I said, "Well, that makes two of us. I had kind of the same notion. However, I had a chance to use a little psychology on McRow while he was sticking me full of his number-one-goop. Give him a few hours to think it over, and he may be open to a proposition when he comes in to give me shot number two. Anyway, it's a hope. What's the time now?"
"I can't really 'tell you, old fellow. There are no timepieces in here. However, you were unconscious for over an hour. You had me quite worried."
"That long?" The various injections must have combined with the blow to keep me under longer than normal. "Well, that still gives us a while to wait. Of course, if we miss here, we may have a chance on their damn ship or submarine."
"That will be too late, I'm afraid," Les said.
I glanced at him. "You've figured it, too? I don't think there's much doubt she'll turn one batch of infected animals loose when she leaves here, but at least we may be able to keep her from distributing the rest. And this is a pretty deserted stretch of coast, and if we can get the warning out in a reasonable time, your people may still be able to seal off the area and exterminate the lousy little plague-carrying beasts before they get clear away. There are some pretty potent and penetrating war gases nowadays. I guess they'll work on rats."
"Yes," he said quietly, "but that is not exactly what I meant, old boy. You may have noted that I am standing well away from you, and that I have not offered to shake your hand in greeting, or even as many fingers as we might get through the wire."
I looked at him for a moment. His long horse face seemed the same as usual, except for a few days' growth of beard. I drew a long breath.
"You're sure, amigo?"
"Quite sure. I managed to conceal the symptoms at the morning inspection, but they'll be bound to notice them when they're sorting us out this afternoon. Rather nasty-looking swellings, don't you know? So I will be no help to you on the vessel, whatever it may be. I will not be there. They are taking only negatives on board. Anything you accomplish with my help will have to be done before embarkation."
There were no helpful comments I could make. At least I couldn't think of any. I said, "Well, we'll just have to hope that I threw a big enough scare into McRow. After all, the man's searching for Utopia, not Armageddon. After thinking it over, he may well be ready for a deal."
"It's a weak reed. I wouldn't count on it too much, old chap.." After a moment, Les said in a different tone: "You look pretty rocky. If you want to sleep some more, I'll watch, for whatever good it will do. Should the gates to freedom spring open miraculously, I promise to awaken you."
I hesitated, but I was still feeling half-doped and shaky; and I was going to need a very clear head when the time came, if it came. I lay down on the metal shelf again. Before I dozed off, I lay for a while listening to the stirrings and whisperings of the occupants of the other cages. I heard the slap of Crowe-Barham's rubber sandals as he paced thoughtfully back and forth along the narrow space beside his berth. Well, that was the way the virus wiggled. I might be doing a little similar pacing in a day or two, with similar thoughts for company, if I lived that long.
I woke abruptly, with Les's voice in my ear, "Time to rise, old boy."
As I sat up, I heard the sound of a key in the lock, and of voices outside the hall door, speaking a language I did not understand.
I said, "Give me a rundown, quick. What's the procedure?"
"The guard makes a preliminary inspection. You stand at the back of your cell if you don't want trouble. Then the guard backs off with his machine-pistol ready and the medical gent comes in and examines one prisoner at a time, usually starting with me. However, in this case, since there is an injection to be given, he may do you first. There is never more than one cell open at any time, and the guard is quite alert… Oh, just one thing more. This medical chap of whom I spoke. It will not be Dr. McRow."
I glanced at him sharply. "But-"
"Dr. McRow is not expendable, old fellow. He is therefore not permitted in here. Some patient might seize him and try to use him for a shield or a hostage. The work is therefore done by a young technician. The guard has orders to shoot instantly in case of trouble; to cut down the rebellious prisoner on the spot, even if it means killing the technician as well. It happened once when I first arrived. The guard did not hesitate. He used the full clip, like a man putting out a fire with a hose, regardless of what might get wet. The final score was one technician and four prisoners. No one has attempted resistance since. I mean, the way those 7.63 bullets ricocheted in here was rather unnerving, don't you know?"
"But why didn't you tell me-"
"My dear fellow, why should I spoil your happy, hopeful dreams? Shhh. On your feet, here he comes. Back in the cell. No more talking."
The door opened. There was a kind of unanimous rustle as the prisoners took up their positions. A short, broad-faced, slant-eyed man with a submachine gun stepped inside, ran his gaze down the rows of cells, and then came down the line, checking each lock carefully. When he had worked his way clear around the ward, he spoke to someone outside. A man in a white coat entered.
He was a slender Chinese youth with big hornrimmed glasses, definitely not McRow. He carried a stainless-steel tray like the one McRow had used in Madame Ling's office. He paused inside the door, looked down at something on the tray, and looked at the door of my cage, apparently checking a number. Then he came inside to set his tray on my cot. The guard backed off, holding his machine pistol ready.
"Bare your left arm, if you please," said the young technician politely, in good English.
I pulled up the loose pajama sleeve and offered him the arm. Helm, the human pincushion. He went through the cotton-and-alcohol routine. I didn't watch the final operation.. if he wanted to think I simply couldn't bear to look at needles going into my flesh-after all, strong men have fainted at the sight-that was fine.
Actually, I was trying not to watch the muddy, swaying apparition that had materialized in the hall doorway behind the guard. It had a dirty chiffon scarf in its hands, twisted to form the old thuggee noose.
chapter TWENTY-TWO
When Vadya moved, I struck. I am not a karate genius, and I can't break two-by-fours or shatter bricks with the edge of my hand-a hand good for that often isn't good for much else-but there are ways of doing it. I hit the Chinese youth with everything I had and knew, and he was dead before he started to fall. The guard came alert, looking my way, as I'd meant him to; the submachine gun steadied; and I was going to be dead, too, in another instant. Then the twisted scarf went around his neck from behind and drew up tight, and the gun clattered to the stone floor, sliding toward me.
I went for it, out the open cell door, and I was barely in time. The guard broke free and came for the weapon in a headlong dive, just as I snatched it and rose. That put him in precisely the right position for me to bring the butt down hard on his neck. I smashed it down once more to make quite sure.
It was very quiet in the ward. There was no sound in the hall, either. I looked at my left arm, where a hypodermic was sticking out of the biceps, strangely unbroken. I noticed that the medical kid had managed to ram the plunger home before he died. Vadya had been just a little late in that respect, but you can't have everything. The odds in favor of survival, disease-wise, were still sixty-forty. It seemed likely I'd be bucking greater odds long before those came into operation. I yanked out the hypo and threw it away and went over to Vadya, who was kneeling inside the door.