Marion, if it really is a space ship, it may mean Earth's salvation. To be completely rational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can't be conquered. If it is a space ship, we may be able to leave the Earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the System.
'We couldn't do that with modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely colored satellite is a genuine space ship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one.'
'It's worth trying,' Marion breathed hopefully.
'I may fail. That's why I want to find out more about X. The space ship's a dangerously long chance, and I don't want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Locicault—'
Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the Border and into Canada.
It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, another following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Doctor Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull.
'Court!' he said in relief. 'Am I glad you're here! Are you hungry?'
'No.' Characteristically Court did not bother to introduce anyone. 'Where's the patient?'
'In the left wing of the hospital. We've cleared out everyone else. You'll have to put on the lead suit. We have only one, unfortunately.'
Court seemed transformed into a swift, emotionless machine. He hastily donned the form-fitting suit of canvas, with leaden scales sewed closely over the surface. As he followed Granger to the door, the physician paused.
'I'd better not go farther. I don't know exactly how far the radiation extends. It wilts gold-leaf at quite some distance.'
Court nodded, got his directions, and clumped ponderously out the door. He went along the corridor until he found the patient's room. Any other man would have hesitated before entering, but Court was not like any other man. Without stopping, he pushed open the door.
The bare, white-walled chamber was spotlessly sterile. A case of instruments lay open on a table, a hypodermic needle in view. On the bed a man was sprawled.
Peering through lead-infiltrated goggles, Court came closer. Locicault was unconscious. No, he was asleep. His spare, wasted frame was barely fleshy enough to make a visible shape under the coverlets. On the pillow lay the withered, skull-face of an incredibly old man.
Locicault was twenty-three years of age.
His mouth was toothless. Hanging open helplessly, it revealed his ugly, blackened gums. His skull was hairless, with ears that were large and malformed, and his nose, too, was enlarged. The repulsive skin dangled in loose, sagging wrinkles. Pouches hung slack on his naked skull.
Court went to the window and drew down the shades. In the gloom a queer, silvery light was visible at once. It came from the patient's face!
Court stripped off the covers, exposing Locicault's gaunt, nude body. Like the ghastly face, it gleamed with a silvery radiance that did not pulse or wane, but remained steady.
'Locicault,' Court called out sharply.
When he gripped the thin shoulder, the man shuddered convulsively and his eyes opened.
They were not human eyes. They were pools of white radiance, like shining smoke in eye-sockets.
'Locicault, can you hear me?' Court asked quietly.
A cracked whisper came from the withered lips.
'Yes… Yes, m'sieu.'
'Can you see me?'
'I can—No, m'sieu, not with my eyes. I am blind—but I can see you, somehow—'
Court frowned, puzzled, as he pondered the weird reply.
'What do you see?'
'You are covered with—armor, I think. I do not know how I can tell this. I am blind…'
'I am a doctor,' Court said. 'If you can talk without pain, I want you to answer some questions.'
'Out, m'sieu. Bien.'
'Are you in pain?'
'No—Yes. I am hungry. It is strange. I am hungry and thirsty, but I do not want food. Something I do not understand—'
Court waited for him to continue. When Locicault did not, he went on with another line of reasoning.
'Tell me about this fog.'
'There is not much to tell,' Locicault said painfully. 'When I left my home, I could not find my way. The fog was so heavy—and its smell was not right.'
Stephen's eyes sparkled with interest under the thick mask.
'How did it smell? What did it remind you of?'
'I don't know. Wait! Once I was in the big power-house at the dam, and it smelled like that—'
Ozone? Court shook his head.
'Well?' he urged.
'The fog was cold at first, and then it seemed to grow warmer. I had the strange feeling it was getting inside of me. My lungs began to burn like fire. My heart beat faster. I was hungry, yet I had just eaten. . Doctor,' Locicault said suddenly, without moving, 'I am changing—more and more. When it started, I did not change much, but now —I feel like something that is not a man. Can you hear my voice?'
'Yes,' Court soothed.
'That is odd. My mind is so wonderfully clear, but my senses—I do not seem to hear with my ears, nor speak with my tongue. I feel strong, though—and hungry—'
His scrawny head slumped, and Court saw that he had lost consciousness.
Whistling softly, with grim abstraction, Court returned to the main hospital where the others waited. Doffing his suit, he questioned Granger.
'It's progressive, isn't it? Doesn't the radiation get stronger?''
'Why, yes,' the physician replied. 'For a time, anyway. Locicault was fearfully hungry. His metabolism was high, and this radiation got stronger every time we fed him. Yesterday, though, he refused to eat.'
'But he's hungry,' Stephen protested.
'So he says, and still he won't eat. The radiation is much fainter now.'
'I see,' Court muttered. 'Get me a guinea-pig, will you? A rabbit will do just as well, if you don't have a guinea-pig. I want to try something.'
Putting on the armor again and carrying a wriggling guinea-pig, Court went back to the patient. Locicault was still unconscious. For the first time, Court hesitated, staring at the pale aura surrounding Locicault's body. Then he slowly extended the guinea-pig till its furry side touched the patient's hand.
Gently the weak, bony fingers constricted. Closing upon the tiny animal, they did not harm it though it struggled frantically to escape.
The little beast went limp, seemed, amazingly, to grow smaller. Swiftly the phosphorescent gleam surrounding Locicault grew brighter.
'So that's the way!' Court muttered under his breath.
He disengaged the guinea-pig from the skeleton fingers and examined the animal. It was dead, as he had expected. Court silently returned to the others.
'You haven't been feeding him the right way,' he explained, struggling out of the armor. He gave it to the Granger, who put it on. 'Locicault is changing, slowly and steadily, into some form of life that is definitely not human. At first he ate normally, though in vast quantity.
'As his basic matter altered, Locicault lost the power to absorb food as we do, internally. He gets the energy direct— like a vampire, to put it melodramatically. He will kill any living being that touches him.'
'Good God!' Granger cried in a shocked voice. 'We can't let him live, Court!'
'We must, because I need him. I have to study the course of the plague in its natural progress. Locicault must be fed whatever he needs now—rabbits, guinea-pigs, and so on. I shall take him to my home as soon as the
