"

The girl rushing down the steps had a clear soprano voice, cultured andcommanding. The gray Medical uniform seemed molded to her shapely figureand her red hair glistened in the lights of the street. Her snub noseand determined mouth weren't the current fashion, but nobody stopped tothink of fashions when they saw her. She didn't have to be the daughterof the president of Medical Lobby to rule. 

It was Chris--Chris Feldman once, and now Chris Ryan again. 

Feldman swung toward a cab. For a moment, his attitude was automatic andassured, and the cab stopped before the driver noticed his clothes. Hepicked up the bag Chris dropped and swung it onto the front seat. Shewas fumbling in her change purse as he turned back to shut the door. 

"Thank you, my good man, " she said. She could be gracious, even to apariah, when his homage suited her. She dropped two quarters into hishand, raising her eyes. 

Recognition flowed into them, followed by icy shock. She yanked the cabdoor shut and shouted something to the driver. The cab took off with arush that left Feldman in a backwash of slush and mud. 

He glanced down at the coins in his hand. It was his lucky day, hethought bitterly. 

He moved across the street and away, not bothering about the squeal ofbrakes and the honking horns. He looked back only once, toward theglowing sign that topped the building. _Your health is our business!_Then the great symbol of the health business faded behind him, and hestumbled on, sucking incessantly at the cigarettes he rolled. One handclutched the bronze badge belonging to the dead man and his stolenboots drove onward through the melting snow. 

It was Christmas in the year 2100 on the protectorate of Earth. 

II

Lobby

Feldman had set his legs the problem of heading for the great spaceportand escape from Earth, and he let them take him without furtherguidance. His mind was wrapped up in a whirl of the past--his past andthat of the whole planet. Both pasts had in common the growth and suddenruin of idealism. 

Idealism! Throughout history, some men had sought the ideal, and mosthad called it freedom. Only fools expected absolute freedom, but wisemen dreamed up many systems of relative freedom, including democracy. They had tried that in America, as the last fling of the dream. It hadbeen a good attempt, too. 

The men who drew the Constitution had been pretty practical dreamers. They came to their task after a bitter war and a worse period of wildchaos, and they had learned where idealism stopped and idiocy began. They set up a republic with all the elements of democracy that theyconsidered safe. It had worked well enough to make America the numberone power of the world. But the men who followed the framers of the newplan were a different sort, without the knowledge of practical limits. 

The privileges their ancestors had earned in blood and care becameautomatic rights. Practical men tried to explain that there were no suchrights--that each generation had to pay for its rights withresponsibility. That kind of talk didn't get far. People wanted to hearabout rights, not about duties. 

They took the phrase that all men were created equal and left out theimplied kicker that equality was in the sight of God and before the law. They wanted an equality with the greatest men without giving up theirdrive toward mediocrity, and they meant to have it. In a way, they gotit. 

They got the vote extended to everyone. The man on subsidy or publicdole could vote to demand more. The man who read of nothing beyond sexcrimes could vote on the great political issues of the world. No abilitywas needed for his vote. In fact, he was assured that voting alone wasenough to make him a fine and noble citizen. He loved that, if hebothered to vote at all that year. He became a great man by listing hisunthought, hungry desire for someone to take care of him withoutresponsibility. So he went out and voted for the man who promised himmost, or who looked most like what his limited dreams felt to be afather image or son image or hero image. He never bothered later to seehow the men he'd elected had handled the jobs he had given them. 

Someone had to look, of course, and someone did. Organized specialinterests stepped in where the mob had failed. Lobbies grew up. Therehad always been pressure groups, but now they developed into a third armof the government. 

The old Farm Lobby was unbeatable. The big farmers shaped the laws theywanted. They convinced the little farmers it was for the good of all, and they made the story stick well enough to swing the farm vote. Theymade the laws when it came to food and crops. 

The last of the great lobbies was Space, probably. It was an accidentthat grew up so fast it never even knew it wasn't a real part of thegovernment. It developed during a period of chaos when another countrycalled Russia got the first hunk of metal above the atmosphere and whenthe representatives who had been picked for everything but their graspof science and government went into panic over a myth of nationalprestige. 

The space effort was turned over to the aircraft industry, which hadnever been able to manage itself successfully except under the stimulusof war or a threat of war. The failing airplane industry became thespace combine overnight, and nobody kept track of how big it was, excepta few sharp operators. 

They worked out a system of subcontracts that spread the profits so widethat hardly a company of any size in the country wasn't getting a share. Thus a lot of patriotic, noble voters got their pay from companies inthe lobby block and could be panicked by the lobby at the first mentionof recession. 

So Space Lobby took over completely in its own field. It developedenough pressure to get whatever appropriations it wanted, even overPresidential veto. It created the only space experts, which meant thatthe men placed in government agencies to regulate it came from its ownranks. 

The other lobbies learned a lot from Space. 

There had been a medical lobby long before, but it had been aconservative group, mostly concerned with protecting medical autonomyand ethics. It also tried to prevent government control of treatment andpayment, feeling that it couldn't trust the people to know where tostop. But its history was a long series of retreats. 

It fought what it called socialized medicine. But the people wantedtheir troubles handled free--which meant by government spending, sincethat could be added to the national debt, and thus didn't seem to costanything. It lost, and eventually the government paid most medicalcosts, with doctors working on a fixed fee. Then quantity of treatmentpaid, rather than quality. Competence no longer mattered so much. TheLobby lost, but didn't know it--because the lowered standards ofcompetence in the profession lowered the caliber of men running thepolitical aspects of that profession as exemplified by the Lobby. 

It took a world-wide plague to turn the tide. The plague began in oldChina; anything could start there, with more than a billion peoplehuddled in one area and a few madmen planning to conquer the world. Itmight have been a laboratory mutation, but nobody could ever prove it. 

It wiped out two billion people, depopulated Africa and most of Asia, and wrecked Europe, leaving only America comparatively safe to takeover. An obscure scientist in one of the laboratories run by the MedicalLobby found a cure before the first waves of the epidemic hit America. Rutherford Ryan, then head of the Lobby, made sure that Medical Lobbygot all the credit. 

By the time the world recovered, America ran it and the Medical Lobbywas untouchable. Ryan made a deal with Space Lobby, and the twoeffectively ran the world. None of the smaller lobbies could buck them, and neither could the government. 

There was still a president and a congress, as there had been a Senateunder the Roman Caesars. But the two Lobbies ran themselves as theychose. The real government had become a kind of oligarchy, as it alwaysdid after too much false democracy ruined the ideals of real andpractical self-rule. A man belonged to his Lobby, just as a serf hadbelonged to his feudal landlord. 

It was a safe world now. Maybe progress had been halted at about thelevel of 1980, but so long as the citizens didn't break the rules oftheir lobbies, they had very little to worry about. For that, forsecurity and the right not to think, most people were willing to leavewell enough alone. 

Some rules seemed harsh, of course, such as the law that all operationshad to be performed in Lobby hospitals. But that could be justified; itwas the only safe kind of surgery and the only way to make sure therewas no unsupervised experimentation, such as that which supposedlycaused the plague. The rule was now an absolute ethic of medicine. Italso made for better fees. 

Feldman's father had stuck by the rule but had questioned it. Feldmanlearned not to question in medical school. He scored second in MedicalEthics only to Christina Ryan. 

He had never figured why she singled him out for her attentions, but hegloried in both those attentions and the results. He becameautomatically a rising young man, the favorite of the daughter of theLobby president. He went through internship without a sign of trouble. Chris humored him in his desire to spend three years of practice in apoor section loaded with disease, and her father approved; such selflessdedication was the perfect image projection for a future son-in-law. Inreturn, he agreed to follow that period by becoming an administrator. Adoctor's doctor, as they put it. 

They were married in April and his office was ready in May, completewith a staff of eighty. The publicity releases had gone out, and thePublic Relations Lobby that handled news and education was paid to beginthe greatest build-up any young genius ever had. 

They celebrated that, with a little party of some four hundred peopleand reporters at Ryan's lodge in Canada. It was to be a gala weekend. 

It was then that Baxter shot himself. 

Baxter had been Feldman's closest friend in the Lobby. He'd come alongto handle press relations and had gotten romantic about the countryside, never having been out of a city before. He hired a guide and wenthunting, eighty miles beyond the last outpost of civilization. Somehow, he got his hand on a gun, though only guides were supposed to touchthem, managed to overcome its safety devices, and then pulled thetrigger with the gun pointed the wrong way. 

Chris, Feldman and Harnett from Public Relations had accompanied him onthe trip. They were sitting in a nearby car while Feldman enjoyed thescenery, Chris made further plans, and Harnett gathered material. Therewas also a photographer and writer, but they hadn't been introduced byname. 

Feldman reached Baxter first. The man was moaning and scared, and he wasbleeding profusely. Only a miracle had saved him from instant death. Thebullet had struck a rib, been deflected and robbed of some of itsenergy, and had barely reached the heart. But it had pierced thepericardium, as best Feldman could guess, and it could be fatal at anymoment. 

He'd reached for a probe without thinking. Chris knocked his hand aside. 

She was right, of course. He couldn't operate outside a hospital. Butthey had no phone in the lodge where the guide lived and no way tosummon an ambulance. They'd have to drive Baxter back in the car, whichwould almost certainly result in his death. 

When Feldman seemed uncertain, Harnett had given his warning in a lowbut vehement voice. "You touch him, Dan, and I'll spread it in every oneof our media. I'll have to. It's the only way to retain publicconfidence. There'd be a leak, with all the guides and others here, andwe can't afford that. I like you--you have color. But touch that woundand I'll crucify you. "

Chris added her own threats. She'd spent years making him the outlet forall her ambitions, denied because women were still only second-ratemembers of Medical Lobby. She couldn't let it go now. And she wasprobably genuinely shocked. 

Baxter groaned again and started to bleed more profusely. 

There wasn't much equipment. Feldman operated with a pocketknifesterilized in a bottle of expensive Scotch and only anodyne tablets inplace of anesthesia. He got the bullet out and sewed up the wound with abit of surgical thread he'd been using to tie up a torn good-luckemblem. The photographer and writer recorded the whole thing. Chrisswore harshly and beat her fists against the bole of a tree. But Baxterlived. He recovered completely, and was shocked at the heinous thingthat had been done to him. 

They crucified Feldman. 

III

Spaceman

Most crewmen lived rough, ugly lives--and usually, short ones. Passengers and officers on the big tubs were given the equivalent ofgravity in spinning compartments, but the crews rode "free". The luckycrewmen lived through their accidents, got space-stomach now and then, and recovered. Nobody cared about the others. 

Feldman's ticket was work-stamped for the _Navaho_, and nobodyquestioned his identity. He suffered through the agony of accelerationon the shuttle up to the orbital station, then was sick as accelerationstopped. But he was able to control himself enough to follow othercrewmen down a hall of the station toward the _Navaho_. The big shipsnever touched a planet, always docking at the stations. 

A checker met the crew and reached for their badges. He barely glancedat them, punched a mark for each on his checkoff sheet, and handed themback. "Deckmen forward, tubemen to the rear, " he ordered. "_Navaho_blasts in fifteen minutes. Hey, you! You're tubes. "

Feldman grunted. He should have expected it. Tubemen had the lowest lotof all the crew. Between the killing work, the heat of the tubes, andoccasional doses of radiation, their lives weren't worth the metal valueof their tickets. 

He began pulling himself clumsily along a shaft, dodging freight theloaders were tossing from hand to hand. A bag hit his head, drawingblood, and another caught him in the groin. 

"Watch it, bo, " a loader yelled at him. "You dent that bag and they'llbrig you. Cantcha see it's got a special courtesy stripe?"

It had a brilliant green stripe, he saw. It also had a name, printed inblock letters that shouted their identity before he could read thewords. _Dr. Christina Ryan, Southport, Mars. _

And he'd had to choose this time to leave Earth!

Suddenly he was glad he was assigned to the tubes. It was the one placeon the ship where he'd be least likely to run into her. As a doctor anda courtesy passenger, she'd have complete run of the ship, but she'dhardly bother with the dangerous and unpleasant tube section. 

He dragged his way back, beginning to sweat with the effort. The_Navaho_ was an old ship. A lot of the handholds were missing, and hehad to throw himself along by erratic leaps. He was gaining proficiency, but not enough to handle himself if the ship blasted off. Time wasgrowing short when he reached the aft bunkroom where the other tubemenwere waiting. 

"Ben, " one husky introduced himself. "Tube chief. Know how to workthis?"

Feldman could see that they were assembling a small still. He'd heard ofthe phenomenal quantities of beer spacemen drank, and now he realizedwhat really happened to it. Hard liquor was supposed to be forbidden, but they made their own. "I can work it, " he decided. "I'm--uh--Dan. "

"Okay, Dan. " Ben glanced at the clock. "Hit the sacks, boys. "

By the time Feldman could settle into the sacklike hammock, the_Navaho_ began to shake faintly, and weight piled up. It was mildcompared to that on the shuttle, since the big ships couldn't take highacceleration. Space had been conquered for more than a century, but theships were still flimsy tubs that took months to reach Mars, usingimmense amounts of fuel. Only the valuable plant hormones from Mars madecommerce possible at the ridiculously high freight rate. 

Three hours later he began to find out why spacemen didn't seem to feardying or turning pariah. The tube quarters had grown insufferably hotduring the long blast, but the main tube-room was blistering as Ben ledthe men into it. The chief handed out spacesuits and motioned for Dan. 

"Greenhorn, aincha? Okay, I'll take you with me. We go out in the tubesand pull the lining. I pry up the stuff, you carry it back here andstack it. "

They sealed off the tube-room, pumped out the air, and went into thesteaming, mildly radioactive tubes, just big enough for a man on handsand knees. Beyond the tube mouth was empty space, waiting for the manwho slipped. Ben began ripping out the eroded blocks with a specialtool. Feldman carried them back and stacked them along with others. Aplasma furnace melted them down into new blocks. The work grewprogressively worse as the distance to the tube-room increased. The tubemouth yawned closer and closer. There were no handholds there--only thefriction of a man's body in the tube. 

Life settled into a dull routine of labor, sleep, and the brief reliefof the crude white mule from the still. 

They were six weeks out and almost finished with the tube cleaning whenNumber Two tube blew. Bits of the remaining radioactive fuel must havecollected slowly until they reached blow-point. Feldman in Number Onewould have gone sailing out into space, but Ben reacted at once. As theship leaped slightly, Feldman brought up sharply against the chief'sbraced body. For a second their fate hung in the balance. Then it wasover, and Ben shoved him back, grinning faintly. 

He jerked his thumb and touched helmets briefly. "There they go, Dan. "

The two men who had been working in Number Two were charred lumps, drifting out into space. 

No further comment was made on it, except that they'd have to workharder from now on, since they were shorthanded. 

That rest period Feldman came down with a mild attack ofspace-stomach--which meant no more drinking for him--and was off workfor a day. Then the pace picked up. The tubes were cleared and theybegan laying the new lining for the landing blasts. There was no timefor thought after that. Mars' orbital station lay close when the workwas finished. 

Ben slapped Feldman on the back. "Ya ain't bad for a greenie, Dan. Weall get six-day passes on Mars. Hit the sack now so you won't waste timesleeping then. We'll hear it when the ship berths. "

Feldman didn't hear it, but the others did. He felt Ben shaking hisshoulder, trying to drag him out of the sack. "Grab your junk, Dan. "

Ben picked up Feldman's nearly empty bag and tossed it toward him, before his eyes were fully open. He grabbed for it and missed. Hegrabbed again, with Ben's laughter in his ears. The bag hit the wall andfell open, spilling its contents. 

Feldman began gathering it up, but the chief was no longer laughing. Abig hand grabbed up the space ticket suddenly, and there was nofriendliness now on Ben's face. 

"Art Billing's card!" Ben told the other tubemen. "Five trips I madewith Art. He was saving his money, going to buy a farm on Mars. Fivetrips and one more to go before he had enough. Now you show up with histicket!"

The tubemen moved forward toward Feldman. There was no indecision. Tothem, apparently, trial had been held and sentence passed. 

"Wait a minute, " Feldman began. "Billings died of--"

A fist snaked past his raised hand and connected with his jaw. Hebounced off a wall. A wrench sailed toward him, glanced off his arm, andripped at his muscles. Another heavy fist struck. 

Abruptly, Ben's voice cut through their yells. "Hold it!" He shovedthrough the group, tossing men backwards. "Stow it! We can take care ofhim later. Right now, this is captain's business. You fools want to loseyour leave?" He indicated two of the others. "You two bring himalong--and keep him quiet!"

The two grabbed Feldman's arms and dragged him along as the chief beganpulling his way forward through the tubes up towards the control sectionof the ship. Feldman took a quick glance at their faces and made noeffort to resist; they obviously would have enjoyed any chance to subduehim. 

They were stopped twice by minor officers, then sent on. They finallyfound the captain near the exit lock, apparently assisting thepassengers to leave. Most of them went on into the shuttle, but ChrisRyan remained behind as the captain listened to Ben's report andinspected the false ticket. 

Finally the captain turned to Feldman. "You. What's your name?"

Chris' eyes were squarely on Feldman, cold and furious. "He _was_ DoctorDaniel Feldman, Captain Marker, " she stated. 

Feldman stood paralyzed. He'd been unwilling to face Chris. He wanted toavoid all the past. But the idea that she would denounce him had neverentered his head. There was no Medical rule involved. She knew that as apariah he was forbidden to board a passenger ship, of course. But she'dbeen his wife once!

Marker bowed slightly to her. "Thank you, Dr. Ryan. I should take thiscriminal back to Earth in chains, I suppose. But he's hardly worth thefreightage. You men. Want to take him down to Mars and ground himthere?"

Ben grinned and touched his forelock. "Thank you, sir. We'd enjoy that. "

"Good. His pay reverts to the ship's fund. That's all, men. "

Feldman started to protest, but a fist lashed savagely against hismouth. 

He made no other protests as they dragged him into the crew shuttle thattook off for Southport. He avoided their eyes and sat hunched over. Itwas Ben who finally broke the silence. 

"What happened to Art's money? He had a pile on him. "

"Go to hell!"

"Give, I said!" Ben twisted his arm back toward his shoulder, applyingincreasing pressure. 

"A doctor took it for his fee when Billings died of space-stomach. Damnyou, I couldn't help him!"

Ben looked at the others. "Med Lobby fee, eh? All the market will take. Umm. It could be, maybe. " He shrugged. "Okay, reasonable doubt. Wewon't kill you, bo. Not quite, we won't. "

The shuttle landed and Ben handed out the little helmets and aspiratorsthat made life possible in Mars' thin air. Outside, the tubemen tookturns holding Feldman and beating him while the passengers disembarkedfrom their shuttle. As he slumped into unconsciousness, he had a pictureof Chris Ryan's frozen face as she moved steadily toward the portstation. 

IV

Martian

It was night when Feldman came to, and the temperature was droppingrapidly. He struggled to sit up through a fog of pain. Somewhere in hisbag, he should have an anodyne tablet that would kill any ache. Hefinally found the pill and swallowed it, fumbling with the aspirator lipopening. 

The aspirator meant life to him now, he suddenly realized. He twisted tostare at the tiny charge-indicator for the battery. It showedhalf-charge. Then he saw that someone had attached another batterybeside it. He puzzled briefly over it, but his immediate concern was forshelter. 

Apparently he was still where he had been knocked out. There was a lightcoming from the little station, and he headed toward that, fumbling forthe few quarters that represented his entire fortune. 

Maybe it would have been better if the tubemen had killed him. Batterieswere an absolute necessity here, food and shelter would be expensive, and he had no skills to earn his way. At most, he had only a day or soleft. But meantime, he had to find warmth before the cold killed him. 

The tiny restaurant in the station was still open, and the air was warminside. He pulled off the aspirator, shutting off the battery. 

The counterman didn't even glance up as he entered. Feldman gazed at theprinted menu and flinched. 

"Soup, " he ordered. It was the cheapest item he could find. 

The counterman stared at him, obviously spotting his Earth origin. "Youadjusted to synthetics?"

Feldman nodded. Earth operated on a mixed diet, with synthetics for allwho couldn't afford the natural foods there. But Mars was all synthetic. Many of the chemicals in food could exist in either of two forms, orisomers; they were chemically alike, but differently crystallized. Sometimes either form was digestible, but frequently the body could useonly the isomer to which it was adjusted. 

Martian plants produced different isomers from those on Earth. Since thesynthetic foods turned out to be Mars-normal, that was probably the morenatural form. Research designed to let the early colonists live offnative food here had turned up an enzyme that enabled the body to handleeither isomer. In a few weeks of eating Martian or synthetic food, thebody adapted; without more enzyme, it lost its power to handleEarth-normal food. 

The cheapness of synthetics and the discovery that many diseases commonto Earth would not attack Mars-normal bodies led to the wide use ofsynthetics on Earth. No pariah could have been expected to affordEarth-normal. 

Feldman finished the soup, and found a cigarette that was smokable. "Anyobjections if I sit in the waiting room?"

He'd expected a rejection, but the counterman only shrugged. The waitingroom was almost dark and the air was chilly, but there was normalpressure. He found a bench and slumped onto it, lighting his cigarette. He'd miss the smokes--but probably not for long. He finished thecigarette reluctantly and sat huddled on the bench, waiting for morning. 

The airlock opened later, and feet sounded on the boards of thewaiting-room floor, but he didn't look up until a thin beam of light hithim. Then he sighed and nodded. The shoes, made of some odd fiber, didn't look like those of a cop, but this was Mars. He could see only ahulking shadow behind the light. 

"You the man who was a medical doctor?" The voice was dry and old. 

"Yeah, " Feldman answered. "Once. "

"Good. Thought that space crewman was just lying drunk at first. Comealong, Doc. "

"Why?" It didn't matter, but if they wanted him to move on, they'd haveto push a little harder. 

The light swung up to show the other. He was the shade of old leatherwith a bleached patch of sandy hair and the deepest gray eyes Feldmanhad ever seen. It was a face that could have belonged to a countrystorekeeper in New England, with the same hint of dry humor. The man wasdressed in padded levis and a leather jacket of unguessable age. Hisaspirator seemed worn and patched, and one big hand fumbled with it. 

"Because we're friends, Doc, " the voice drawled at him. "Because youmight as well come with us as sit here. Maybe we have a job for you. "

Feldman shrugged and stood up. If the man was a Lobby policeman, he wasdifferent from the usual kind. Nothing could be worse than the presentprospects. 

They went out through the doors of the waiting room toward a rattletrapvehicle. It looked something like a cross between a schoolboy's jalopyand a scaled-down army tank of former times. The treads were caterpillarstyle, and the stubby body was completely enclosed. A tiny airlockstuck out from the rear. 

Two men were inside, both bearded. The old man grinned at them. "Mark, Lou, meet Doc Feldman. Sit, Doc. I'm Jake Mullens, and you might say wewere farmers. "

The motor started with a wheeze. The tractor swung about and beganheading away from Southport toward the desert dunes. It shook andrattled, but it seemed to make good time. 

"I don't know anything about farming, " Feldman protested. 

Jake shrugged. "No, of course not. Couple of our friends heard about youwhere a spaceman was getting drunk and tipped us off. We know who youare. Here, try a bracky?"

Feldman took what seemed to be a cigarette and studied it doubtfully. Itwas coarse and fibrous inside, with a thin, hard shell that seemed to bea natural growth, as if it had been chopped from some vine. He lightedit, not knowing what to expect. Then he coughed as the bitter, rancidsmoke burned at his throat. He started to throw it down, and hesitated. Jake was smoking one, and it had killed the craving for tobacco almostinstantly. 

"Some like 'em, most don't, " Jake said. "They won't hurt you. Look--seethat? Old Martian ruins. Built by some race a million years ago. Onlyhalf a dozen on Mars. "

It was only a clump of weathered stone buildings in the light from thetractor, and Feldman had seen better in the stereo shots. It wasinteresting only because it connected with the legendary Martian race, like the canals that showed from space but could not be seen on thesurface of the planet. 

Feldman waited for the other to go on, but Jake was silent. Finally, heground out the butt of the weed. "Okay, Jake. What do you want with me?"

"Consultation, maybe. Ever hear of herb doctors? I'm one of them. "

Feldman knew that the Lobby permitted some leniency here, due to thescarcity of real medical help. There was only one decent hospital atNorthport, on the opposite side of the planet. 

Jake sighed and reached for another bracky weed. "Yeah, I'm pretty goodwith herbs. But I got a sick village on my hands and I can't handle it. We can't all mortgage our work to pay for a trip to Northport. Southport's all messed up while the new she-doctor gets her metabolismchanged. Maybe the old guy there would have helped, but he died a couplemonths ago. So it looks like you're our only hope. "

"Then you have no hope, " Feldman told him sickly. "I'm a pariah, Jake. Ican't do a thing for you. "

"We heard about your argument with the Lobby. News reaches Mars. Butthese are mighty sick people, Doc. "

Feldman shook his head. "Better take me back. I'm not allowed topractice medicine. The charge would be first-degree murder if anythinghappened. "

Lou leaned forward. "Shall I talk to him, Jake?"

The old man grimaced. "Time enough. Let him see what we got first. "

Sand howled against the windshield and the tractor bumped and surgedalong. Feldman took another of the weeds and tried to estimate theircourse. But he had no idea where they were when the tractor finallystopped. There was a village of small huts that seemed to be merelyentrances to living quarters dug under the surface. They led him intoone and through a tunnel into a large room filled with simple cots andthe unhappy sounds of sick people. 

Two women were disconsolately trying to attend to the half-dozensick--four children and two adults. Their faces brightened as they sawJake, then fell. "Eb and Tilda died, " they reported. 

Feldman looked at the two figures under the sheets and whistled. Thesame black specks he had seen on the face of Billings covered the skinsof the two old people who had died. 

"Funny, " Jake said slowly. "They didn't quite act like the others andthey sure died mighty fast. Darn it, I had it figured for that stuff inthe book. Infantile paralysis. How about it, Doc? Sort of like a cold, stiff sore neck. "

It was clearly polio--one of the diseases that could attack Mars-normalflesh. Feldman nodded at the symptoms, staring at the sick kids. Heshrugged, finally. "There's a cure for it, but I don't have the serum. Neither do you, or you wouldn't have brought me here. I couldn't help ifI wanted to. "

"That old book didn't list a cure, " Jake told him. "But it said the kidsdidn't have to be crippled. There was something about a Kenny treatment. Doc, does the stuff really cripple for life?"

Feldman saw one of the boys flinch. He dropped his eyes, remembering theLobby's efficient spy service on Earth and wondering what it was likehere. But he knew the outcome. 

"Damn you, Jake!"

Jake chuckled. "Thought you would. We sure appreciate it. Just tell uswhat to do, Doc. "

Feldman began writing down his requirements, trying to remember thedetails of the treatment. Exercise, hot compresses, massage. It wascoming back to him. He'd have to do it himself, of course, to get thefeel of it. He couldn't explain it well enough. But he couldn't turn hisback on the kids, either. 

"Maybe I can help, " he said doubtfully as he moved toward a cot. 

"No, Doc. " Jake's voice wasn't amused any longer, and he held theyounger man back. "You're doing us a favor, and I'll be darned if I'lllet you stick your neck out too far. You can't treat 'em yourself. Marsis tougher than Earth. You should live under Space Lobby _and_ MedicalLobby here a while. Oh, maybe they don't mind a few fools like me beingherb doctors, but they'd sure hate to have a man who can do realmedicine outside their hands. You let me do it, or get in the tractorand I'll have Lou drive you back. Once you start in here, there'll be nostopping. Believe me. "

Feldman looked at him, seeing the colonials around him for the firsttime as people. It had been a long time since he'd been treated as afellow human by anyone. 

Jake was right, he knew. Once he put his hand to the bandage, eventuallythere'd be no turning back from the scalpel. These people needed medicalhelp too desperately. Eventually, the news would spread, and the Lobbypolice would come for him. Chris couldn't afford to shield him. In fact, he was sure now that she'd hunt him night and day. 

"Don't be a fool, Jake, " he ordered brusquely. He handed his list to oneof the women. "You'll have to learn to do what I do, " he told the peoplethere. "You'll have to work like fools for weeks. But there won't bemany crippled children. I can promise that much!"

He blinked sharply at the sudden hope in their eyes. But his mind wenton wondering how long it would be before the inevitable would catch upwith him. With luck, maybe a few months. But he hadn't been blessed withany superabundance of luck. It would probably be less time than hethought. 

V

Surgery

Doc Feldman's luck was better than he had expected. For an Earth year, he was a doctor again, moving about from village to village as he wasneeded and doing what he could. 

The village had been isolated during the early colonization when Marsmade a feeble attempt to break free of Space Lobby. Their supplies hadbeen cut off and they had been forced to do for themselves. Now theywere largely self-sufficient. They grew native plants and extractedhormones in crude little chemical plants. The hormones were traded tothe big chemical plants for a pittance to buy what had to come fromEarth. Other jury-rigged affairs synthesized much of their food. Butmostly they learned to get along on what Mars provided. 

Doc Feldman learned from them. Money was no longer part of his life. Heate with whatever family needed him and slipped into the life aroundhim. 

He was learning Martian medicine and finding that his Earth courses weremostly useless. No wonder the villagers distrusted Lobby doctors. Dochad his own little laboratory where he had managed to start makingMars-normal penicillin--a primitive antibiotic, but better than nothing. 

Jake had come to remind him that it was his first anniversary, and nowthey were smoking bracky together. 

"Sheer luck, Jake, " Doc repeated. "You Martians are tough. But some daysomeone is going to die under my care, with the little equipment I have. Then--"

Jake nodded slowly. "Maybe, Doc. And maybe some day Mars will break freeof the Lobbies. You'd better pray for that. "

"I've been--" Doc stopped, realizing what he'd started to say. The oldman chuckled. 

"You've been talking rebellion for months, Doc. I hear rumors. Wheneveryou get mad, you want us to secede. But you don't really mean it yet. You can't picture any government but the one you're used to. "

Doc grinned. Jake had a point, but it was not as strong as it would havebeen a few months before. The towns under the Lobby were cheapimitations of Earth, but here, divorced to a large extent from thelobbies, the villages were making Mars their own. Their ways might bestrange; but they worked. 

Jake shifted his body in the weak sunlight. "Newton village forgot toreport a death on time. I hear Ryan is sweating them out, trying toprove it was your fault. "

There was no evidence against him yet, Doc was sure. But Chris was outto prove something, and to get a reputation as a top-flightadministrator. It must have hurt when they shipped her here as head ofthe lesser hemisphere of Mars. She'd expected to use Feldman as a frontwhile she became the actual ruler of the whole Lobby. Now she wanted tostrike back. 

"She's using blackmail, " he said, and some of his old bitterness was inhis voice. "Anyone taking treatment from an herb doctor in this sectionis cut off from Medical Lobby service. Damn it, Jake, that could meanletting people die!"

"Yeah. " Jake sighed softly. "It could mean letting people begin tothink about getting rid of the Lobby, too. Well, I gotta help harvestthe bracky. Take it easy on operating for a while, will you, Doc?"

"All right, Jake. But stop keeping the serious cases a secret. Two mendied last month because you wouldn't call me for surgery. I've brokenall my oaths already. It doesn't matter anymore. "

"It matters, boy. We've been lucky, but some day one case will go to thehospital and they'll find your former work. Then they'll really be afteryou. The less you do the better. "

Doc watched Jake slump off, then turned down into the little root cellarand back toward the room concealed behind it, where his crude laboratorylay. For the moment, he was free to work on the mystery of the blackspots. 

He kept running into them--always on the body of someone who died ofsomething that seemed like a normal disease. Without a microscope, hewas almost helpless, but he had taken specimens and tried to culturethem. Some of his cultures had grown, though they might be nothing butunknown Martian fungi or bacteria. Mars was dry and almost devoid ofair, but plants and a few smaller insects had survived and adapted. Itwasn't by any means lifeless. 

Without a microscope, he could do little but depend on his files ofcases. But today there was new evidence. A villager had filched an Earth_Medical Journal_ from the tractor driven by Chris Ryan and forwarded itto him. He found the black specks mentioned in a single paragraph, underskin diseases. Investigation of the diet was being made, since all caseswere among people eating synthetics. 

There was another article on aberrant cases--a few strange littlemisbehaviors in classical syndromes. He studied that, wondering. It hadto be the same thing. Diet didn't account for the fact that the specksappeared only when the patient was near death. 

Nor did it account for the hard lump at the base of the neck which hefound in every case he could check. That might be coincidence, but hedoubted it. 

Whatever it was, it aggravated any other disease the patient had andmade seemingly simple diseases turn out to be completely and rapidlyfatal. Once syphilis had been called "The Great Imitator". This gavepromise of being worse. 

He shook his head, cursing his lack of equipment. Each month more peoplewere dying with these specks--and he was helpless. 

The concealed door broke open suddenly and a boy thrust his head in. "Doc, there's a man here from Einstein. Says his wife's dying. "

The man was already coming into the room. 

"She's powerful sick, Doc. Had a bellyache, fever, began throwing up. Pains under her belly, like she's had before. But this time it's awful. "

Doc shot a few questions at him, frowning at what he heard. Then hebegan packing the few things that might help. There should be noappendicitis on Mars. The bugs responsible for that shouldn't haveadapted to Mars-normal. But more and more infections found ways to crossthe border. Gangrene had been able to get by without change, it seemed. So far, none of the contagious infections except polio and the commoncold had made the jump. 

This sounded like an advanced case, perhaps already involvingperitonitis. 

So far, he'd been lucky with penicillin, but each time he used it withgrave doubts of its action on the Mars-adapted patients. If the appendixhad burst, however, it was the only possible treatment. 

He riffled through his stores; There was ether enough, fortunately. Thevillagers had made that for him out of Martian plants, using theircomplicated fermentation processes. He yelled for Jake, and the boybrought the old man back a moment later. 

"Jake, I'll need more of that narcotic stuff. I don't want the womanwrithing and tearing her stitches after the ether wears off. "

"Can't get it, Doc. " Jake's eyes seemed to cloud as he said it. "Distilling plant broke down. Doc, I don't like this case. That woman'sbeen to the hospital three times. I hear she just got out recently. Thismight be a plant, or they figure they can't help her. "

"They're afraid to try anything on Mars-normal flesh. They can't beproved wrong if they do nothing. " Doc finished packing his bag and gotready to go out. "Jake, either I'm a doctor or I'm not. I can't worrywhen a woman may be dying. "

For a second, Jake's expression was stubborn. Then the little crow'sfeet around his eyes deepened and the dry chuckle was back in his voice. "Right, Dr. Feldman. " He flipped up his thumb and went off at ashuffling run toward the tractor. Lou and the man from Einstein followedDoc into the machine. 

It was a silent ride, except for Doc's questions about the sick woman. Her husband, George Lynn, was evasive and probably ignorant. He admittedthat Harriet had been to the dispensary and small infirmary thatSouthport called a hospital. 

It was the only place in the entire Southern hemisphere where anoperation could be performed legally. Most cases had to go toNorthport, but Chris had been trying to expand. Apparently, she wasdetermined to make Southport into another major center before she wascalled back to Earth. 

Doc wondered why the villagers went there. They had no medical insurancewith the Lobby; they couldn't afford it. Most villagers didn't have thecash, either. They were forced to mortgage their future work and that oftheir families to the drug plants that were run by the Lobby. 

"And they just turned your wife away?" Doc asked. He couldn't quitebelieve that of Chris. 

"Well, I dunno. She wouldn't talk much. Twice she went and they gave hersomething. Cost every cent I could borrow. Then this last time, theykept her a couple days before they let me come and get her. But nowshe's a lot worse. "

Jake spun about, suddenly tense. "How'd you pay them last time, George?"

"Why, they didn't ask. I told her she could put up six months from meand the kids, but nobody said nothing about it. Just gave her back tome. " He frowned slowly, his dull voice uncertain. "They told me they'ddone all they could, not to bring her back. That's why she was so strongon getting Doc. "

"I don't like it, " Jake said flatly. "It stinks. They always charge. George, did they suggest she get in touch with Doc here?"

"Maybe they did, maybe not. Harriet did all the talking with them. Ijust do what she tells me, and she said to get Doc. "

Jake swore. "It smells like a trap. Are you sure she's sick, George?"

"I felt her head and she sure had a fever. " George Lynn was tornbetween his loyalties. "You know me, Doc. You fixed me up that time Ihad the red pip. I wouldn't pull nothing on you. "

Doc had a feeling that Jake was probably right, but he vetoed thesuggestion that they stop to look for spies. He had no time for that. Ifthe woman was really sick, he had to get to her at once, and even thatmight be too late. 

He remembered the woman, sickly from other treatment. He'd been forcedto remove her inflamed tonsils a few months before. She'd whined andcomplained because he couldn't spend all his time attending her. She wasa nag, a shrew, and a totally selfish woman. But that was her husband'sworry, not his. 

He dashed into the little house when they reached Einstein, and hisfirst glance confirmed what George Lynn had said. The woman was sick, all right. She was running a high fever. Much too high. 

She began whining and protesting at his having taken so long, but thepain soon forced her to stop. 

"There may still be a chance, " Doc told her husband brusquely. He threwthe cleanest sheet onto a table and shoved it under the single light. "Keep out of the way--in the other room, if you can all pile in there. This isn't exactly aseptic, anyhow. You can boil a lot of water, if youwant to help. "

It would give them something to do and he could use the water to cleanup. There was no time to wait for it, however. He had to sterilize withalcohol and carbolic acid, and hope. He bent over the woman, ripping herthin gown across to make room for the operation. 

Then he swore. 

Across her abdomen was the unhealed wound of a previous operation. They'd worked on her at Southport. They must have removed the appendixand then been shocked by the signs of infection. They weren't supposedto release a sick patient, but there was an easy out for them; theycould remove her from the danger of spreading an unknown infection. Somedoctors must have doped her up on sedatives and painkillers and sent herhome, knowing that she would call him. For that matter, they might havenoticed her unrecorded tonsillectomy and considered her fair bait. 

He grabbed the ether and slapped a cone over her nose. She tried toprotest; she never cooperated in anything. But the fumes of the ether hedipped onto the packing of the cone soon overcame that. 

It was peritonitis, of course. The only thing to do was to go in andscrape and clean as best he could. It was a rotten job to have to do, and he should have had help. But he gritted his teeth and began. Hecouldn't trust anyone else to hold the instruments, even. 

He cleaned the infection as best he could, knowing there was almost nochance. He used all the penicillin he dared. Then he began sewing up theincision. It was all he could do, except for dressing the wound with asterile bandage. He reached for one, and stopped. 

While he'd been working, the woman had died, far more quietly than shehad ever lived. 

It was probably the only gracious act of her life. But it was damning toDoc. They couldn't hide her death, and any investigation would show thatsomeone had worked on her. To the Lobby, he would be the one who hadmurdered her. 

Jake was waiting in the tractor. He took one look at Doc's face and madeno inquiries. 

They were more than a mile away when Jake pointed back. Small in thedistance, but distinct against the sands, a gray Medical Corps tractorwas coming. Either they'd had a spy in the village or they'd guessed therate of her infection very closely. They must have hoped to catch Doc inthe act, and they'd barely missed. 

It wouldn't matter. Their pictures and what testimony they could forcefrom the village should be enough to hang Doc. 

VI

Research

There had been a council the night following the death of Harriet Lynn. Somehow the word had spread through the villages and the chiefs hadassembled in Jake's village. But they had brought no solution, and inthe long run had been forced to accept Doc's decision. 

"I'm not going to retire and hide, " he'd told them, surprised at his owndecision, but grimly determined. "You need me and I need you. I'll moveevery day in hopes the Lobby police won't find me, but I won't quit. "

Now he was packing the things he most needed and getting ready to move. The small bottles in which he was trying to grow his cultures would needwarmth. He shoved them into an inner pocket, and began surveying whatmust be left. 

He was heading for his tractor when another battered machine drove up. It had a girl of about fourteen, with tears streaming down her face. Sheheld out a pleading hand, and her voice was scared. "It's--it's mama!"

"Where?"

"Leibnitz. "

Leibnitz was near enough. Doc started his tractor, motioning for thegirl to lead the way. The little dwelling she led him to was at the edgeof the village, looking more poverty-stricken than most. 

Chris Ryan, and three of the Medical Lobby police were inside, waiting. The girl's mother was tied to the bed, with a collection of medicalinstruments laid out, but apparently the threat had been enough. Noactual injury had been inflicted. Probably none had been intendedseriously. 

"I knew you'd answer that kind of call, " Chris said coldly. 

He grinned sickly. They'd wasted no time. "I hear it's more than you'lldo, Chris. Congratulations! My patient died. You're lucky. "

"She was certainly dead when my men took her picture. The print showsthe death grimace clearly. "

"Pretty. Frame it and keep it to comfort you when you feel lonely, " hesnapped. 

She struck him across the mouth with the handle of her gun. Then shetwisted out through the door quickly, heading for the tractor that hadbeen camouflaged to look like those used by the villagers. The threepolice led him behind her. 

A shout went up, and people began to rush onto the village street. Butthey were too late. By the time they reached Southport, Doc could see atrail of battered tractors behind, but there was nothing more the peoplecould do. Chris had her evidence and her prisoner. 

 * * * * *

Judge Ben Wilson might have been Jake's brother. He was older andgrayer, but the same expression lay on his face. He must have been thefamily black sheep, since his father had been president of Space Lobby. Instead of inheriting the position, Wilson had remained on Mars, safelyout of the family's way. 

He dropped the paper he was reading to frown at Chris. "This thefellow?"

She began formal charges, but he cut them off. "Your lawyer already hadall that drawn up. I've been expecting you, Doctor. Doctor! Hnnf! You'ddo a lot better home somewhere raising a flock of babies. Well, youngfellow--so you're Feldman. Okay, your trial comes up day after tomorrow. Be a shame to lock you in Southport jail, a man of your importance. We'll just keep you here in the pending-trial room. It's a lot morecomfortable. "

Chris had been boiling slowly, and now she seemed to blow her safetyvalve. "Judge Wilson, your methods are your own business in localaffairs. But this involves Earth Medical Lobby. I demand--"

"Tch, _tch_!" The judge stared at her reprovingly. "Young woman, youdon't demand anything. This is Mars. If Space Lobby can stand me, Iguess our friends over at Medical will have to. Or should I hold trialright now and find Feldman innocent for lack of evidence?"

"You wouldn't!" Chris cried. Then her face sobered suddenly. "Iapologize. Medical is pleased to leave things in your hands, of course. "

Wilson smiled. "Court's closed for today. Doc, I'll show you your cell. It's right next to my study, so I'm heading there anyhow. "

He began shucking his robe while Chris went out with the police, hervoice sharp and continual. 

The cell was both reasonably escape-proof and comfortable, Doc saw, andhe tried to thank the judge. 

But the old man waved it aside. "Forget it. I just like to see thatlittle termagant taken down. But don't count on my being soft. Mymethods may be a bit unusual--I always did like the courtroom scenes inthe old books by that fellow Smith--but Space Lobby never had anyreason to reverse my decisions. Anything you need?"

"Sure, " Doc told him, grinning in spite of his bitterness. "A goodbiology lab and an electron microscope. "

"Umm. How about a good optical mike and some stains? Just got them in onthe last shipment. Figure they were meant for you anyhow, since JakeMullens asked me to order them. "

He went out and came back with the box almost at once. He snorted atDoc's incredulous thanks and moved off, his bedroom slippers slappingagainst the hard floor. 

Doc stared after him. If he were a friend of Jake, willing to inventsome excuse to get a microscope here ... But it didn't matter. Friend orfoe, his death sentence would be equally fatal. And there were otherthings to be thought of now. The little microscope was an excellent one, though only a monocular. 

Doc's hands trembled as he drew his cultures out and began making up aslide. The sun offered the best source of light near the window, and headjusted the instrument. Something began to come into view, but toofaintly to be really visible. 

He remembered the stains, trying to recall his biology courses. More byluck than skill, his fourth try gave him results. 

Under two thousand powers, he could just see details. There were dozensof cells in his impure culture, but only one seemed unfamiliar. It was along, worm-like thing, sharpened at both ends, with the three separatenuclei that were typical of Martian life forms. Nearby were a host oflittle rodlike squiggles just too small to see clearly. 

Martian life! No Martian bug had ever proved harmful to men. Yet thiswas no mutated cell or virus from Earth; it was a new disease, completely different from all others. It was one where all Earth'scenturies of experience with bacteria would be valueless--the firstMartian disease. Unless this was simply some accidental contamination ofhis culture, not common to the other samples. He worked on until thelight was too faint before putting the microscope aside. 

By the time the trial commenced, however, he was sure of the cause ofthe disease. It _was_ Martian. Crude as his cultures were, they hadproved that. 

The little courtroom was filled, mostly from the villages. Lou wasthere, along with others he had come to know. Then the sight of Jakecaught Doc's eyes. The darned fool had no business there; he could gettoo closely mixed into the whole mess. 

"Court's in session, " Wilson announced. "Doc, you represented bycounsel?"

Jake's voice answered. "Your Honor, I represent the defendant. I thinkyou'll find my credentials in order. "

Chris started to protest, but Wilson grinned. "Never lost your standingin spite of that little fracas thirty years ago, so far as I know. Butthe police thought you were a witness when you came walking in. Figuredyou were giving up. "

"I never said so, " Jake answered. 

Chris was squirming angrily, but the florid man acting as counsel forMedical Lobby shook his head, bending over to whisper in her ear. Hestraightened. "No objection to counsel for the defense. We recognize hiscredentials. "

"You're a fool, Matthews, " the judge told him. "Jake was smarter thanhalf the rest of Legal Lobby before he went native. Still can tie yourtail to a can. Okay, let's start things. I'm too old to dawdle. "

Doc lost track of most of what happened. This was totally unlikeanything on Earth, though it might have been in keeping with the generalcasualness of the villages. Maybe the ritualistic routine of the Lobbieswas driving those who could resist to the opposite extreme. 

Chris was the final witness. Matthews drew comment of Feldman's formercrime from her, and Jake made no protest, though Wilson seemed to expectone. Then she began sewing his shroud. There wasn't a fact that managedto emerge without slanting, though technically correct. Jake satquietly, smiling faintly, and making no protests. 

He got up lazily to cross-examine Chris. "Dr. Ryan, when Daniel Feldmanwas examined by the Captain of the _Navaho_ after arriving at Marsstation, did you identify him then as having been Dr. Daniel Feldman?"

She glanced at Matthews, who seemed puzzled but unconcerned. "That'scorrect, " she admitted. "But--"

"And you later saw him delivered to the surface of Mars. Is that alsocorrect?" When she assented, Jake hesitated. Then he frowned. "What didyou do then? Did you report him or send anyone to look after him oranything like that?"

"Certainly not, " she answered. "He was no--"

"You did absolutely nothing about him after you identified him and sawhim delivered here? You're quite sure of that?"

"I did nothing. "

Jake stood quietly for a moment, then shrugged. "No more questions. "

Matthews finished things in a plea for the salvation of all humanityfrom the danger of such men as Daniel Feldman. He was looking smug, aswas Chris. 

Wilson turned to Jake. "Has the defense anything to say?"

"A few things, Your Honor. " Jake stood up, suddenly looking certain andpleased. "We are happy to admit everything factual the Lobby hadtestified. Daniel Feldman performed a surgical operation on Harriet Lynnin the village of Einstein. But when has it been illegal for a member ofthe Medical profession to perform an operation, even with small chanceof success, within an accepted area for such operation? There has beenno evidence adduced that any crime or act of even unethical conduct wascommitted. "

That brought Chris and Matthews to their feet. Wilson was relaxed again, looking as if he'd swallowed a whole cage of canaries. He banged hisgavel down. 

Jake picked up two ragged and dog-eared volumes from his table. "Case ofHarding vs. Southport, 2043, establishes that a Lobby is responsible forany member on Mars. It is also responsible for informing the authoritiesof any criminal conduct on the part of its members or any former memberknown to it. Failure to report shall be considered an admission that theLobby recognizes the member as one in good standing and acceptsresponsibility for that member's conduct. 

"At the time Daniel Feldman arrived, Dr. Christina Ryan was the highestappointed representative of Medical Lobby in Southport, with fullauthority. She identified Feldman as having been a doctor, withoutstipulating any change in status. She made no further report to anyauthority concerning Daniel Feldman's presence here. It seems obviousthat Medical Lobby at Southport thereby accepted Daniel Feldman as adoctor in good standing for whose conduct the Lobby accepted fullresponsibility. "

Wilson studied the book Jake held out, and nodded. "Seems prettyclear-cut to me, " he agreed, passing the book on to Matthews. "There'sstill the charge that Dr. Feldman operated outside a hospital. "

"No reason he shouldn't, " Jake said. He handed over the other volume. "This is the charter for Medical Lobby on Mars. Medical Lobby agrees toperform all necessary surgical and medical services for the planet, though at the signing of this charter there was no hospital on Mars. Necessarily, Medical Lobby agreed to perform surgery outside of anyhospital, then. But to make it plainer, there's a later paragraph--page181--that defines each hospital zone as extending not less than threenor more than one hundred miles. Einstein is about one hundred and tenmiles from the nearest hospital at Southport, so Einstein comes underthe original charter provisions. Dr. Feldman was forced by charterprovisions to protect the good name of his Lobby by undertaking anynecessary surgery in Einstein. "

He waited until Matthews had scanned that book, then took it back andbegan packing a big bag. Doc saw that his possessions and the microscopewere already in the bag. The old man paid no attention to the argumentsof Matthews before the bench. 

Abruptly Wilson pounded his gavel. "This court finds that Dr. DanielFeldman is qualified to practice all the arts and skills of the medicalprofession on Mars and that he acted ethically in the performance of hisduties in the case of the deceased Harriet Lynn, " he ruled. "The costsof the case shall be billed to Medical Lobby of Southport. "

He took off his robe and moved rapidly toward his private quarters. Court was closed. 

Doc got up shakily, not daring to believe fully what he had heard. Hestarted toward Jake, trying to avoid bumping into Chris. But she wouldnot be avoided. She stood in front of him, screaming accusations andthreats that reminded him of the only fight they'd ever had during theirbrief marriage. 

When she ran down, he finally met her eyes. "You're a helluva doctor, "he told her harshly. "You spend all your time fighting me when there's aplague out there that may be worse than any disease we've ever known. Take a look at what lies under the black specks on your corpses. You'llfind the first Martian disease. And maybe if you begin working on thatnow, you can learn to be a real doctor in time to do something about it. But I doubt it. "

She fell back from him then. "Research! You've been doing unauthorizedresearch!"

"Prove it, " he suggested. "But you'd be a lot smarter to try someyourself, and to hell with your precious rules. "

He followed Jake out to the tractor. 

Surprisingly, the old man was sweating now. He shook his head at Doc'slook, and his grin was uncertain. 

"Matthews is an incompetent, " he said. "They could have had you, Doc. That charter is so sloppy a man can prove anything by it, and building ahospital here did bring in Earth rules. Wilson went out on a limb inletting you go. But I guess we got away with it. Let's get out of here. "

Doc climbed into the tractor more soberly. They had escaped this time. But there would be another time, and he was pretty sure that would beChris' round. He had no intention of giving up his research. 

VII

Plague

Dr. Feldman leaned back from his microscope and lighted another brackyweed. He glanced about the room and sighed wearily. Maybe he'd beenbetter off when he had no friends and couldn't risk the safety of othersin an effort to do research that was the highest crime on two worlds. 

The evidence of his work was hidden thirty feet beyond his formerlaboratory in Jake's village, with a tunnel that led from anotherroot-cellar. The theory was the old one that the best place to avoiddiscovery was where you had already been discovered. If their spies hadidentified his former hangout, they'd never expect to have him set upresearch nearby. It was a nice theory, but he wasn't sure of it. 

Jake looked up from a cot where he'd been watching the improvisedculture incubator. "Stop tearing yourself to bits, Doc. We know thedanger and we're still darned glad to have you here working on this. "

"I'm trying to put myself together into a whole man, " Doc told him. "ButI seem to come out wholly a fool. "

"Yeah, sure. Sometimes it takes a fool to get things done; wise men waittoo long for the right time. How's the bug hunt?"

Doc grunted in disgust and swung back to the microscope. Then he gave upas his tired eyes refused to focus. "Why don't you people revolt?"

"They tried it twice. But they were just a bunch of pariahs shipped hereto live in peonage. They couldn't do much. The first time Earth cut offshipments and starved them. Next time the villages had the answer tothat but the cities had to fight for Earth or starve, so they whippedus. And there's always the threat that Earth could send over unmannedwar rockets loaded with fissionables. "

"So it's hopeless?"

"So nothing! The Lobbies are poisoning themselves, like cutting offMedical service until they cut themselves out of a job. It's just amatter of time. Go back to the bugs, Doc. "

Doc sighed and reached for his notes. "I wish I knew more Martianhistory. I've been wondering whether this bug may not have been whatkilled off the old Martians. Something had to do it, the way theydisappeared. I wish I knew enough to make an investigation of thoseruins out there. "

"Durwood!" Jake had propped himself on an elbow, staring at Doc insurprise. 

Doc scowled. "Clive Durwood, you mean? The archeologist who dug up whatlittle we know about the ruins?"

"Yeah, before he went back to Earth and started living off his lectures. He came here again three years ago and dropped dead in Edison on the wayto some other ruins. Heart failure, they called it, though it was morelike the two old farmers who ran themselves to death last month. I sawhim when they buried him. His face looked funny, and I think he hadthose little specks, though I may remember wrong. " He grimaced. "Mars istough, Doc; it has to be. Some of the plant seeds Durwood found in theruins grew! Maybe your bugs waited a million years till we came along. "

"What about the farmers? Did they meet Durwood?"

Jake nodded. "Must have. He lived in their village most of the time. "

Doc went through his notes. He'd asked for reports on all deaths, and hefinally found the account. The two old men had been nervous and fidgetyfor weeks. They were twins, living by themselves, and nobody paid muchattention. Then one morning both were seen running wildly in circles. The village managed to tie them up, but they died of exhaustion shortlyafter. 

It wasn't a pretty picture. The disease might have an incubation periodof nearly fifteen years, judging by the length of time it had taken tohit Durwood. It must spread from person to person during an earlycontagious stage, leaving widening circles behind Durwood and thosefirst infected. When matured, any other sickness would set it off, withfew symptoms of its own. But without help, it still killed its victims, apparently driving them madly toward frenzied physical effort. 

He studied the culture on a slide again. He'd tried Koch's method to geta pure strain, splattering the bugs onto a native starchy root andplucking off individual colonies. About twenty specimens had beentreated with every chemical he could find. So far he'd found a fewthings that seemed to stop their growth, but nothing that killed them, except stuff far too harsh to use in living tissue. 

He had nearly forty cases of deaths that showed symptoms now, and hewent back over them, looking for anything in common that went back tento twenty years before death. There were no rashes nor blisters. A fewhad had apparent colds, but such were too common to mean anything. 

Only one thing appeared, about fourteen years before their deaths. Thepeople interviewed about the victims might be vague about most things, but they remembered the time when "Jim had the jumping headache. "

"Jake, " Doc called, "what's jumping headache? Most people seem to haveit some time or other, but I haven't run across a case of it. "

"Sure you have, Doc. Mamie Brander's little girl a few weeks ago. Feelslike your pulse is going to rip your skull off, right here. Can't eatbecause chewing drives you crazy. Back of your head, neck and shouldersswell up for about a week. Then it goes away. "

Then it goes away--for fourteen years, until it comes back to kill!

Doc stared at his charts in sudden horror. It was a new disease--thoughtto be some virus, but not considered dangerous. Selznik's migraine, according to medical usage; you treated it with hot pads and anodyne, and it went away easily enough. 

He'd seen hundreds of such cases on Earth. There must be millions whohad been hit by it. The patent-medicine branch of the Lobby had evenbrought out something called Nograine to use for self-treatment. 

"Something important?" Jake wanted to know. 

Feldman nodded. "How much weight do you swing in other villages, Jake?"

"People sort of do me favors when I ask, " Jake admitted. "Like swipingthose medical journals from Northport for you, or like Molly Badgergetting that job as maid to spy on Chris Ryan. Name it and I'll do mybest. "

Doc had a vague idea of village politics, but he had more importantthings to think of. Most of his foul mood had disappeared with the cluehe'd stumbled on, and his chief worry now was to clinch the facts. 

Feldman considered the problem. "I want a report on every case ofjumping headache in every village--who had it, when, and how old theywere. This place first, but every village you can reach. And I'll wantsomeone to take a letter to Chris Ryan. "

Jake frowned at that, but went out to issue instructions. Doc sat downat a battered old typewriter. Writing Chris might do no good, but somewarning had to be gotten through to Earth, where the vast resources ofMedical Lobby could be thrown into the task of finding the cause andcure of the disease. The connection with Selznik's migraine had to bereported. If something could blast the Lobby into action, it wouldn'tmatter quite so much what they did to him. He wasn't foolish enough toexpect gratitude from them, but he was getting used to the idea that hisdays were numbered. The plague was more important than what happened tohim. 

The letter had been dispatched by the time Jake returned. "Here's thedope for this village. Everybody accounted for except you. "

"Never had it, Jake. " Feldman went down the list. "Most of it fourteenyears ago. That fits. About the only exceptions are the kids who seem toget it between the ages of two and three. Eighty-seven out ofninety-one!"

He stared at the figures sickly. Most of the village not only had theplague but must be near the end of the incubation period. It looked asif most of the village would be dead before another year passed. 

"Bad?" Jake asked. 

"The first symptom of Martian fever. "

The old man whistled, the lines around his eyes tightening. "Must beme, " he decided. "I'm the guy who must have brought it here, then. Iused to spend a lot of time with Durwood at his diggings!"

There was a constant commotion all that day and the next as runners wentout to the villages and came back with reports. The variation fromvillage to village was only slight. Most of Mars seemed to have advancedcases of Martian fever. 

Without animals for investigation and study, real research wasdifficult. Doc also needed an electron microscope. He was reasonablysure that the disease must travel through the nerves, but he had foundno proof beyond the hard lump at the base of the neck. There it was afair-sized organism. Elsewhere he could find nothing, until the blackspecks developed. 

His eyes ached from trying to see more than was visible in themicroscope. The tantalizing suggestions of filaments around the nucleimight be the form of plague that was contagious. They might even be thetrue form of the bug, with the bigger cell only a transition stage. There were a number of diseases that involved complicated changes in theorganisms that caused them. But he couldn't be sure. 

He finally buried his head in his hands, trying to do by pure thoughtwhat he couldn't do in any other way. And even there, he lackedtraining. He was a doctor, not a xenobiologist. Research training hadbeen taboo in school, except for a favored few. 

The reports continued to come in, confirming the danger. They seemed tohave the worst plague on their hands in all human history; and nobodywho could do anything about it even knew of it. 

"Molly reports that your letter got some results, " Jake reported. "ChrisRyan brought home one of the electron microscopes and a bunch ofequipment from the hospital pathology room. Think she'll get anywhere?"

Doc doubted it. Damn it, he hadn't meant for her to try it, though shemight have authority for routine experiments. But it was like her torefuse to pass on the word without trying to prove her own suspicion ofhim first. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that some men were immune, orseemed so; about three out of a hundred showed no signs. If thatimmunity was hereditary, it might save the race. If not.... 

Jake came in at twilight with a grim face. "More news from Molly. TheLobby is starting out to comb every village with a fault-finder, starting here. And this hole will show up like a sore thumb. Betterstart packing. We gotta be out of here in less than an hour!"

VIII

Fool

Three days later, Doc saw his first runner. 

The tractor was churning through the sand just before sundown, headingtoward another one-night stand at a new village. Lou was driving, whileDoc and Jake brooded silently in the back, paying no attention to thecolors that were blazoned over the dunes. The cat-and-mouse game wasgetting to Doc. There was no real assurance that the village they wereapproaching might not be the target the Lobby had chosen for the nextinvestigation. 

Lou braked the tractor to a sudden halt, and pointed. 

A figure was running frantically over one of the low dunes with thelittle red sun behind him. He seemed headed toward them, but as he drewnearer they could see that he had no definite direction. He simply ran, pumping his legs frantically as if all the devils of hell were afterhim. His body swayed from side to side in exhaustion, but his arms andlegs pumped on. 

"Stop him!" Jake ordered, and Lou swung the tractor. It halted squarelyin the runner's path, and the figure struck against it and toppled. 

The legs went on pumping, digging into the dirt and gravel, but the manwas too far gone to rise. Jake and Lou shoved him through the doors intothe tractor and Doc yanked off his aspirator. 

The man was giving vent to a kind of ululating cry, weakened now almostto a whine that rose and fell with the motion of his legs. Sweat hadonce streaked his haggard face, but it was dry and blanched to a pastygray. 

Doc injected enough narcotic to quiet a maddened bull. It had no effect, except to upset the rhythm of the arms and legs. It took five moreminutes for the man to die. 

The specks were larger this time--the size of periods in twelve-pointtype. The lump at the base of the skull was as big as a small hen's egg. 

"From Edison, like the others so far. Jack Kooley, " Jake answered Doc'squestion. "Durwood spent a lot of time here on his first expedition, soit's getting the worst of it. "

Doc pulled the aspirator mask back over the man's face and they carriedhim out and laid him on a low dune. They couldn't risk returning thecorpse to its people. 

This was only the primary circle of infection, direct from Durwood. Thesecond circle could be ten times as large, as the infection spread fromone to a few to many. So far it was localized. But it wouldn't stay thatway. 

Doc climbed slowly out of the tractor, lugging his small supplies ofequipment, while Jake made arrangements for them to spend the night in adeserted house. But the figure of the runner and his own failures tofind more about the disease kept haunting Doc. He began setting up hisequipment grimly. 

"Better get some sleep, " Jake suggested. "You're a mite more tired thanyou think. Anyhow, I thought you told me you couldn't do any more withwhat you've got. "

Feldman looked at the supplies he had spread out, and shook his headwearily. He'd been over every chemical and combination a dozen times, without results that showed in the limited magnification of the opticalmike. 

He snapped the case shut and hit the rude table with the heel of hishand. "There are other supplies. Jake, do you have any signal to get intouch with Molly at the Ryan house?"

"Three raps on the rear left window. I'll get Lou. "

"No!" Doc came to his feet, reaching for his jacket. "They're lookingfor three men now. It's safer if I go alone--and I'm the only one whoknows what supplies are needed. With luck, I may even get the electronmike. Got a gun I can borrow?"

Jake found one somewhere, an old revolver with a few loads. He beganprotesting, but Doc overruled him sharply. Three men could no more fightoff the police than one, if they were spotted. He swung toward thetractor. 

"You'd better start spreading the word on everything we know. If peoplerealize they're already safe or doomed it'll be better than having themgoing crazy to avoid contagion. "

"Most of the villages know already, " Jake told him. "And damn it, getback here, Doc. If you can't make it, turn tail quick, and we'll thinkof something else. "

Southport seemed normal enough as Doc drove through its streets. Thestereo house was open, and the little shops were brightly lighted. Hestopped once to pull a copy of Southport's little newspaper from adispenser. All was quiet on its front page, too. 

As usual, though, the facts were buried inside. The editorial waspouring too much oil on the waters in its lauding of the role ofMedical Lobby on Mars for no apparent reason. The death notices nolonger listed the cause of death. Medical knew something was up, atleast, and was worried. 

He parked the tractor behind Chris' house and slipped to the properwindow. Everything was seemingly quiet there. At his knock, the shadewas drawn back, and he caught a brief glimpse of Molly looking out. Amoment later she opened the rear lock to let him into the kitchen. 

"Shh. She's still up, I think. What can I do, Doc?"

He tried to smile at her. "Hide me until it's safe to get into herlaboratory. I've got to--"

The inner kitchen was kicked open and Chris stood beyond it, holding acocked gun in her hand. 

"It took longer than I expected, Dan, " she said quietly. "But after yourletter, I knew you'd swallow the bait. You bloody fool! Did you reallybelieve I'd start doing research here just because of your imaginings?"

He slumped slowly back against the sink. "So this is a fool's errand, then? There never was any equipment here?"

"The equipment's here--in my office. I guessed your spies would reportit, so it had to be here. But it won't help you now, pariah Feldman!"

He came from his braced position against the sink like a springuncoiling. He expected her to shoot, but hoped the surprise would ruinher aim. Then it was too late, and his boot hit the gun savagely, knocking it from her hand. Life in the villages had hardened himsurprisingly. She was comparatively helpless in his hands. A few minuteslater, he had her bound securely with surgical tape Molly brought him. She raged furiously in the chair where he'd dumped her, then gave up. 

"They'll get you, Daniel Feldman!" Surprisingly, there was no rage inher voice now. "You won't get away from us. The planet isn't bigenough. "

"I got away from your trial, " he reminded her. "And I got away and livedwhen you left me without a chance on the ground of the spaceport. "

She laughed harshly. "_You_ got away then? You fool, who do you thinkgave you the extra battery so you could live long enough to be helped atthe spaceport? Who hired a fool like Matthews so you wouldn't get thedeath sentence you deserved? Who let you get away as an herb doctor formonths before you set yourself up as God and a traitor to mankindagain?"

It shook him, as it was probably intended to do. How had she known aboutthe extra battery? He'd always assumed that Ben had returned to give itto him. But in that case, Chris couldn't know of it. Then he hardenedhimself again. In the old days, she'd always had one trump card hecouldn't beat and hadn't expected. But too much was involved for gamesnow. 

"Any police around, Molly?" he asked. 

Molly came back a minute later to report that everything looked clearand to show him where the equipment had been set up in Chris' office. Itwas all there, including the electron mike--a beautiful little portablemodel. There was even a small incubator with its own heat source intowhich he immediately transferred the little bottles he'd been keepingwarm against his skin. Most of the equipment had never been unpacked, which made loading it onto his tractor ridiculously easy. 

"Better come with me now, Molly, " he suggested at last. Then he turnedto Chris, who was watching him with almost no expression. "You canwriggle your chair to the phone in half an hour, I guess. Knock thephone off and yell for help. It's better than you deserve, unless youreally did leave me that battery. "

"You won't get away with it, " she told him again, calmly this time. 

"No, " he admitted. "Probably not. But maybe the human race will, if Ihave time to find an answer to the plague you won't see under your nose. But you won't get away with it, either. In the long run, your kind neverdo. "

Molly was sniffling as they drove away. It had probably been the bestlife she'd known, Doc supposed. Chris could be kind to menials. But nowMolly's work was done, and she'd have to disappear into the villages. Helet her off at the first village and drove on alone. He was itching toget to the microscope now, hardly able to wait through the long journeyback to Jake. His impatience grew with each mile. 

Finally he gave up. He swung the tractor into a small gulley betweensand dunes, left the motor idling and pulled down the shades thevillagers used for blackout traveling. There was power enough for themike here, and the cab was big enough for what he had to do. 

He mounted the mike on the tractor seat and began laying out thecollection of smears and cultures he had brought. It had been yearssince he'd made a film for the electron mike, but he found it all cameback to him as he worked. 

His hands were sweating with tension as he inserted the first film intothe chamber. He had the magnetic "lenses" set for twenty thousand power, but a quick glance showed it was too weak. He raised the power to fiftythousand. 

The filaments were there, clear and distinct. 

He turned on the little tape recorder that had been part of Chris'equipment and set the microphone where he could dictate into it withoutstopping to make clumsy notes. He readjusted the focus carefully, carrying on a running commentary. 

Then he gasped. Each of the little filaments carried three tiny darkersections; each was a cell, complete in itself, with the typical Martiantriple nucleus. 

He put a film with a tiny section of the nerve tissue from a corpse intothe chamber next, and again a quick glance at the screen was enough. Thefilaments were there, thickly crowded among nerve cells. They _did_travel along the nerves to reach the base of the brain before the largerlump could form. 

A specimen from one of the black specks was even more interesting. Thefilaments were there, but some were changed or changing into tiny, roundcells, also with the triple dark spots of nuclei. Those must be thefinal form that was released to infect others. Probably at first thesemultiplied directly in epithelial tissue, so that there was a rapidcontagion of infection. Eventually, they must form the filaments thatinvaded the nerves and caused the brief bodily reaction that wasSelznik's migraine. Then the body adapted to them and they began toincubate slowly, developing into the large cells he had first seen. When"ripe", the big cells broke apart into millions of the tiny round onesthat went back to the nerve endings, causing the black spots and killingthe host. 

He knew his enemy now, at least. 

He reached for the controls, increasing the magnification. He would loseresolution, but he might find something more at the extreme limits ofthe mike. 

Something wet and cold gushed into his face. He jerked back, trying towipe it off, but it was already evaporating, and there was a thick, acrid odor in the cab. He grabbed for his aspirator, then tried to reachthe airlock. But paralysis was already spreading through him, and hetoppled to the floor before he could escape. 

When he came to, it was morning outside, and Chris was waiting insidethe cab with two big Lobby policemen. A hypo in her hand must have beenwhat revived him. 

She touched the electron microscope with something like affection. "TheLobby technicians did a good job on this, don't you think, Dan? I warnedyou, but you wouldn't listen. And now we've even got your own tapedwords to prove you were doing forbidden research. Fool!"

She shook her head pityingly as the tractor began moving with two otherstoward Southport. 

"You and your phony diseases. A little skin disorder, Selznik'smigraine, and a few cases of psychosis to make a new disease. Do youthink Medical Lobby can't check on such simple things? Or didn't youexpect us to hear of your open talk of revolt and realize you wereplanning to create some new germ to wipe out the Earth forces. Maybethose runners of yours were real, mass murderer!"

She drew out another hypo and shoved the needle into his arm. Necrosynth--enough to keep him unconscious for twenty-four hours. Hestarted to curse her, but the drug acted before he could complete thethought. 

IX

Judgment

Doc woke to see sunlight shining through a heavily barred window thatmust be in the official Southport jail. He waited a few minutes for hishead to clear and then sat up; necrosynth left no hangover, at least. 

The sound of steps outside was followed by the squeak of a key in thelock. "Fifteen minutes, Judge Wilson, " a voice said. 

"Thank you, officer. " Wilson came into the cell, carrying a tray ofbreakfast and a copy of the Northport _Gazette_. He began unloadingbracky weeds from his pocket while Doc attacked the breakfast. 

"They tossed the book at you, Doc, " he said. "You haven't got a chance, and there's nothing the villages can do. Trial's set for tomorrow atNorthport, and it's in closed session. We can't get you off this time. "

Doc nodded. "Thanks for coming, even if there's nothing you can do. I'vebeen living on borrowed time for a year, anyhow, so I have no right tokick. But who's 'we'?"

"The villages. I've been part of their organization for years. " The oldman sighed heavily. "You might say a revolution has been going on sinceI can remember, though most villagers don't know it. We've just beenwaiting our time. Now we've stopped waiting and the rifles will becoming out--rifles made in village shops. The villages are going torebel, even if we're all dead of plague in a month. "

Doc Feldman nodded and reached for the bracky. He knew that this wastheir way of trying to make him feel his work hadn't been for nothing, and he was grateful for Wilson's visit. "It was a good year for me. Damned good. But time's running short. I'd better brief you on thelatest on the plague. "

Wilson began making notes until Doc was finished. Finally he got up assteps sounded from the hall. "Anything else?"

"Just a guess. A lot of Earth germs can't live in Mars-normal flesh;maybe this can't live in Earth-normal. Tell them so long for me. "

"So long, Doc. " He shook hands briefly and was waiting at the door whenthe guard opened it. 

An hour later, the Lobby police took Feldman to the Northport shuttlerocket. They had some trouble on the way; a runner cut down the street, with the crowds frantically rushing out of his way. Terror was reachingthe cities already. 

Doc flashed a look at Chris. "Mob hysteria. Like flying saucers andwriggly tops, I suppose?" he asked, before the guard could stop him. 

They locked his legs, but left his hands free in the rocket. He unfoldedthe paper Wilson had brought and buried his face in it. Then he swore. They _were_ explaining the runners as a case of mob hysteria!

Northport was calmer. Apparently they had yet to have first-handexperience with the plague. But now nothing seemed quite real to Doc, even when they locked him into the big Northport jail. The whole ritualof the Lobbies seemed like a fantasy after the villages. 

It snapped back into focus, however, when they led him into the trialroom of the Medical Lobby building. It was a smaller version of histrial on Earth. Fear washed in by association. The complete lack ofhumanity in the procedure was something from a half-remembered andhorrible past. 

The presiding officer asked the routine question: "Is the prisonerrepresented by counsel?"

Blane, the dapper little prosecutor, arose quickly. "The prisoner is apariah, Sir Magistrate. "

"Very well. The court will accept the protective function for theprisoner. You may proceed. "

_I'll be judge, I'll be jury. _ And prosecution and defense. It made fora lot less trouble. Of course, if Space Lobby had asserted interest, itwould have gone to a supposedly neutral court. But as usual, Space washappy to leave it in the hands of Medical. 

The tape was played as evidence. Doc frowned. The words were his, butthere had been a lot of editing that subtly changed the import of hisnotes. 

"I protest, " he challenged. "It's not an accurate version. "

The Lobby magistrate turned a wooden face to him. "Does the prisonerhave a different version to introduce?"

"No, but--"

"The evidence is accepted. One of the prisoner's six protests will becharged against him. "

Blane smiled smoothly and held up a small package. "We wish to introducethis drug as evidence that the prisoner is a confirmed addict, morallyirresponsible under addiction. This is a package of so-called brackyweed, a vile and noxious substance found in his possession. "

"It has alkaloids no more harmful than nicotine, " Feldman statedsharply. 

"Do you contend that you find the taste pleasing?" Blane asked. 

"It's bitter, but I've gotten used to it. "

"I've tasted it, " the magistrate said. "Evidence accepted. Twodeductions, one for irregularity of presentation. "

Doc shrugged and sat back. He'd tested his rights and found what heexpected. It was hard to see now how he had ever accepted suchprocedure. Jake must be right; they'd been in power too long, and weremaking the mistake of taking the velvet glove off the iron fist andflailing about for the sheer pleasure of power. 

It dragged on, while he became a greater and greater monster on therecord. But finally it was over, and the magistrate turned to Feldman. "You may present your defense. "

"I ask complete freedom of expression, " Doc said formally. 

The magistrate nodded. "This is a closed court. Permission granted. Therecording will be scrambled. "

The last bit ruined most of the purpose Doc had in mind. But it was toolate to change. He could only hope that some one of the Medical menpresent would remember something of what he said. 

"I have nothing to say for myself, " he began. "It would be useless. ButI had to do what I did. There's a plague outside. I've studied thatplague, and I have knowledge which must be used against it.... "

He sat down in three minutes. It had been useless. 

Blane arose, with a smile still plastered on his face. "We, of course, recognize the existence of a new contagion, but I believe we haveestablished that this is one disseminated by the prisoner himself, andprobably not directly contagious. There have been many cases of fanaticsready to destroy humanity to eliminate those they hate. Now, surely, theprisoner has himself left no question of his attitude. He asserts he hasknowledge and skill greater than the entire Medical Research staff. Hehas attempted to intimidate us by threats. He is clearly psychopathic, and dangerously so. The prosecution rests. "

The guards took Doc into the anteroom, where he was supposed to hearnothing that went on. But their curiosity was stronger than theirdiscretion, and the door remained a trifle ajar. 

The magistrate began the discussion. "The case seems firm enough. It'sfortunate Dr. Ryan acted so quickly, with some of the people gettingnervous. Perhaps it might be wise to publicize our verdict. "

"My thought exactly, " Blane agreed. "If we show Feldman is responsibleand that Medical is eliminating the source of the infection, it may havea stabilizing effect. "

"Let's hope so. The sentence will have to be death, of course. We can'tlet such a rebellious psychopath live. But this needs something more, itseems. You've prepared a recommendation, I suppose. "

"There was the case of Albrecht Delier, " Blane suggested. "Somethinglike that should have good publicity impact. "

It struck Doc that they sounded as if they believed themselves--as thewitch-burners had believed in witches. He was sweating when the guardsled him before the bench. 

The magistrate rolled a pen slowly across his fingers as his eyes rakedFeldman. "Pariah Daniel Feldman, you have been found guilty on allcounts. Furthermore, your guilt must be shared by that entire section ofMars known as the villages. Therefore the entire section shall be bannedand forbidden any and all services of the Medical Lobby for a period ofone year. "

"Sir Magistrate!" One of the members of Southport Hospital staff was onhis feet. "Sir Magistrate, we can't cut them off completely. "

"We must, Dr. Harkness. I appreciate the fine humanitarian tradition ofour Lobby which lies behind your protest, but at such a time as this thegood of the body politic requires drastic measures. Why not see me aftercourt, and we can discuss it then?"

He turned back to Feldman, and his face was severe. 

"The same education which has produced such fine young men as Dr. Harkness was wasted on you and perverted to endanger the whole race. Nopunishment can equal your crimes, but there is one previously invokedfor a particularly horrible case, and it seems fitting that you shouldbe the fourth so sentenced. 

"Daniel Feldman, you are sentenced to be taken in to space beyondplanetary limits, together with all material used by you in thefurtherance of your criminal acts. There you shall be placed into aspacesuit containing sufficient oxygen for one hour of life, and nomore. You and your contaminated possessions shall then be released intospace, to drift there through all eternity as a warning to other men. 

"This sentence shall be executed at the earliest possible moment, andDr. Christina Ryan is hereby commissioned to observe such execution. Andmay God have mercy on your soul!"

X

Execution

The hours of waiting were blurred for Doc. There were periods when fearclogged his throat and left him gasping with the need to scream and beathis cell walls. There were also times when it didn't seem to matter, andwhen his only thoughts were for the villages and the plague. 

They brought him the papers, where he was painted as a monster besidewhom Jack the Ripper and Albrecht Delier were gentle amateurs. They weretrying to focus all fear and resentment on him. Maybe it was working. There were screaming crowds outside the jail, and the noise of theirhatred was strong enough to carry through even the atmosphere of Mars. But there were also signs that the Lobby was worried, as if afraid thatsome attempt might still be made to rescue him. 

He'd looked forward to the trip to the airport as a way of judgingpublic reaction. But apparently the Lobby had no desire to test that. The guards led him up to the roof of the jail, where a rocket waswaiting. The landing space was too small for one of the stationshuttles, but a little Northport-Southport shuttle was parked thereafter what must have been a difficult set-down. The guards tested Doc'smanacles and forced him into the shuttle. 

Inside, Chris was waiting, carrying an official automatic. There wasalso a young pilot, looking nervous and unhappy. He was muttering underhis breath as the guards locked Doc's legs to a seat and left. 

"All right, " Chris ordered. "Up ship!"

"I tell you we're overweight with you. I wasn't counting on three forthe trip, " the pilot protested. "The only thing that will get this intoorbit with the station is faith. I'm loaded with every drop of fuelshe'll hold and it still isn't enough. "

"That's your problem, " Chris told him firmly. "You've got your orders, and so have I. Up ship!"

If she had her own worries about the shuttle, she didn't show it. Chrishad never been afraid to do what she felt she should. The pilot staredat her doubtfully and finally turned back to his controls, stillmuttering. 

The shuttle lifted sluggishly, but there was no great difficulty. Doccould see that there was even some fuel remaining when they slipped intothe tube at the orbital station. Chris went out, and other guards camein to free him. 

"So long, Dr. Feldman, " the pilot called softly as they led him out. Then the guards shoved him through the airlock into the station. Fifteenminutes later he was locked into one of the cabins of the _Iroquois_, with all his possessions stacked beside him. 

He grinned wryly. As an honest worker on the _Navaho_ he'd been treatedlike an animal. Now, as a human fiend, he was installed in a luxurycabin of the finest ship of the fleet, with constant spin to give afeeling of weight and more room than the entire tube crew had known. 

He roamed the cabin until he found a little collapsible table. He setthe electron microscope up on that and plugged it in. It seemed a shamethat good equipment should be wasted along with his life. He wonderedif they would really throw it out into space with him. Probably theywould. 

He pushed a button on the call board over the table and asked for thesteward. There was a long wait, as if the procedure were being checkedwith some authority, but finally he received a surly acknowledgement. "Steward. Whatcha want?"

"How's the chance of getting some food?"

"You're on first-class. "

They could afford it, Doc decided. He wouldn't cost them much, considering the distance he was going. "Bring me two completedinners--one Earth-normal and one Mars-normal. "

"Okay, Feldman. But if you think you can suicide that way, you're wrong. You may be sick, but you'll be alive when they dump you. "

A sharp click interrupted him. "That's enough, Steward. Captain Evertsspeaking. Dr. Feldman, you have my apologies. Until you reach yourdestination, you are my passenger and entitled to every consideration ofany other passenger except freedom of movement through the ship. I amalways available for legitimate complaints. "

Feldman shook his head. He'd heard of such men. But he'd thought thespecies extinct. 

The steward brought his food in a thoroughly chastened manner. Hemanaged to find space for it and came to attention. "Is that all--sir?"

For a moment, as the smell of real steak reached him, Doc regretted thefact that his metabolism had been switched. Then he shrugged. A littlewouldn't hurt him, though there was no proper nourishment in it. Hesqueezed some of the gravy and bits of meat into one of his bottles, sticking to his purpose; then he fell to on the rest. But after a fewbites, it was queerly unsatisfactory. The seemingly unappealingMars-normal ragout suited his current tastes better, after all. 

Once the steward had cleared away the dishes, Doc went to work. It wasbetter than wasting his time in dread. He might even be able to leavesome notes behind. 

A gong sounded, and a red light warned him that acceleration was due. Hefinished with his bottles, put them into the incubator, and piled intohis bunk, swallowing one of the tablets of morphetal the ship furnished. 

Acceleration had ended, and a simple breakfast was waiting when heawoke. There was also a red flashing light over the call board. Heflipped the switch while reaching for the coffee. 

"Captain Everts, " the speaker said. "May I join you in your cabin?"

"Come ahead, " Feldman invited. He cut off the switch and glanced at theclock on the wall. There were less than eleven hours left to him. 

Everts was a trim man of forty, erect but not rigid. There was neitherfriendliness nor hostility in his glance. His words were courteous asDoc motioned toward the tray of breakfast. "I've already eaten, thankyou. "

He accepted a chair. His voice was apologetic when he began. "This is apersonal matter which I perhaps have no right to bring up. But my wifeis greatly worried about this plague. I violate no confidence in tellingyou there is considerable unease, even on Earth, according to messages Ihave received. The ship physician believes Mrs. Everts may have theplague, but isn't sure of the symptoms. I understand you are quiteexpert. "

Doc wondered about the physician. Apparently there was another man whoplaced his patients above anything else, though he was probablymeticulous about obeying all actual rules. There was no law againstlistening to a pariah, at least. 

"When did she have Selznik's migraine?" he asked. 

"About thirteen years ago. We went through it together, shortly afterhaving our metabolism switched during the food shortage of '88. "

Doc felt carefully at the base of the Captain's skull; the swelling wasthere. He asked a few questions, but there could be no doubt. 

"Both of you must have it, Captain, though it won't mature for anotheryear. I'm sorry. "

"There's no hope, then?"

Doc studied the man. But Everts wasn't the sort to dicker even for hislife. "Nothing that I've found, Captain. I have a clue, but I'm stillworking on it. Perhaps if I could leave a few notes for yourphysician--"

It was Everts' turn to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Feldman. I haveorders to burn out your cabin when you leave. But thank you. " He got tohis feet and left as quietly and erectly as he had entered. 

Doc tore up his notes bitterly. He paced his cabin slowly, reading outthe hours while his eyes lingered on the little bottle of cultures. Attimes the fear grew in him, but he mastered it. There was half an hourleft when he began opening the little bottles and making his films. 

He was still not finished when steps echoed down the hall, but he wasreasonably sure of his results. The bug could not grow in Earth-normaltissue. 

Three men entered the room. One of them, dressed in a spacesuit, heldout another suit to him. The other two began gathering up everything inthe cabin and stowing it neatly into a sack designed to protect freightfor a limited time in a vacuum. 

Doc forced his hands to steadiness with foolish pride and began climbinginto the suit. He reached for the helmet, but the man shook his head, pointing to the oxygen gauge. There would be exactly one hour's supplyof oxygen when he was thrown out and it still lacked five minutes of thedeadline. 

They marched him down the hallway, to meet Everts coming toward them. There were still three minutes left when they reached the airlock, withits inner door already open. The spacesuited man climbed into it andbegan strapping down so that the rush of air would not sweep him outwardwhen the other seal was released. 

Doc had saved one bracky weed. Now he raised it to his lips, fumblingfor a light. 

Everts stepped forward and flipped a lighter. Doc inhaled deeply. Fearwas thick in every muscle, and he needed the smoke desperately. Then hecaught himself. 

"Better change your metabolism back to Earth-normal, Captain Everts, " hesaid, and his voice was so normal that he hardly recognized it. 

Everts' eyes widened briefly. The man bowed faintly. "Thank you, Dr. Feldman. "

It was ridiculous, impossible, and yet there was a curious relief at theformality of it. It was like something from a play, too unreal to affecthis life. 

Everts nodded to the man holding the helmet. Doc dropped his bracky weedand felt the helmet snap down. A hiss of oxygen reached him and the suitballooned out. There was no gravity; the two men handed him up easily tothe one in the airlock while the inner seal began to close. 

There was still ten seconds to go, according to the big chronometer thathad been installed in the lock. The spaceman used it in tying the sackof possessions firmly to Doc's suit. 

A red light went on. The man caught Doc and held him against the outerseal. The red light blinked. Four seconds ... Three ... Two.... 

There was a sudden heavy thudding sound, and the _Iroquois_ seemed tojerk sideways slightly. The spaceman's face swung around in surprise. 

The red light blinked and stayed on. Zero!

The outer seal snapped open and the spaceman heaved. Air explodedoutwards, and Doc went with it. He was alone in space, gliding away fromthe ship, with oxygen hissing softly through the valve and ticking awayhis life. 

XI

Convert

Feldman fought for control of himself, forced himself to think, to holdonto his sanity. It was sheer stupidity, since nothing could have beenmore merciful than to lose this reality. But the will to be himself wasstronger than logic. And bit by bit, he forced the fear and horror awayfrom him until he could examine his situation. 

He was spinning slowly, so that stars ahead of him seemed to crawlacross his view. The ship was retreating from him already hundreds ofyards away. Mars was a shrunken pill far away. 

Then something blinked to one side. He turned his head to stare. 

A little ship was less than three hundred yards away. He recognized itas a life raft. Now his spin brought him around to face it, and he sawit was parallelling his course. The ejection of the life raft must havecaused the thump he'd heard before he was cast adrift. 

It meant someone was trying to save him. It meant _life_!

He flailed his arms and beat his legs together, senselessly trying toforce himself closer, while trying to guess who could have taken thechance. No one he could think of could have booked passage on the_Iroquois_. There wasn't that much free money in the villages. 

Something flashed a hot blue, and the little ship leaped forward. Whoever was handling it knew nothing about piloting. It picked up toomuch speed at too great an angle. 

Again blue spurts came, but this time matters were even worse. Thenthere was a long wait before a third try was made. He estimated thecourse. It would miss him by a good hundred feet, but it was probablythe best the amateur pilot could do. The ship drifted closer, but to oneside. It would soon pass him completely. 

A spacesuited figure suddenly appeared in the tiny airlock, holding acoil of rope. The rope shot out, well thrown. But it was too short. Itwould pass within ten feet--and might as well have been ten miles forall the good it would do him. 

Every film he had seen on space seemed to form a mad jumble in his mind, but he seized on the first idea he could remember. He inhaled deeply andyanked the oxygen tank free. An automatic seal on the suit cut off theconnection. He aimed the hissing bottle, fumbling for the manual valve. 

It almost worked. It kicked him toward the rope slightly, but most ofthe energy was wasted in setting him into a wilder spin. He blinked, trying to spot the rope. It was within five feet now. 

Again he waited, until he seemed to be in position. This time he threwthe bottle away from it. It added spin to his vertical axis, but therope came into view within arm's reach. 

He grasped it, just as his lungs seemed about to burst. He couldn't holdon long enough to tie the rope.... 

His lungs gave up suddenly, collapsing and then sucking in greedily. Clean air rushed in, letting his head clear. He'd forgotten that theinflated suit held enough oxygen for several minutes. 

His body struck the edge of the airlock and a hand jerked him inside. The outer seal was slammed shut and locked, and there was a hiss of airentering. 

He threw back his helmet just as Chris Ryan jerked hers off. 

Her voice shook almost hysterically. "Thank God. Dan, I almost gave up!"

"I liked the air out there better, " he told her bitterly. "If you'llopen the lock again, I'll leave. Or am I supposed to believe this isrescue and that you came along just to save me?"

"I came along to see you killed, as you know very well. Saving youwasn't in my orders. "

He grunted and reached for the handle that would release the outer lock. "Better get back inside if you don't want to blow out with me. "

"It's up to you, Dan, " she told him, and there was all the sincerity inthe world in her blue eyes. "I'm on your side now. "

He began counting on his fingers. "Let's see. The spare battery, thedelay in arresting me, the choice of Matthews--"

"It was all true. " Anger began to grow in her eyes. "Dan Feldman, youget inside this raft! If you don't care about me, you might consider thepeople dying of the plague who need you!"

She'd played her trump, and it took the round. He followed her. 

"All right, " he said grudgingly. "Spill your story. "

She held out a copy of a space radiogram, addressed to Mrs. D. E. Everts, and signed by one of the best doctors on the Lobby Board ofDirectors. 

 Regret confirm diagnosis. Topsecret. Repeat topsecret. Martian fever incubates fourteen years, believed highly fatal. No cure, research beginning immediately. Penalty violation topsecret, death all concerned. 

"Mrs. Everts rates a topsecret break?" Doc commented dryly. "Come offit, Chris!"

"She's the daughter of Elmers of Space Lobby!" Chris answered. Shepointed to the message, underlining words with her finger. "_Fourteenyears. _ You couldn't have caused it. _Highly fatal. _ And people arebeing told it's only a skin disease. _Research beginning. _ But you'vealready done most of the research. I can see that now. I can see a lotof things. "

"You've got me beat then, " he said. "I can't see how such a reformedyoung noblewoman calmly walked over and stole a life raft. I can't seehow your brilliant mind concocted this whole scheme in almost no time. And to be honest, I can't even see why Medical Lobby decided to save meat the last minute and sent you to do the job. You didn't have to spyout knowledge from me. I've been trying all along to get it to yourResearch division. "

She sighed and dropped onto a little seat. 

"I can't prove my motives. You'll just have to believe me. But it wasn'thard to do what I've done. That shuttle pilot was found in a routinecheck, stowed away on the life raft. I was with Captain Everts when hewas found, so I discovered how to get into the raft. And I heard hiswhole confession. He wasn't the real pilot. He'd come from the villagesto save you. The whole scheme was his. I just used it, hoping I couldreach you. "

As always her story had a convincing element she shouldn't have known. The pilot's farewell, addressing him as Dr. Feldman, had been too lowfor her to hear, but it was something that fitted her story. It wasprobably a deliberate clue to give him hope, to assure him the villageswere still trying. It shook his confidence. 

"And your motive--your real motive?" he insisted. 

She swore at him, then began ripping off the spacesuit. She turned herback, pulling a thin blouse down from her neck. He stared, then reachedout to touch the lump there. 

"So you've had Selznik's migraine and know you're carrying plague. Andyou've decided your precious Lobby won't save you?"

She dropped her eyes, then raised them to meet his defiantly. "I'm notjust scared and selfish. Dad caught it, too, and it must be close to thetime for him. He switched to Mars-normal when he was a liaison agent andnever changed back. Dan, are we all going to have to die? Can't you savehim?"

Feldman was out of his suit and at the control panel. There was a manuallever, which Chris must have used before. It might work out here wherethere was room to maneuver and nothing to hit. But trying to make alanding was going to be different. 

"Dan?" she repeated. 

He shrugged. "I don't know. They've started research too late andthey'll be under so much pressure that the real brains won't have achance. The topsecret stuff looks bad for research. Maybe there's acure. It works in culture bottles, but it may fail in person. When I'mconvinced I'm safe with you, I may tell you about it. "

"Oh. " Her voice was low. Then she sighed. "I suppose I can understandwhy you hate me, Dan. "

"I don't hate you. I'm too mixed up. Tomorrow maybe, but not now. Shutup and let me see if I can figure out how to land this thing. "

He found that the fuel tanks were nearly full, but that still didn'tleave much margin. Mars must have been notified by Everts and be readyto pick the raft up. He had to reach the wastelands away from any of theshuttle ports. They had no aspirators, however, and they couldn't covermuch territory in the spacesuits they would have to use. It meant he'dhave to land close to a village where he was known. 

He jockeyed the ship around by trial and error, studying the manual thatwas lying prominently on the control panel. According to the booklet, the ship was simple to operate. It was self-leveling in an atmosphere, and automatic flare computers were supposed to make it possible for anamateur to judge the rate of descent near the surface. It lookedreassuring--and was probably written with that in mind. 

Finally he reached for the control, hoping he'd figured his landingorbit reasonably well by simple logic. He smoothed it out in thefollowing hours as he watched the markings on Mars. When they were nearturnover point, he began cranking the little gyroscope to swing theship. It saved fuel to turn without power, and he wasn't sure he couldhave turned accurately by blasting. 

He was gaining some proficiency, however, he felt. But now he had towaste fuel and ruin his orbit again. There was no way to practicemaneuvering without actually doing so. 

In the end, he compromised, leaving a small margin for a bad landingthat would require a second attempt, but with less practice than hewanted. 

He had located Jake's village through the little telescope when hefinally reached for the main blast control. The thin haze of Mars'atmosphere came rushing up, while the blast lashed out. Then they werein the outer fringes of the sky and the blast was beginning to show acorona that ruined visibility. 

He turned to the flare computer and back to what he could see throughthe quartz viewport. He was going to land about half a mile from thevillage, as nearly as he could judge. 

The computer seemed to work as it should. The speed was withinacceptable limits. He gave up trying to see the ground and was forced totrust the machinery designed for amateur pilots. The flare bloomed, andhe yanked down on the little lever. 

It could have been worse. They hit the ground, bounced twice, and turnedover. The ship was a mess when Feldman freed himself from the elasticstraps of the seat. Chris had shrieked as they hit, but she wasunbuckling herself now. 

He threw her her spacesuit and one of the emergency bottles of oxygenfrom the rack. "Hurry up with that. We've sprung a leak and thepressure's dropping. "

They were halfway to the village when a dozen tractors came racing upand Jake piled out of the lead one to drag the two in with him. 

"Heard about it from the broadcasts and figured you might land aroundhere. Good to see you, Doc. " He started the tractor off at full speed, back to the wastelands, while Doc stared at the armed men who wereriding the tractors. 

Jake caught his look and nodded. "You're in enemy territory, Doc. There's a war going on!"

XII

War

Sometimes it seemed to Doc that war was nothing but an endurance race tosee how many times they could run before they were bombed. He was justbeginning to drop off to sleep after a long trip for the sixthconsecutive day when the little alarm shrilled. He sighed and shookChris awake. 

"Again?" she protested. But she got up and began helping him pack. 

Jake came in, his eyes weary, pulling on the old jacket with the bigstar on its sleeve. Doc hadn't been too surprised to learn that Jake wasthe actual leader of the rebels. "Shuttles spotted taking off this way. And I still can't find where the leak is. They haven't missed ourlocation once this week. Here, give me that. "

He took the electron mike that had been among Doc's' possessions, butChris recaptured it. "I can manage, " she told him, and headed out forthe tractor where Lou was waiting. 

Doc scowled after her. He and Jake had been watching her. She was toouseful to Doc's research to be turned away, but they didn't trust heryet. So far, however, they had found nothing wrong with her conduct. Still.... 

He swung suddenly into Jake's tractor. "Just remembered something. How'dthey find me that time I stopped in the tractor to use the mike? I waspretty well hidden, and no tracks last in the sand long enough for themto have followed. But they were there when I came to. Somehow, they musthave put a radio tracer on me. "

Jake waited while they lighted up, his eyes suddenly bright. "You meansomething you got from her house was bugged? It figures. "

"And I've still got all the stuff. Now they find wherever we set upheadquarters, though they've always managed to miss my laboratory, evenwhen they've hit the troops around us. Jake, I think it's themicroscope. " Doc managed to push enough junk off one of the seats tomake a cramped bed, and stretched out. "Sure, we figured they sent herbecause they want to keep tabs on what I discover. They've finallygotten scared of the plague, and she's the perfect Judas goat. But theyhave to have some way to get in touch with her. I'll bet there's atracer in the mike and a switch so she can modulate it or key it to sendout Morse. "

"Yeah, " Jake nodded. "Well, she does her own dirty work. I might get tolike her if she was on our side. Okay, Doc. If they've put things intothe mike, I've got a boy who'll find and fix it so she won't guess it'sbeen touched. "

Doc relaxed. For the moment, there would be no power in the instrument, nor any excuse for her to use it. But she must have handled some secretarrangement during the work periods. She used the mike more than he did. The switch could be camouflaged easily enough. If anyone detected thesignal, they'd probably only think it was some leak in the electricalcircuit. 

Far away, the shuttle rockets had appeared as tiny dots in the sky. Theywere standing on their tails a second later, just off the ground, letting the full force of their blasts bake the area where headquartershad been. 

Jake watched grimly, driving by something close to instinct. Then helooked back. "Know anything about a Dr. Harkness?"

"Not much, except that he protested sealing off the villages. Why?"

"He and five other doctors were picked up, trying to get through to us. Claimed they wanted to give us medical help. We can use them, God knows. I guess I'll have to chance it. "

They stopped at a halfway village and hid the tractors before lookingfor a place to rest. Doc found Chris curled up asleep against themicroscope. He had a hard time getting her to leave it in the tractor, but she was too genuinely tired to put up any real argument. 

Jake reported in the morning before they set out again. "You were right, Doc. It was a nice job of work. Must have taken the best guys inSouthport to hide the circuit so well. But it's safe now. It just makesa kind of meaningless static nobody can trace. Maybe we can get you apermanent lab now. "

Doc debated again having Chris left behind and decided against it. TheLobby was determined to let him find a cure for them if he could. Thatmeant Chris would work herself to exhaustion trying to help. Let herthink she was doing it for the Lobby! It was time she was on thereceiving end of a double cross. 

"It's a stinking way to run a war, " he decided. 

Jake chuckled without much humor. "It's the war you wanted, remember?They forced our hand, but it had to come sometime. Right now the Lobby'sfighting to get their hands on your work before we can use it; they'rejust using holding tactics, which helps our side. And we're hoping youget the cure so we can win. With that, maybe we'll whip them. "

It was a crazy war, with each side killing more of its own men than ofthe enemy. The runners were increasing, and Jake's army was learning toshoot the poor devils mercifully and go on. They knew, at least, thatthere was no current danger of infection. In the Lobby towns, more weredying of panic in their efforts to escape the runners. 

Desert towns had joined the villages, reluctantly but inevitably, togive the rebels nearly three-quarters of the total population. But theLobby forces and the few cities held most of the real fighting equipmentand they were ready to wait until Earth could send out unmanned rockets, loaded with atomics, which could cut through space at ten times normalspeed. 

There were vague lines of battle, but time was the vital factor. TheLobbies waited to steal a cure for the plague and the villages waiteduntil they could announce it and demand surrender as its price. 

It looked as if both sides were doomed to disappointment, however. Heand Chris had put in every spare minute between moving and the minimumof sleep in searching for something that would check the disease. Itcouldn't grow in an Earth-normal body, but it didn't die, either. Andthere wasn't enough normal food available to permit the switch-over formore than a handful of people. Even Earth was out of luck, since eightypercent of her population ate synthetics. There were ways to synthesizeEarth-normal food, but they were still hopelessly inefficient. 

Jake had ordered one of the villages to rebuild their plant for such apurpose, while another was producing the enzyme that would permitswitching. But it looked hopeless for more than a few of the mostvaluable men. 

"No progress?" Jake asked for the hundredth time. 

Doc grinned wryly. "A lot, but no help. We've found a fine acceleratorfor the bug. We can speed up its incubation or even make someone alreadyinfected catch it all over again. But we can't slow it down or stop it. "

The new laboratory was still being fitted when they arrived. It had beendug into one of the few real cliffs in this section of Mars. The powerplant had been installed, complete with a steam plant that would operateoff sunlight in the daytime through a series of heat valves that took ina lot of warm air and produced smaller amounts hot enough to boil water. 

"I'll see you whenever I can, " Jake said. "But mostly, you're going tobe somewhat isolated so they won't trace you. Let them think they goofedwith the shuttles and hit you and Chris. Anything you need?"

"Guinea pigs, " Doc told him sarcastically. It was meant as a joke, though a highly bitter one. Jake nodded and left them. 

Doc opened the cots as Chris came in, not bothering to unpack theequipment. "Hit the sack, Chris, " he told her. 

She looked at him doubtfully. "You almost said that the way you'daddress a human being, Dan. You're slipping. One of these days you'lllike me again. "

"Maybe. " He was too tired to argue. "I doubt it, though. Forget it andget some sleep. "

She watched him silently until he got up to turn out the light. Then shesighed heavily. "Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"I never got a divorce. The publicity would have been bad. But anyway, we're still married. "

"That's nice. " He swung to face her briefly. "And they found the radioin the microscope. Better get to sleep, Chris. "

"Oh. " It was a quiet exclamation, barely audible. There was a sound thatmight have been a sniffle if it had come from anyone else. Then sherolled over. "All right, Dan. I still want to help you. "

He cursed himself for a stupid fool for telling her. Fatigue was ruiningwhat judgment he had. From now on, he'd have to watch her every minute. Or had she really seen the value of the research by now? She wasn't afool. It should have registered on even her stubborn mind. But he wastoo sleepy to think about it. 

She had breakfast ready in the morning. She made no comment on what hadbeen said during the night. Instead, she began discussing a way to keepone of the organic antibiotics from splitting into simpler compoundswhen they tried to switch it over to Mars-normal. They were bothhopelessly bad chemists and biologists, but there was no one else to dothe work. 

Chris worked harder than ever during the day. 

Just after sundown, Jake came in with a heavy box. He dropped it ontothe floor. "Mice!"

Doc ripped off the cover, exposing fine screening. There were at leastsix dozen mice inside!

"Harkness found them, " Jake explained. "A hormone extraction plant usedthem for testing some of the products. Had them sent by regularshipments from Earth. Getting them cost a couple of men, but Harknessclaims it's worth it. He's a good man on a raid. Here!"

He'd gone to the doorway again and came back with another box, this onecrammed with bottles and boxes. "They had quite a laboratory, andHarkness picked out whatever he thought you could use. "

Chris and Doc were going through it. The labels were engineering ones, but the chemical formulae were identification enough. There were dozensof chemicals they hadn't hoped to get. 

"Anything else?" Doc finally asked as they began arranging the supplies. 

"More runners. A lot more. We're still holding things down, but it'sreaching a limit. Panic will start in the camps if this keeps on. Butthat's my worry. You stick to yours. "

Several of the new chemicals showed promise in the tubes. But two ofthem proved fatal to the mice and the others were completely innocuousin the little animal's bodies, both to mouse and to germ. The plague wasmuch hardier in contact with living cells than in the artificialenvironment of the culture jars. 

They lost seven mice in two days, but that seemed unimportant; thefemales were already living up to their reputations, nearly allpregnant. Doc didn't know the gestation period, but he remembered thatit was short. 

"Funny they all started at the same time, " he commented. "Must have beenshipped out separately or else been kept apart while they were switchedover to Mars-normal. Something interrupted their habits, anyhow. "

A few nights later they learned what it was. There was a horriblesquealing that woke him out of the depths of his sleep. Chris wasalready at the light switch. As light came on, they turned to the mousebox. 

All the animals were charging about in their limited space, their littlelegs driving madly and their mouths open. What they lacked in size theymade up in numbers, and the din was terrific. 

But it didn't last. One by one, the mice began dropping to the floor ofthe cage. In fifteen minutes, they were all dead!

It was obviously the plague, contracted after having their metabolismswitched. Women were sterile for some time after Selznik's migrainestruck, and the same must have been true of the mice. They must havecontracted the plague at about the same time and reached fertilitytogether. Somehow, the plague incubation period had been shortened tofit their life span; the disease was nothing if not adaptive. 

Chris prepared a slide in dull silence. The familiar cell was there whenDoc looked through the microscope. He picked up one of the littlecreatures and cut it open, removing one of the foetuses. 

"Make a film of that, " he suggested. 

She worked rapidly, scraping out the almost microscopic brain, dissolving out the fatty substance, and transferring the result to afilm. This time, even at full magnification, there was no sign of thefilaments that were always present in diseased flesh. The results werethe same for the other samples they made. 

"Something about the very young animal or a secretion from the mother'sorgans keeps the bug from working. " Doc reached for a bracky weed andaccepted a light from Chris without thinking of it. "Every kid I'veheard about contracted the plague between the second and third year. None are born with it, none get it earlier. I've suspected this, but nowhere's confirmation. "

Chris began preparing specimens, while Doc got busy with tubes of theculture. They'd have to test various fluids from the tiny bodies, butthere were enough cultures prepared. Then, if the substance onlyinhibited growth, there would be a long, slow test; if it killed thebugs, they might know more quickly. 

Jake came in before the final tests, but waited on them. Doc wasstudying a film in the microscope. He suddenly motioned excitedly forChris. 

"See the filaments? They're completely disintegrated. And there's one ofthe big cells broken open. We've got it! It's in the blood of thefoetus. And it must be in the blood of newborn children, too!"

Jake looked at the slide, but his face was doubtful. 

"Maybe you've got something, Doc. I hope so. And I hope you can use it. "He shook his head wearily. "We need good news right now. A couple of bigrockets just reached the station and they've been sending shuttles backand forth a mile a minute. Nobody can figure how they got here so fastor what they're for. But it doesn't look good for us!"

XIII

Susceptibility

Doc could feel the tension in the village where GHQ was temporarilylocated long before they were close enough for details to register. Thepeople were gathered in clusters, staring at the sky where the stationmust be. A few were pacing up and down, gesticulating with tight sweepsof their arms. 

One woman suddenly went into even more violent action. She leaped intothe air and then took off at a rapid trot, then a run. Her hands weretearing at her clothes and her mouth seemed to be working violently. Shewas halfway to the top of the nearest dune before a rifle cracked. Shedropped, to twitch once and lie still. 

Almost with her death, another figure leaped from one of the houses, hisface bare of the necessary aspirator. He took off at a violent run, buthe was falling from lack of air before the bullet ended his struggles. 

The people suddenly began to move apart, as if trying to get away fromeach other. For weeks they had faced the horror with courage; now it wasfinally too much for them. 

Tension mounted as no news came from the cities. Doc noticed that itseemed to aggravate or speed up the disease. He saw three men shot inthe next half-hour. 

He was trying to calm them with word of a possible cure for the plague, but their reactions were as curiously dull as those of Jake had been. Ashe spoke, they faced him with set expressions. At his mention of theneed for the blood of young children, they turned from him, sullenlysilent. 

Jake came over, nodding unhappily. "It's what I was afraid might happen, Doc. George Lynn! Tell Doc what's wrong. "

Lynn was reluctant, but he finally stumbled out his explanation. "Itain't like you, Doc. Comes from that Lobby woman you got. It's her dirtyidea. We've seen the Lobby doctors cutting open our kids, poisoningtheir blood, and bleeding them dry. That ain't gonna happen again, Doc. You tell her it ain't!"

Doc swore as he realized their ignorance. An unexplained vaccinationlooked like poisoning of the blood. But he couldn't understand thebleeding part until Jake filled him in. 

"Northport infant's wing. Each department has its own blood bank anddonation is compulsory. Southport started it a couple months ago, too. "

The long arm of the Lobby had reached out again. Now if he ever got themto try the treatment, it would be only after long sessions of preparingthem with the facts, and there was hardly enough time for the crucialwork!

By afternoon, Judge Ben Wilson reached them. His voice shook withfatigue as he climbed up to address the crowd through a power megaphone. "Southport's going crazy. " He had to pause for breath between eachsentence. "Earth's pulling back all the important people. They'repacking them into the ships. They're leaving only colonials with noEarth rights. Those ships left when they decided the plague was comingfrom here. They won't let anybody back until the plague is licked. Therewon't be an Earth technician on Mars tomorrow. "

"No bombs?" someone called. 

"No bombs. The ships must have started before you rebelled, maybe meanthonestly to save their own kind. But now it's a military action, anddon't think it won't mean trouble. The poor devils in the city bet onthe wrong horse. Now they can't run their food factories or anythingelse for long. Not without technicians. They've got to whip you now. Upto this time, they've been fighting for the Lobbies. Now they'll fightyou for their own bellies to get your supplies. And they've still gotshuttle rockets and fuel for them. Now beat it. I gotta confer withJake. "

Doc started after the judge, but Dr. Harkness caught his arm and drewhim aside. Chris followed. 

"I've found another epidemic, " Harkness told them. "Over at Marconi. It's kept me on the run all night, and now half the village is down withit. Starts like a common cold, runs a fair fever, and the skin breaksout all over with bright red dots.... "

He went on describing it. Chris began asking him about what medicalsupplies he had brought with him, pilfered from Northport hospital. Sheseemed to know what it was, but refused to say until she saw the cases. Doc also preferred to wait. Sometimes things weren't as bad as theyseemed, though usually they were worse. 

Marconi was dead to all outward appearances, with nobody on the streets. It had been a village of great hopes a week before, since this was wherethey had decided to experiment with switching the people back toEarth-normal. They'd had the best chance of survival of anyone on Marsuntil this came up. 

Three people lay on the beds in the first house Harkness led them to. The room was darkened, and a man was stumbling around, trying to tendthe others, though the little spots showed on his skin. He grinnedweakly. "Hi, Doc. I guess we're making a lot of trouble, ain't we?"

Chris gave Doc no chance to answer. "Just as I thought. Measles! Plainold-fashioned measles. "

"Figured so, " the sick man said. "Like my brother back on Earth. "

The others looked doubtful, but Doc reassured them. Chris should know;she'd worked in a swanky hospital where the patients were mostlyEarth-normal. Measles was one of the diseases which was foiled by themetabolism switch. Well, at least they wouldn't have to be quarantinedhere. 

Chris finished treating the family with impersonal efficiency, discussing the symptoms loudly with Harkness. "It's a good thing itisn't serious!"

"No, " Harkness answered bitterly. "Not serious. It's only killed fivechildren and three adults so far!"

"It would, here, " Doc agreed unhappily. He led Chris out of the room onthe pretext of washing his hands. "It's serious enough to force us toabandon the whole idea of going back to Earth-normal. Measles today, smallpox, tuberculosis, scarlet fever and everything else tomorrow. These people have lived Mars-normal so long their natural immunity hasbeen destroyed. On Earth where the disease was everywhere, kids used topick up some immunity with constant exposure, even without what might becalled a case of the disease. Here, the blood has no reason to buildantibodies. They can be killed by things people used to laugh at. Howthe disease got here, I don't know. But it's here. So we'll have togive up the idea of switching back to Earth-normal. "

He gathered up one of the kits and started toward the other houses. "AndLord knows how long it will take to get the blood for the othertreatment, even if it works. "

They worked as a team for a while, with Harkness frowning as he watchedChris. Finally the young doctor stopped Chris outside the fifth house. "These are my patients, Dr. Ryan. I left the Lobby because I didn'tbelieve colonials were mere livestock. I still feel the same. Iappreciate your help in diagnosis and methods of treatment. But I can'tlet you handle my patients this way. "

"Dan!" She swung around with eyes glazing. "Dan, are you going to standfor that?"

"I think you'd better wait in the tractor, Chris. "

He was lucky enough to catch the kit she threw at him before itsprecious contents spilled. But it wasn't luck that guided his hand tothe back of her skirt hard enough to leave it stinging. 

Her face froze and she stormed out. A moment later they heard thetractor start off. 

But Doc had no time to think of her. He and Harkness split up and begancovering the streets, house by house, while he passed on the word toabandon the metabolism switch and go back to Mars-normal. 

Jake sent two other doctors to relieve them late in the evening. Thingswere somewhat quieter at GHQ as Doc reported the events at Marconi. 

"Where's Dr. Ryan?" Jake asked at last. 

Doc exchanged glances with Harkness. "She isn't in the lab?"

"Wasn't there an hour ago. "

Doc cursed himself for letting her go. With the knowledge that the radioin the mike was disabled, she'd obviously grabbed the first chance toreport back. And with her had gone news of the only cure they had found. 

Jake took it as philosophically as he could, though it was a heavy blowto his hopes. They spent half the night looking for her tractor, on thechance that she might have gotten lost or broken down, but there was nosign of it. 

She was waiting in the laboratory when he returned at dawn. Her face wasdirty and her uniform was a mess. But she was smiling. She got up togreet him, holding out two large bottles. 

"Infant plasma--straight from Southport. And if you think I had it easylying my way in and out of the hospital, you're a fool, Dan Feldman. Ifthe man who took my place there hadn't been a native idiot, I neverwould have gotten away with it. "

The things he had suspected could still be right, he realized. She couldhave reported everything to the Lobby. It was a better explanation thanher vague account of bullying her way in and out. But she'd had a roughdrive, and he wanted the plasma. Curiously, he was glad to have her backwith him. He reached out a hand for the bottles. 

She put the bottle on the table and grabbed up a short-bladed knife. "Not so fast, " she cried. Her eyes were blazing now. "Dan Feldman, ifyou touch those bottles until you've crawled across the floor on yourface and apologized for the way you treated me the last few days, I'llcut your damned heart out. "

He shook his head, chuckling at the picture she made. There were timeswhen he could almost see why he'd married her. 

"All right, Chris, " he gave in. "I'll be darned if I'll crawl, butyou've earned an apology. Okay?"

She sighed uncertainly. Then she nodded and began changing for work. 

XIV

Immunity

They worked through the day in what seemed to be armed truce. There wasno coffee waiting for him when he awoke next, as he'd come to expect, but he didn't comment. He went to where she was already working, checking on the results of the plasma on the cultures. 

The response had been slower than with the mouse blood, but now the bugsseemed to be dead. The filaments were destroyed, and there were no signsof the big cells. It seemed to be a cure, at least in the culturebottles. 

"We'll need volunteers, " he decided. "There should be animals, but wedon't have any. At least this stuff isn't toxic. We need a naturalimmune and someone infected. Two of each, so one can be treated and theother used for a control. Makes four. Not enough to be sure, but it willhave to do. "

"Two, " Chris corrected. "You're not infected, I am. "

"Two others, " he agreed. "I'll get them from Jake. "

Most of GHQ was out on the street, but Doc found Jake inside the bigschoolroom where he enjoyed his early morning bracky and coffee. Thechief listened and agreed at once, turning to the others in the room. 

"Who's had the jumping headache? Okay, Swanee. Who never had it?" Heblinked in surprise as three men nodded out of the eight present. "Iguess you go, Tom. "

The two men stood up, tamping out their weeds, and went out with Doc. 

Chris had everything set up. They matched coins to decide who would betreated. Doc noticed that Chris would get no plasma, while he wasscheduled for everything. He watched her prepare the culture and add theaccelerator that would speed development and make certain he and Tomwere infected, then let her inject it. 

That was all, except for the waiting. To keep conditions more closelyalike, they were to stay there until the tests were finished, not eveneating for fear of upsetting the conditions. Swanee dug out a pack ofworn cards and began to deal while Doc dug out some large pills to useas chips. 

It was an hour later when the pain began. Doc had just won the pot offifty pills and opened his mouth for the expected gloating. He yelled asan explosion seemed to go off inside his head. Even closing his mouthwas agony. 

A moment later, Tom began to sweat. It got worse, spreading to the wholearea of the back of the head and neck. Doc lay on the cot, envying Chrisand Swanee who had already been infected naturally. He longeddesperately for bracky, and had to keep reminding himself that no drugsmust upset the tests. It was the longest day he had ever spent, and hebegan to doubt that he could get through it. He watched the little clockmove from one minute to nine over to half a minute and hung breathlessuntil it hit the nine. There was no question about whether the infectionhad taken. Now they could dull the agony. 

Chris had the anodyne tablets already dissolved in water, and Swanee waspassing out three lighted bracky weeds. It took a few minutes for therelief of the anodyne, and even that couldn't kill all the pain. But itdidn't matter by comparison. He sucked the weed, mashed it out and begandealing the cards again. 

They had a plentiful supply of the anodyne and used it liberally duringthe night. The test was a speeded-up simulation of the natural course ofthe disease, where painkiller would take time to get for most peoplehere, but would then be used generously. 

Precisely at nine in the morning, Chris began to inject Swanee and Docwith plasma. 

Now there was no thought of cards. They waited, trying to talk, but withmost of their attention on the clock. Doc had estimated that an hourshould be enough to show results, but it was hard to remember that anhour was the guess as to the minimum time. 

He winced as Chris took a tiny bit of flesh from his neck. She went tothe other men, and then submitted to his work on herself. Then she beganpreparing the slides. 

"Feldman, " she read the name of the slide as she inserted it into themicroscope. Then her breath caught sharply. "Only dead cells!"

It was the same for Swanee and Tom. Each had to look at his own slideand have it explained before the results could be believed. But at lastChris bent over her own slide. A minute later she glanced up, nodding. "What it should be. It checks. "

Tom whooped and went out the door to notify Jake. There was only plasmafor some two hundred injections, but that should yield sufficient proof. Once salvation was offered, there should be no trouble convincing thepeople that blood donations from their children were worthwhile. 

Later, when the last of the plasma had been used, they could finallyrelax. Chris slipped off her smock and dropped onto the cot. A tiredsmile came onto her lips. "You're forgiven, Dan, " she said. A momentlater she was obviously asleep. Doc meant to join her, but it was toomuch effort. He leaned his head forward onto his arms, vaguely wonderingwhy she was calling off the feud. 

It was night outside when he awoke, and he was lying on the cot, thoughhe still felt cramped and strained. He stirred, groaning, and finallyrealized that a hand was on his shoulder shaking him. He looked up tosee Jake above him. Chris was busy with the coffee maker. 

Jake slumped onto the cot beside Doc. "We took Southport, " he announced. 

That knocked the sleep out of Doc's system. "You what?"

"We took it, lock, stock and barrel. I figured the news of your curewould put guts into the men, and it did. But we'd probably have taken itanyhow. There wasn't anything to fight for there after Earth pulled outand the plague really hit. Wilson mistook last-minute panic for fightingspirit. The poor devils didn't have anything to fight about, once theLobby stopped goading them. "

Doc tried to assimilate the news. But once the surprise was gone, hefound it meant very little. Maybe his revolutionary zeal had cooled, once the Lobby men had pulled out. "We'll need a lot more plasma thanthere is in Southport, " he said. 

"Not so much, maybe, " Jake denied. "Doc, three of the men you injectedwere shot down as runners. Your plasma's no good. "

"It takes time to work, Jake. I told you there might be a case or twothat would be too close to the edge. Three is more than I expected; butit's not impossible. "

"There was plenty of time. They blew after we got back from Southport. "Jack dropped his hand on Doc's shoulder, and his face softened. "Harkness tested every man you injected. He finished half an hour ago. Five showed dead bugs. The rest of them weren't helped at all. "

Doc fumbled for a weed, trying to think. But his thoughts refused tofocus. "Five!"

"Five out of two hundred. That's about average. And what about Tom? Hewas jumping around after the test last night, telling how you'd curedhim, how he'd seen the dead bugs; but he never had the jumping headache, and you never gave him the plasma! He's got dead bugs, though. Harknesstested him. "

Doc let his realization of his own idiocy sink in until he could believeit. Jake was right. Tom had never been treated, yet Chris had reporteddead bugs. They'd all been so ready to believe in miracles that no onehad been able to think straight after the long wait. 

"There was a bump on his neck--a small one, " he said slowly. "Jake, hemust have caught it, even if he seemed immune. If he was taking anodyneanyway for something--or unconscious--"

"He was up in Northport six years ago for a kidney operation, " Jakeadmitted doubtfully. "We had to chip in to pay for it. But you stilldidn't treat him, and he's cured. Face it, Doc, that plasma is no goodinside the body. "

His hand tightened on Doc's shoulder again. "We're not blaming you. Wedon't judge a man here except by what he is. Maybe the stuff helps alittle. We'll go on using it when we get it; tell everybody you were amite optimistic, so they'll figure it's a gamble, but have a little hopeleft. And you keep trying. Something cured it in Tom. Now you find outwhat. "

Doc watched him go out numbly, and turned to Chris. 

"It can't be right, " she said shakily. "You and Swanee were cured. Maybeit was the accelerator. It had to be something. "

"You didn't have the accelerator, " he accused. 

"No, and I've still got live bugs. I was never supposed to be cured, soI expected to see just what I saw. How I missed the fact that Tom shouldhave been like me, I don't know. Damn it, oh, damn it!"

He's never seen her cry before, except in fury. But she mastered italmost at once, shaking tears out of her eyes. "All right. Plasma worksin a bottle but not in an adult body. Maybe something works in the bodybut not in a bottle. "

"Maybe. And maybe some people are just naturally immune after it reachesa certain stage. Maybe we ran into coincidence. "

But he didn't believe that, any more than she did. The answer had to bein the room. He'd taken a massive dose of the disease and been cured ina few hours. 

Outside the room, the war went on, drawing toward a close. The supposedpartial cure was good propaganda, if nothing else, and Jake was wideninghis territory steadily. There was only token resistance against him. Hehad the Southport shuttles now to cover huge areas in a hurry. Butinside the room, the battle was less successful. It wasn't theaccelerator. It wasn't the tablets of anodyne. They even tried sweepingthe floor and using the dust without results. 

Then another test in the room, made with four volunteers Jake selected, yielded complete cures after injections with plain salt water in placeof plasma. 

The plague speeded up again. About four people out of a hundred nowseemed to have caught the disease and cured themselves. They accountedfor what faith was left in Doc's plasma and gave some unfounded hope tothe others. 

Northport fell a week later, putting the whole planet in rebel hands. 

Jake returned, wearier than ever. He'd proved to be one of the naturalimmunes, but the weight of the campaign that could only end in a defeatby the plague left him no room to rejoice in his personal fortune. 

This time he looked completely defeated. And a moment later, Doc saw whyas Jake flipped a flimsy sheet onto the table. It bore the seals ofSpace and Medical Lobbies. 

Jake pointed upwards. "The war rockets are there, all right. We knewthey'd come. Now all they want for calling them off is our surrender andyour cure. If they don't get both, they'll blow the planet to bits. Wehave two days. "

The rockets could be seen clearly with binoculars. There were more thanenough to destroy all life on the planet. Maybe they'd be usedeventually, anyhow, since the Lobbies wanted no more rebellion. But witha cure for the plague, he might have bought them off. 

Chris stood beside him, looking as if it were a bitter pill for her, too. She'd risked herself in the hands of the enemy, had cooperated withhim in everything she'd been taught to oppose, and had worked like adog. Now the Lobbies seemed to forget her as a useless tool. They werefalling back on a raw power play and forgetting any earlier schemes. 

"Maybe they'd hold off for a while if I agreed to go to them and shareall my ideas, specimens and notes, " he said at last. "Do you think yourLobby would settle for that, Chris?"

"I don't know, Dan. I've stopped thinking their way. " She seemed almostapologetic for the admission. 

He dropped an arm over her shoulder and turned with her back to thelaboratory. "Okay, then we've got to find a miracle. We've got two daysahead of us. At least we can try. "

But he knew he was lying to himself. There wasn't anything he couldthink of to try. 

XV

Decision

Two days was never enough time for a miracle. Doc decided as he packedhis notes into a small bag and put it beside his bundle of personalbelongings. He glanced around the room for the last time, and managed agrin at Jake's gloomy expression. 

"Maybe I can bluff them, or maybe they'll string along for a while, " hesaid. "Anyhow, now that they've agreed to take me and my notes in placeof the cure we're fresh out of, I've got to be on that shuttle when itgoes back to their men at orbital station. "

Jake nodded. "I don't like selling friends down the river, Doc. But itwouldn't do you any more good to blow up with the planet, I reckon. Theywon't call off the war rockets when they do get you, of course. Butmaybe they won't use them, except as a threat to put the Lobbies backin, stronger than ever. "

He stuck out one of his awkwardly shaped hands, clapped the aspiratorover his face and hurried out. Doc picked up his bags and went towardthe little tractor where Lou was waiting to drive him and Chris backtoward Southport and the shuttle rocket that would be landing for them. They hadn't mentioned Chris in their demands, but her father must expecther to return. 

After they had him, he'd be on his own. His best course was probably toinsist on talking only to Ryan at Medical Lobby, and then beingcompletely honest. The room here would be kept sealed, in case theLobby wanted to investigate where he had failed. And his notes werehonest, which was something that could usually be determined. Chriscould testify to that, anyhow, since she'd kept a lot of them for him. 

At best, there would be a chance for some compromise and perhaps someclue for them that might eventually end the plague. They had enough mento work on it, and billions in equipment. At worst, he should gain alittle time. 

"Cheer up, Chris, " he told her as he climbed through the little airlock. "Maybe Harkness will turn up the cure before our negotiations breakdown. He has the whole of Northport Hospital to play with. They haven'ttried to chase him out of there yet. After all, we almost foundsomething with no equipment except wild imaginations. "

She shook her head as the tractor began moving. "Shut up! I've gotenough trouble without your coming down with logorrhea. Don't be afool. "

"Why change now?" he asked her. "Everything I've done has been because Iam a fool. I guess my luck lasted longer than I could expect. And I'mstill fool enough to think that the solution has to turn up eventually. We know it has to be in that room. Damn it, we must know it--if we couldonly think straight now. "

She reached over and touched his hand, but made no comment. They hadbeen over that statement of desperation too many times already. But itkept nagging at him--something in the room, something in the room!Something so common that nobody noticed it!

They passed a crowd chasing down a runner. Something in that room couldhave saved the unlucky man. It could have saved Mars, perhaps. 

He growled for the hundredth time, cursing his fatigue-numbed mind. Toolittle sleep, too much coffee and bracky.... 

He reached for the package of weed, realizing that he would miss it onEarth, if he ever got there. Like everything here on the planet, he'dbegun by detesting it and wound up finding it the thing he wanted tokeep forever. He lighted the bracky and sat smoking, watching Lou drive. When the first was finished, he lighted another from the butt. 

She put out a hand and took it away. "Please, Dan. I can stand thestuff, but I'll never like it, and the tractor's stuffy enough already. I've taken enough of it. And it keeps reminding me of our test--thethree of you stinking up the place, puffing and blowing that out, whileI couldn't even get a breath of air.... "

She was getting logorrhea herself now and--

The answer finally hit him! He jerked around, making a grab for Lou'sshoulder, motioning for the man to head back. 

"Bracky--it has to be! Chris, that's it. Jake picked out the secondgroup of men from his friends--and they are all cronies because theyhang around so much in their so-called smoking room. The first time, itkilled the bugs for all of us who smoked--and it didn't work for youbecause you never learned the habit. "

Lou had the tractor turned and the rheostat all the way to the floor. 

She was sitting up now, but she wasn't fully satisfied. "The percentageof immunes seems about right. But why do some of the smokers get thedisease while some don't?"

"Why not? It depends on whether they pick up the habit before or afterthe disease gets started. Tom must have got his while he was inNorthport. They wouldn't let him smoke there--if he had the habitbefore, for that matter. "

She found no fault with that. He twisted it back and forth in his mind, trying to find a fault. There seemed to be none. The only trouble wasthat they couldn't send a message that bracky was the cure and hope thatEarth would prove it true. No polite note of apology would do afterthat. They had to be sure. Too many other ideas had proved wrongalready. 

Jake saw them coming and came running toward the laboratory, but Loustopped the tractor before it reached the building and let the older manin. 

"Get me a dozen men who have the plague. I want the worst cases youhave, and ones that Harkness tested himself, " Doc ordered. "And thenstart praying that the cure we've got works fast. "

Chris was at the electron mike at once, but one of her hands reached outfor the weed. She began puffing valiantly, making sick faces. Now othermen began coming in, their faces struggling to find hope, but not daringto believe yet. Jake followed them. 

"We'll test at ten-minute intervals. That will be about two hours forthe last from the group, " Doc decided. One of the doctors Harkness hadbrought to the villages was busy cutting tiny sections from the lumps onthe men's necks, while Chris ran them through the microscope to makesure the bugs were still alive. The regular optical mike was strongenough for that. 

Doc handed each man a bracky weed, with instructions to keep smoking, nomatter how sick it made him. 

There were no results at the end of ten minutes when the first test wasmade. The second, at the end of twenty minutes, was still infected withlive bugs. At the half-hour, Chris frowned. 

"I can't be sure--take a look, Dan. "

He bent over, moving the slide to examine another spot. "I think so. Thenext one should tell. "

There was no doubt about the fourth test. The bugs were dead, without asingle exception that they could find. 

One by one, the men were tested and went storming out, shouting thenews. For a minute, the gathering crowd was skeptical, remembering theother failures. Then, abruptly, men were screaming, crying and fightingfor the precious bracky, like the legions of the damned grabbing forlottery tickets when the prize was a passport to paradise. 

Jake swore as he moved toward the door. "We're low on bracky here. Haveto get a supply from Edison, I guess, and cart it to the shuttle. Enoughfor a sample, and to make them want more. It'll be tough, but we'll getit there in time--by the time the shuttle should be picking you up. Doc, you've won our war! From now on, if Earth wants to keep her populationup, we'll be a free planet!"

Chris turned slowly from the microscope, holding a slide in her hands. "My bugs, " she said unbelievingly. "Dan, they're dead!"

Jake patted her shoulder. "That makes it perfect, girl. Now come on. We've got to start celebrating a victory!"

 * * * * *

It was the general feeling of most of the heads of the villages whenthey met the next day in Southport, using the courtroom that had beenpresided over so long by Judge Ben Wilson. It was victory, and to thevictor belonged the spoils. The bracky had gone out to Earth on aconverted war rocket that could make the trip in less than two weeks, and one packet had been specially labeled for Captain Everts. But Earthhad already confirmed the cure. The small amounts of the herb found inthe botanical collections had been enough to satisfy all doubts. 

Harkness, Chris and Doc had been fighting against the desire to robEarth blind that filled most of the men here for hours now. Now they hadthe backing of Jake and Ben Wilson. And now finally they leaned back, sensing that the argument had been won. 

Bargaining was all right in its place, but it had no place in affairs oflife and death such as this. They had to see that Earth received all thebracky she needed. It was only right to charge a fair price for it, butthey couldn't restrict it by withholding or overcharging. And they couldstill gain their ends without blackmail. 

Martian alkaloids were tricky things, and bracky smoke contained anumber of them. It would take Earth at least ten years to discover andsynthesize the right one--and it would still probably cost more than itwould to import the weed from Mars. As long as the source of that weedwas here, and in the hands of the colonials, there would be no danger ofEarth's bombing the planet. 

Harkness got up to underscore a point Wilson had made. "The plague liveda million years, and it won't disappear now. The jumping headache, orSelznick's migraine, is unpleasant enough to make us reasonably surethat there will be a steady consumption of the weed. Our problem will beto keep the children from using too much of it, probably. " He pulled aweed out and lighted it, puckering his face as the smoke bit histongue. "I'm told that this gets to be an enjoyable habit. If I canbelieve that, surely you can believe me when I say we don't have tobargain with lives. "

The village men were human, and most of them could remember the strainthey had been under when they expected those they loved to die at anyhour. It had made them crave vengeance, but now as they had a chance toreexamine it, they began to find it harder to impose the horror of anysuch threat on others. The final vote was almost unanimous. 

Doc listened as they wrangled over the wording of the message to Earth, feeling disconnected from it. He passed Chris a bracky and lighted itfor her. She took it automatically, smiling as the smoke hit her lungs. It was one thing they had in common now, at least. 

Ben Wilson finally read the message. 

"To the people of Earth, greetings!

"On behalf of the free people of Mars, I have the honor to announce thatthis planet hereby declares itself a sovereign and independent world. Weshall continue to regard Earth as our mother, and to consider the healthand welfare of her people in no way second to our own in matters whichaffect both planets. We trust that Earth will share this feeling ofmutual friendship. We trust that all strains of hostility will be ended. The advantages to each from peaceful commerce make any course other thanthe most cordial of relations unthinkable. 

"We shall consider proof of such friendship an order by Earth to allrockets circling this planet that they shall deliver themselves safelyinto our hands, in order that we may begin converting them to peacefulpurposes for the trade that is to come. In turn, we pledge that allefforts will be made to ensure a prompt delivery of those products mostin demand, including the curative bracky plant. "

He turned to Doc then. "You want to sign it, Dr. Feldman? Make it asacting president or something, until we can get around to voting youinto permanent office. "

"You and Jake fight over the job, " Doc told him. "No, Ben, I mean it. "

He got up and moved out into the outer room, where he could avoid thestares of amazement that were turned to him. He'd never asked for thehonor, and he didn't want it. 

Chris came with him. Her face was shocked and something was slowlydraining out of it as he looked at her. 

"Forget it, Chris, " he said. "You're going back to Earth. There isnothing for you here. "

She hadn't quite given up. "There could be, Dan. You know that. "

"No. No, Chris, I don't think there ever can be. You can't find a manstrong enough to rule who'll be weak enough to let you rule in hisplace. It didn't work on Earth, and it won't work here. Forget thedreams you had of what could be done with a new planet. Those are thedreams that made a mess of the old one. "

"I'll be back, " she told him. "Some day I'll be back. "

He shook his head again. "No. You wouldn't like what you find here. Freedom is heady stuff, but you have to have a taste for it. You can'tacquire a fondness for it secondhand. And for a while, there's going tobe freedom here. Besides, once you get back to Earth, you'll forget whathappened here. "

She sighed at last. For the first time since he had known her, sheseemed to give in completely. And for that brief moment, he loved whatshe could have been, but never would be. 

"All right, Dan, " she said quietly. "I can't fight you. I never could, Isee now. I'll take the rocket back. What are you going to do?"

He hadn't bothered to think, but he knew the answer. "Research. Whatelse?"

There would be a lot of research done here. It had been suppressed toolong, and had piled up a back-pressure that would have to be relieved. And from that research, he suspected, would come the end of the stableoligarchy of Earth. It could never stand against the changes that wouldbe pouring out of Mars. 

She put her hands on his shoulders and moved forward to kiss him. Hebent down to meet her, and found her eyes were wet. Maybe his were, too. Then she broke free. 

"You're a fool, Dan Feldman, " she whispered, and began moving down thehallway and out of the council hall of Mars. 

Doc Feldman nodded slowly as he let her go. He was a fool. He had alwaysbeen a fool, and always would be. And that was why he could never takeover leadership here. Fools and idealists should never govern a world. It took practical men such as Jake to do that. 

But the practical men needed the foolish idealists, too. And maybe for atime here on Mars their kind of men and his kind of fools could make onemore stab at the ancient puzzle of freedom. 

Outside the war rockets of Earth began landing quietly on the free soilof Mars. 

[Transcriber's Note: The following errors in the original have beencorrected in this version:

Page 5: 'and there was' to 'and there were'

Page 9: 'ideopathic gastroentiritis' to 'idiopathic gastroenteritis'

Page 29: 'The cheapness of snythetics' to 'The cheapness of synthetics'

Page 42: 'huband's' to 'husband's'

Page 43: 'Southpost' to 'Southport'

Page 47: 'laywer' to 'lawyer'

Page 50: 'in a can' to 'to a can'

Page 118: 'Selnick's' to 'Selznick's'

]

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