"He's not going to like what comes next, so could you tie his wrists and ankles together and roll him onto his side."
Plendir did this with quick efficiency while Jan spread out the contents of his pack. He had blunt-tipped surgical shears that he used to cut away the prisoner's clothing. The man began to howl and Jan shut him up with a piece of sticking tape over his mouth.
"I'd like to look about, sir," Plendir said, sniffing the air. "It's going to be dawn soon."
"I'm fine here."
The soldier slipped soundlessly away and Jan balanced the light on a rock while he bared the man's not-too-clean back. There was a muffled moan. From his pack Jan took the thing he put together earlier, a great square made by criss-crossing many lengths of surgical sticking tape. He held the prisoner from moving with his knee while he slapped the square across the man's back. As Jan pressed it into place the man moaned at the cold touch and tried to shiver away. Jan stood, brushing off his knees, and looked at his watch.
Dawn was lightening the east when Plendir reappeared.
"They made good time, sir," he reported. "There must be a camp near here. Anyway a whole gang of them are on the way now."
"How long do we have?"
"Two, maybe three minutes, at the very outside."
Jan looked at his watch. "I need at least three minutes. Can you arrange some kind of holding action?"
"My pleasure," Plendir said, and went. off at a trot.
They were very long minutes, with the second hand of the watch moving as though crawling through molasses. There was still a minute to go when there was the sound of distant explosions and shouts.
"Time enough," Jan said, and bent swiftly to tear off the sticking plaster. He did it with a sudden pull, but it took plenty of hair with it and the prisoner writhed in silent agony. Jan stuffed the square into his pack before permitting himself a quick flash of the light.
"Wonderful!" he shouted.
The man's back had a pattern of square red welts, one bigger than the others and so swollen that it projected like an immense boil from his skin. Plendir came pelting back at a dead run.
"They're right behind me!"
"One second, I need the evidence!"
Jan fumbled out the camera as the soldier spun about and hurled gas grenades back in the direction he had come from. The flash burst out its sudden light and Jan shouted, "Let's go!" Something hissed by his ear.
"Do it — I'm right behind you!"
Jan hit the actuator on the preset controls and jumped into the screen. He hit the floor, skidded and fell as Plendir came diving through behind him in a neat roll. The bolt from a crossbow followed them and thunked into the wall across the room. Plendir hit the controls and the connection was broken.
"The last shot of the war," Jan said, smiling, looking at the quarrel imbedded in the wall. "It should be all over now."
The doctors looked at the blown-up print of the color photograph, then at the square of sticking tape. that had been applied to the man's back.
"It seems obvious now by hindsight," Dr. Bucuros reluctantly admitted, as though she were angry she had not considered the possibility herself.
"Allergy," Dr. Pidik said. "The one thing we never considered. But did you have to be so dramatic about obtaining a subject?"
Jan smiled. "One of the city people might have been all right, but I couldn't be sure. I had to get some one from outside, who had never been in contact with us in any way. The Gudaegin soldier proved ideal as you can see. A reaction to a number of common specimens we have — and one single, massive allergic reaction right there." He tapped the photograph over the swollen red welt.
"What is the allergen?"
"Polyster. Our most common plastic. Our clothes are woven out of it, our belts, equipment parts, numberless things. It would be impossible for them not to come into contact with it. With disastrous results. You gave me the clue, Dr. Pidik, when you said that a lot of the people here seemed to have the inactive plague microorganisms in their bloodstreams. It reminded me of something. Typhus is one of the few diseases that a person can carry, yet still not be ill himself. Apparently the mutated form of typhus on this planet was very deadly. You either died — or were immune. People who came down with the disease were killed. So the present populace is descended from immune — and infected individuals. All of them."
"And our coming triggered it off," Pidik said.
"Unhappily true. There appears to be a relationship between this polyster allergy and their natural immunity. They first experience a massive allergic reaction. This breaks down their bodies' defenses and produces a synergistic reaction with the typhus, weakening their natural immunity. They get sick."
"But not any more," Pidik said, firmly.
"No, not any more. Now that we know the cause we know the cure. And the first one we are going to cure is Azpi-oyal, our ambassador of good will to his fellow Gudaegin. When he is cured he will believe in the cure. He will see the others treated and recovering. And if there are no more plague victims there is no further cause for war. We can deal with them, make peace, and get out of this tight corner we have maneuvered ourselves into."
There was the sound of distant horns and massed shouting.
"I suggest you hurry," Dr. Bucuros said, turning to leave the room. "We are going to have a hard job of convincing them of anything if we are all dead."
In silent agreement they hurried after her.
From Fanaticism, or for Reward
WONDERFUL! VERY CLEAR. The electronic sight was a new addition; he had used an ordinary telescopic sight when he test-fired the weapon, but it was no hindrance. The wide entrance to the structure across the street was sharp and clear despite the rain-filled night outside. His elbows rested comfortably on the packing crates that were placed before the slit he had cut through the outer wall of the building.
"There are five of them coming now. The one you want is the tallest." The radioplug in his ear whispered the words to him.
Across the street the men emerged. One was obviously taller than all the others. He was talking, smiling, and Jagen centered the scope on his white teeth, then spun the magnifier until teeth, mouth, tongue, filled the sight. Then a wide smile, teeth together, and Jagen squeezed his entire hand, squeezed stock and trigger equally, and the gun banged and jumped against his shoulder.
Now, quickly; there were five more cartridges in the clip. Spin the magnifier back. He is falling. Fire. He jerks. Fire. In the skull. Again. Fire. Someone in the way: shoot through him. Fire. He is gone. In the chest, the heart. Fire.
"All shots off," he said into the button before his lips. "Five on target, one a possible."
"Go," was all the radioplug whispered.
I'm going all right, he thought to himself; no need to tell me that. The Greater Despot's police are efficient.
The only light in the room was the dim orange glow from the ready light on the transmatter. He had personally punched out the receiver's code. Three steps took him across the barren, dusty room, and he slapped the actuator. Without slowing he dived into the screen.
Bright glare hurt his eyes and he squinted against it. An unshielded bulb above, rock walls, everything damp, a metal door coated with a patina of rust. He was underground, somewhere, perhaps on a planet across the galaxy, it didn't matter. There was here. Everywhere was a step away with a matter transmitter. Quickly, he moved to one side of the screen.
Gas puffed out of it, expelled silently, then cut off. Good. The other transmatter had been destroyed, blown up. Undoubtedly the police would be able to trace his destination from the wreckage, but it would take time. Time for him to obscure his trail and vanish.