Nervously she helped Court don the armor.
"There's something going on at the village," she said. "Not a—a shadow, either. Since the plague has hit the newspapers, the villagers are frightened."
"Why?" Court asked, slipping on his gloves. "There's been only one case in this country as yet, and that was in Georgia. Europe, Africa, China? Sure. But—"
"Somebody's been talking. They know about Sammy. They claim that you're exposing the whole village to deadly danger by keeping Sammy here."
"Damned idiots!" He made an impatient gesture with his lead-gauntleted hand. "Sammy's completely isolated. There's no danger at all."
"They're not scientists," she argued. "Just ordinary people, most of them fairly uneducated. But they've got families and—Well, I'm afraid."
"The police can't touch me."
"It's not that." Marion bit her lip and paused. Then she shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. But I hope nothing happens."
"Nothing will," he assured her.
He went out, hurrying through a long corridor to a lead-plated door. When he knocked, there was no response. Making sure there were no gaps in his armor, Court entered the experimental room.
It was large, yet amazingly cluttered with apparatus. The lead walls dully reflected the dim light. On white-topped tables by the hospital bed lay gauges, indicators, and enigmatic looking devices.
The figure on the bed was completely unrecognizable. The metamorphosis had come so swiftly that Sammy was horribly inhuman in appearance. His skin emitted a silvery radiance. His face was a mere bag of loosely wrinkled skin, hanging repulsively about the jutting nose. His mouth was invisible below eyes that were gleaming but blind.
Court fought down the sick horror that tore at his stomach. He dared not give way to sentiment, nor even admit its existence. Before him was a test case, a laboratory subject. That was all. He must forget that he had ever known the old man, that the faithful regenerated tramp has been his only friend, his entire family…
"Hello, Sammy," he said in a voice that would not lose its choked quality. "How do you feel?"
There was no motion perceptible in the shrunken body on the bed. But a remarkably clear voice murmured a reply.
"Hello, Stevie."
"Any change?"
"None. I'm just hungry."
Court took a rabbit from a lead-lined box beside the bed, and placed it gently in the malformed talons that once had been Sammy's hand. Instantly there was a change. The small beast kicked convulsively and was still. The glow emanating from Sammy's skin brightened slightly.
"That better?"
"Yes. Thanks, Stevie."
Court drew up a chair and clumsily sat down in it. Through the lead-infiltrated goggles, his eyes probed. With gloved fingers he made adjustments on the apparatus, and carefully checked the readings on certain gauges.
"The change is progressive," he muttered under his breath.
Drawing a microscope toward him, he took a sample of the patient's skin cells and prepared a slide.
"Yes, entropy. . Incredible! I still can't understand—"
"What is it, Steve?" Sammy asked weakly.
"Nothing new. But I'll find a cure yet. You can depend on me, Sammy."
The hideous folds of wrinkles twitched in a ghastly semblance of amusement.
'Tour cure won't help me. I'm hungry again."
Court gave the old man another rabbit. Then he took pencil and paper, set a stop-watch on the table, and began the usual word-association test. Though simple, it had proved surprisingly effective in checking on the patient's mental metamorphosis.
But now Court was due for a surprise. The test proceeded normally, Sammy responding without much hesitation, though over two words—"man" and "We"—he paused perceptibly. Then Court said, "Food," and immediately Sammy responded, "Human."
Court made a great effort to control himself. He read the next word, and the next, but he did not even hear Sammy's responses. He was battling down the gorge that rose in his throat, yet this should have been expected. Sammy was absorbing life-energy from living beings, and the human brain contained the highest form of such energy. But what would be the result?
Sammy's replies lagged as he seemed to grow weaker. Court left him at last, with a few encouraging words. But when he hurried out, he was feeling worried and depressed.
It was past sunset, and he switched on the light in his lab. Removing the lead-armor, he sat down to think matters over. Sammy was no longer entirely human, for the change was progressing rapidly. His basal metabolism was tremendously increased. As Court had discovered, the very matter of his body was changed.
"Entropy," he whispered, nervously folding and unfolding his hands. "That's the answer, of course. But what it means—"
Entropy, the rate of the Universe's running down. A human body is composed of atoms and electrons, like a universe. If the entropic value of a life-organism is increased, what is the result?
Court was angry with himself because he did not know. He should have been grateful for not being able to see the future…
"Sammy's changing into another form of life, that's certain. And he absorbs energy directly through contact. I must take more precautions. He may be dangerous later."
Abruptly there was an interruption. The door flew open, and Marion burst in. Her brown hair was in disorder under her white cap.
"Stephen!" she cried through pallid lips. "There are men coming up the road!"
"What about it?" he asked, without interest.
"From the village. With torches. I'm afraid—"
"Those damned fools!" he snapped angrily. "Rouse out the men. Give them rifles. Tell them to spread through the house and keep its front covered from inside. When I give the word, they can fire."
Marion stared at him in horror.
"You'd—murder those men?"
Court's eyes were icy as he returned her stricken gaze.
"Why not? They're afraid I have a contagious case here.
But they're afraid for their own precious skins. They'd be willing to burn down the house and kill Sammy. Well, it's lucky I've taken precautions. Do what I say!"
His tone sent Marion racing out.
Growling an oath, Court went to the front door. He opened it and stepped out on the front porch. A bright moon revealed the scene. Before him the road sloped steeply down to the village, with a few trees that were blots of shadow on either side.
Torches flamed along the road. Twenty-five or thirty men —possibly more—were advancing in ominous silence.
Court put his back against the door and waited. The ignorant fools! He was trying to save their lives.
Quickly the mob formed a crescent about the porch. They were mostly villagers and farmers. Under other circumstances, they-would have dreamed and worked away their lives without ever embarking on such a hazardous venture as this. But now their work-worn faces were grim, and their sharp eyes narrowed with deadly purpose.
Court unfolded his arms. Though he held no weapon, the mob drew back slightly. Then one man, a lean, grizzle-haired oldster in overalls, stepped forward.
"What do you want?" Court asked quietly.
The old man scowled.
"We want some questions answered, Mr. Court. Are you harborin' a case of the Plague?"
"Yes."
The word was flatly emotionless, yet a mutter went up from the crowd.
"I s'pose you know that's contagious. There can't nothin' stop it."
There is no danger of contagion," Court replied. "I have taken care of that." He gestured at the flickering flames of the torches. "What do you wish to do—kill my patient?"
"Nope," the spokesman stated. "We want you to send him away from here, to a hospital. The papers say there ain't no way of stopping the Plague. I got two kids myself, Mr. Court. The rest of us, we're family men. How'd you like it if—"