He put an x-mark on the check — and then froze. A scream had gone blasting through the night.
Tony dropped pencil and chart, went flying up the ramp to the upper corridor. He received the full impact of Masters’ second scream. Masters had left his room, was running up the corridor, clad in pajamas. There was a knife sticking out of his shoulder.
Tony, gripped with horror, impelled himself after the man, caught up with him as he plunged face downward. He dropped to one knee, staring at a heavy meat knife that had been plunged clear through the neck muscles on Masters’ left shoulder, clearly a bid for a heart stroke.
Masters turned on his side. He babbled, face alive with horror. Tony rose, went with the full power of his legs toward the lounge.
A figure showed, running ahead of him. He caught up with it, whipped his arm around the man’s neck.
“You!”
Yates squirmed tigerishly. He turned, broke loose, face alive with fury. Tony’s open palm lashed out, caught Yates full on the face. Yates staggered and fell. He raised himself to one elbow.
“Why’d you do it?” Tony rasped, standing over him.
Yates’ face was livid. “Because I’d rather live than anything else I can think of!” His booted foot lashed out. Tony leaped back. Yates rose. Tony brought his bunched fist up from his knees with all the ferocity he felt. Yates literally rose an inch off the floor, sagged, and sopped to the floor.
Tony picked him up in one arm, and flung him bodily into the lounge.
Braker rose from his sleeping position on a cushioned bench, blinking.
Tony said cuttingly, “Your pal ran a knife through Masters shoulder.”
“Huh?” Braker was on his feet. “Kill him?” In the half-light his eyes glowed.
“You’d be glad if he did!”
Braker looked at Yates. Then, slowly, “Listen, copper. Don’t make the mistake of putting me in the same class with a rat like Yates. I don’t knife people in the back. But if Masters was dead, I’d be glad of it. It might solve a problem that’s bothering the rest of us. What you going to do with him?”
“I already did it. But tell Yates he better watch out for Masters, now.”
Braker grunted scornfully. “Huh. Masters’ll crack up and down his yellow back.”
Tony left.
Laurette and Overland were taking care of Masters in his room. The wound was clean, hardly bleeding.
Overland, somewhat pale, was hanging onto the door. “It’s not serious, honey,” he said, as her fingers nimbly wound bandages.
“Not serious?” She turned stricken eyes up to Tony. “Look at him. And Daddy says it’s not serious!”
Tony winced. Masters lay face down on the bed, babbling hysterically to himself, his eyes preternaturally wide. His skin was a pasty white, and horror had etched flabby lines around his lips.
“Knifed me,” he gasped. “Kniffed me. I was sleeping, that was the trouble. But I heard him—” He heaved convulsively, and buried his face in his pillow.
Laurette finished her job, face pale.
“I’ll stay here the rest of the night,” Tony told her.
Overland gnawed painfully at his lower lip.
“Who did it?”
Tony told him.
“What?” Tony laughed scornfully. “Masters had the same trick pulled on him that he pulled on me. He isn’t any angel himself.”
Overland nodded wearily. His daughter helped him out of the room.
During the night, Masters tossed and babbled. Finally he fell into a deep sleep. Tony leaned back in a chair, moodily listening to the sough of the wind, later on watching the sun come up, staining the massed clouds with running, changing streaks of color.
Masters awoke. He rolled over. He saw Tony, and went rigid. He came to his feet, and huddled back against the wall.
“Get out,” he gasped, making a violent motion with his hand.
“You’re out of your head,” said Tony angrily. “It was Yates.”
Masters panted, “I know it was. What difference does it make? You’re all in the same class. I’m going to watch myself after this. I’m going to keep my back turned the right way. I’m going to be sure that none of you—”
Tony put his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed.
“If you’ve got any sense, you’ll try to forget this and act like a human being. Better to be dead than the kind of man you’ll turn into.”
“Get out. Get out!” Masters waved his hand again, shuddering.
Tony left, shaking his head slowly.
Tony stood outside the ship, smoking a cigarette. It was night. He heard a footstep behind him. He fell back a step, whirling.
“Nerves getting you, too?” Laurette Overland laughed shakily, a wool scarf blowing back in the heavy, unnatural wind.
Tony relaxed. “After two weeks of watching everybody watching everybody else, I guess so.”
She shivered. He sensed it was not from the bite of the wind. “I suppose you mean Erle.”
“Partly. Your father’s up and around today, isn’t he? He shouldn’t have gotten up that night.”
“He can get around all right.”
“Maybe he better lock himself in his room.” He smiled with little amusement. “The others are certain the ring will come back.”
She was silent. Through the ominous gloom, lit now by a crescent planet that was visible as a small moon, and growing steadily larger, he saw a rueful, lopsided smile form on her face. Then it was gone.
She said, “Erle was telling me the jets are in bad condition. A trial blast blew out three more.”
“That’s what happened.”
She went on: “He also told me there was a definite maximum weight the jets could lift in order to get us free of the gravity. We’ll have to throw out everything we don’t need. Books, rugs, clothing, beds.” She drew a deep breath. “And in the end, maybe a human being.”
Tony’s smile was frozen. “Then the prophecy would come true.”
“Yes. It is a prophecy, isn’t it?” She seemed childishly puzzled. She added, “And it looks like it has to come true. Because—Excuse me, lieutenant,” she said hurriedly, and vanished toward the air lock.
Tony stared after her, his mind crawling with unpleasant thoughts. It was unbelievable, fantastic. So you couldn’t outwit fate. The ship would have to be lightened. Guesswork might easily turn into conviction. There might be one human being too many—
Professor Overland came slowly from the air lock, wincing from the cold after his two weeks of confinement. His haggard eyes turned on Tony. He came forward, looking up at the growing planet of destruction.
“Erle has calculated three days, eight hours and a few minutes. But it’s ample time, isn’t it, lieutenant?”
“One jet will straighten out with some man-size labor. Then we can start unloading extra tonnage. Lots of it.”
“Yes. Yes. I know.” He cleared his throat. His eyes turned on Tony, filled with a peculiar kind of desperation. “Lieutenant,” he said huskily, “there’s something I have to tell you. The ring came back.”
Tony’s head jerked. “It came back?” he blurted.
“In a fish.”
“Fish?”
Overland ran a trembling hand across his brow. “Yesterday a week ago, Laurette served fried fish. She used an old dress for a net, I found the ring in what she brought to my room. Well, I’m not superstitious about the ring. One of us is the skeleton — up there. We can’t avoid it. I put the ring on — more bravado than anything else. But this morning” — his voice sank to a whisper — “the ring was gone. Now I’m becoming superstitious, unscientifically so. Laurette is the only one who could — or would — have taken it. The others would have been glad it was on my finger rather than theirs. Even Erle.”