Illustrated by Freas
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science Fiction August 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The little party came through the air lock bearing a limp figure on animprovised litter.
"Who was it this time?" Fenner asked.
Gorsline pulled off the transparent hood that covered his head andface, and unzipped his suit. He dug his fingers wearily into his eyes.
"Bodkin," he said. "Same as the others." He turned back to the group."Get him right to the infirmary. Not that it'll do much good," headded, in an undertone, to Fenner.
Fenner sighed, glancing at Bodkin on the litter. Behind the plasticprotection of his mask the man's face was a dark purple; his chest roseand fell spasmodically and there was a faint line of foam on his lips.
Gorsline slipped off his suit, and put it over his arm. Then he andFenner walked together up the ramp to the Common Room.
"I need a drink," he said. "And a smoke. It's awful not being able tosmoke out there."
"You should cultivate Aristotelian moderation," Fenner said, with agrin. "It is far wiser in a Planet Biological Survey Station."
"Moderation didn't do poor Bodkin any good." Gorsline threw hissuit into a corner and touched the stud on the dispenser. A lightedcigarette dropped into the trough. "Make me a drink, will you, Luke?"he asked, dropping into a reclining chair.
Hagen, the chief of the Station, came bouncing through the iris,walking as usual as if he had springs under his heels. He was a littleplump man with a goatee, which he was tugging in a sort of ecstasy ofexasperation.
"Hello!" he cried. "Ha, Fenner. Listen, Gorsline, I've just seenBodkin. This is dreadful. Three in one week!"
"I agree," Gorsline said, taking the drink Fenner had made for him."Let's pack up and go home. Shall we?"
Fenner relaxed on the middle of his spine in an easy-chair, and foldedhis hands together, peering over them at the chief who sat down andstood up and sat down again. You'd never know that man was a capableorganizer, he said to himself. Astonishing how people can betray theirown appearances—seldom what they seem. Aloud, he said, "Excuse me,Hagen. I want to ask Gorsline—did you see any animals nearby when ithappened?"
Gorsline shook his head. "I remembered what you said, but I didn'tnotice anything at all. It was just the same as in the other two cases;well, almost the same." He drank and sat upright. "We were in Area B,you know. Bodkin was taking a series of photographs of the pollinationof those red flowers by leptorrhinus. Hakim and I were diggingup bulbs and collecting the larvae that live at the roots—you know theones I mean?"
Hagen nodded. "Go on."
"Let's see, Staines and Petrucci were taking soil samples. And Bondieuwas chasing what he likes to call butterflies. It was very quiet. Thosetall plants were just hanging limply. I remember Hakim saying, 'If wewere home, I'd say we were going to have a storm.' I said somethinglike, 'It'd be nice to see grass again for a change, even in a storm.'About that time, Bodkin got up and walked away from his cameras. Isaid, 'Where are you going?' He didn't answer. He took his head in hishands, and stood still, and I knew immediately what it was. But beforeI could get to him he collapsed."
"Did you look for insects?" Fenner asked.
"Yes, we thought of that at once. We looked to see if any of theleptorrhinae were on him, or any other bugs. There wasn't athing, not a mark, not a sting or a punct