“Or it could be the cobalt bombs?”
“It could be,” Telt said, packing his instruments swiftly. “A badly shielded bomb, or an old one with a crack in the skin, could give a trace like that. Just a little radon leaking out would do it.”
“Why don’t you call Hys on the radio and let him know?”
“I don’t want Granddaddy Krafft’s listening posts to hear about it. This is our job—if I’m right. And I have to check my old tapes to make sure. But it’s gonna be worth a raid, I can feel that in my bones. Let’s unload your corpse.” He helped Brion with the clumsy, wrapped bundle, then slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Hold it,” Brion said. “Do you have anything in the med box I can use for Lea? She seems to have cracked. Not hysterical, but withdrawn. Won’t listen to reason, won’t do anything but lie there and ask to go home.”
“Got the potion here,” Telt said, cracking the med box. “Slaughter-syndrome is what our medic calls it. Hit a lot of our boys. Grow up all your life hating the idea of violence, and it goes rough when you have to start killing people. Guys break up, break down, go to pieces lots of different ways. The medic mixed up this stuff. Don’t know how it works, probably tranquilizers and some of the cortex drugs. But it peels off recent memories. Maybe for the last ten, twelve hours. You can’t get upset about what you don’t remember.” He pulled out a sealed package. “Directions on the box. Good luck.”
“Luck,” Brion said, and shook the technician’s calloused hand. “Let me know if the traces are strong enough to be bombs.” He checked the street to make sure it was clear, then pressed the door button. The sand car churned out into the brilliant sunshine and was gone, the throb of its motor dying in the distance. Brion closed the door and went back to Lea. Ulv was still crouched against the wall.
There was a one-shot disposable hypodermic in the box. Lea made no protest when he broke the seal and pressed the needle against her arm. She sighed and her eyes closed again.
When he saw she was resting easily, he dragged in the tarpaulin-wrapped body of the magter. A workbench ran along one wall and he struggled the corpse up onto it. He unwrapped the tarpaulin and the sightless eyes stared accusingly up into his.
Using his knife, Brion cut away the loose, blood-soaked clothing. Strapped under the clothes, around the man’s waist, was the familiar collection of Disan artifacts. This could have significance either way. Human or humanoid, the creature would still have to live on Dis. Brion threw it aside, along with the clothing. Nude, pierced, bloody, the corpse lay before him.
In every external physical detail the man was human.
Brion’s theory was becoming more preposterous with each discovery. If the magter weren’t alien, how could he explain their complete lack of emotions? A mutation of some kind? He didn’t see how it was possible. There had to be something alien about the dead man before him. The future of a world rested on this flimsy hope. If Telt’s lead to the bombs proved to be false, there would be no hope left at all.
Lea was still unconscious when he looked at her again. There was no way of telling how long the coma would last. He would probably have to waken her out of it, but he didn’t want to do it too early. It took an effort to control his impatience, even though he knew the drug needed time in which to work. He finally decided on at least a minimum of an hour before he should try to disturb her. That would be noon—twelve hours before destruction.
One thing he should do was to get in touch with Professor-Commander Krafft. Maybe it was being defeatist, but he had to make sure that they had a way off this planet if the mission failed. Krafft had installed a relay radio that would forward calls from his personal set. If this relay had been in the Foundation building, contact was broken. This had to be found out before it was too late. Brion thumbed on his radio and sent the call. The reply came back instantly.
“This is fleet communications. Will you please keep this circuit open? Commander Krafft is waiting for this call and it is being put directly through to him now.” Krafft’s voice broke in while the operator was still talking.
“Who is making this call—is it anyone from the Foundation?” The old man’s voice was shaky with emotion.
“Brandd here. I have Lea Morees with me. …”
“No more? Are there no other survivors from the disaster that destroyed your building?”
“That’s it, other than us it’s a … complete loss. With the building and all the instruments gone, I have no way to contact our ship in orbit. Can you arrange to get us out of here if necessary?”
“Give me your location. A ship is coming now—”
“I don’t need a ship now,” Brion interrupted. “Don’t send it until I call. If there is a way to stop your destruction I’ll find it. So I’m staying—to the last minute if necessary.”
Krafft was silent. There was only the crackle of an open mike and the sound of breathing. “That is your decision,” he said finally. “I’ll have a ship standing by. But won’t you let us take Miss Morees out now?”
“No. I need her here. We are still working, looking for—”
“What answer can you find that could possibly avert destruction now?” His tone was between hope and despair. Brion couldn’t help him.
“If I succeed—you’ll know. Otherwise, that will be the end of it. End of Transmission.” He switched the radio off.
Lea was sleeping easily when he looked at her, and there was still a good part of the hour
