“How are your dogs getting along, Doc?” McReady asked. “Any results yet?”
“In 30 hours? I wish there were. I gave him an injection of my blood today. But I imagine another five days will be needed. I don’t know certainly enough to stop sooner.”
Barclay spoke slowly. “I’ve been wondering—if Connant were… changed… would he have warned us so soon after the animal escaped? Wouldn’t he have waited long enough for it to have a real chance to fix itself? Until we woke up naturally?”
“The Thing is selfish. You didn’t think it looked as though it were possessed of a store of the higher justices, did you?” McReady pointed out. “Every part of it is all of it, every part of it is all for itself, I imagine. That’s—dreams, telepathic communications unconsciously given, shall we say. If Connant were changed, he’d figure, to save his skin, he’d have to—hell, Connant’s feelings aren’t changed, they’re imitated perfectly, or they’re his own. Naturally, the imitation, imitating perfectly Connant’s feelings, would do exactly what Connant would do.”
“Say, couldn’t Norris or Vane give Connant some kind of a test? If the Thing is brighter than men, it might know more physics than Connant should, and they’d catch it out.”
Copper shook his head wearily. “Not if it reads minds. You can’t plan a trap for it. Vane suggested that last night. He hoped it would answer some of the questions of physics he’d like to know answers to.”
“This expedition-of-four idea is going to make life happy.” McReady looked at his companions. “Each of us with an eye on the others to make sure he doesn’t do something—peculiar. Man, aren’t we going to be a trusting bunch. Each man eyeing his neighbors with the grandest exhibition of faith and trust—I’m beginning to know what Connant meant by ‘I wish you could see your eyes.’ Every now and then we all have it, I guess. One of you looks around with a sort of ‘I-wonder-if-the-other-three-are’ look. Incidentally, I’m not excepting myself.”
“So far as we know, the animal is dead, leaving only a slight question as to Connant. No other is suspected,” Copper snapped. “The ‘always-four’ order is merely a precaution.”
“I’m waiting for Garry to make it four-in-a-bunk.” Barclay sighed. “I thought I didn’t have any privacy before, but since that order—”
None watched the little sterile glass test-tube, half-filled with straw-colored fluid, more tensely than Connant. One—two—three—four—five drops of the clear solution Dr. Copper had prepared from the drops of blood from Connant’s arm. The tube was shaken carefully, then set in a beaker of clear, warm water. The thermometer read blood heat, a little thermostat clicked noisily, and the electric hot-plate began to glow. The lights flickered slightly.
Then—little white flecks of precipitation were forming, snowing down in the clear straw-colored fluid.
“God,” said, Connant. He dropped heavily into a bunk, crying like a baby. “Six days—” Connant sobbed, “six days in there—wondering if that damned test would lie—”
Garry moved over silently, and slipped his arm across the physicists back. “It couldn’t lie,” Dr. Copper said. “The dog was human immune—and the serum reacted.”
“He’s—all right ?” Powell gasped. “Then—the animal is dead—dead forever?”
“He is human.” Copper spoke definitively, “And the animal is dead.”
Kinner burst out laughing, laughing hysterically. McReady turned toward him and slapped his face with a methodical one-two, one-two action. The cook laughed, gulped, cried a moment, and sat up rubbing his cheeks mumbling his thanks vaguely.
“Oh, Jesus, I was scared—God, I was scared—”
McReady laughed brittlely. “You think we weren’t, you ape? You think maybe Connant wasn’t?”
The Ad Building stirred with a sudden rejuvenation. Voices, laughter, the men clustering around Connant speaking with unnecessarily loud tones, those jittery, nervous voices relievedly friendly again. Somebody called out a suggestion, and a dozen started for their skis.
“Blair—Blair might recover—” Commander Garry said.
It was quickly decided. A party of relief assembled and set off for Blair’s shack skis clapping noisily. Down the corridor, the dogs set up a quick yelping howl as the air of excited relief reached them.
Dr. Copper fussed with his tubes. McReady noticed him first, sitting on the edge of the bunk, with two precipitin-whitened test-tubes of straw-colored fluid, his face whiter than the stuff in the tubes, silent tears slipping down horror-widened eyes.
McReady felt a cold knife of fear pierce through his heart and freeze in his breast. Something was wrong.
Dr. Copper looked up. “Garry,“ he called hoarsely, “Garry, for God’s sake come here.”
Commander Garry walked toward him sharply. Silence clapped down on the Ad Building. Connant looked up, rose stiffly from his seat.
“Garry—tissue from the monster—precipitates too. It proves nothing—nothing but—but the dog was monster-immune too—that one of the two contributing blood—one of us two, you and I, Garry—one of us is a monster!”
CHAPTER SIX
“Mac, call back those men before they tell Blair,” Garry said.
McReady went to the door; faintly his shouts came back to the tensely silent men in the room. Then McReady returned.
“They’re coming,” he said. “I didn’t tell them why, just that Dr. Copper said not to go.”
“Van Wall, “ Garry sighed, “You’re in command now. May God help you; I can not.”
Van Wall started slightly, looked with blank, dazed eyes toward Garry. “But—”
“But I may be the one, “ Garry answered. “I know I’m not, but I can’t prove it to you in any way. Dr. Copper’s test has broken down; the fact that he showed it was useless, when it was to the advantage of the monster to have that uselessness not known, would seem to prove he is human.”
Copper rocked back and forth slowly on the bunk. “I know I’m human. I can’t prove it, either. One of us two is a liar, for that test cannot lie, and it says one of us is. I gave a proof that the test was wrong, which seems to prove I’m human, and now Garry has given that argument which proves me human—which he, as the monster, should not do. Round and round and round and round—”
Dr. Copper’s head, then his neck and shoulder’s began circling slowly in time to the words. Suddenly he was lying back on the bunk, roaring with laughter. “It doesn’t have to prove one of us is a monster! It doesn’t have to prove that at all! Ho-ho—if we’re all monsters, it works the same! We’re all monsters—all of us—Connant and Garry and I—and all of you.”
“McReady,” Van Wall called softly, “you were on the way to an M.D. when you took up meteorology, weren’t you? Can you take over?”
McReady went over to Copper slowly, took the hypodermic from his hand, and washed it carefully in 95% alcohol. Garry sat on the bunk edge with wooden face, watching Copper and McReady expressionlessly.
“What Copper said is possible.” McReady sighed. “Van, will you help here. Thanks.”
The filled needle jabbed into Copper’s thigh. The man’s laughter did not stop, but slowly faded away into sobs, then sound sleep as the morphia took hold.
McReady turned again. The men who had started for Blair stood at the far end of the room, skis dripping snow, their faces as white as their skis. Connant had a lighted cigarette in each hand; one he was puffing absently, and staring at the floor. The heat of the one in his left hand attracted him and he stared at it, and the one in the other hand stupidly for a moment. He dropped one and crushed it under his heel slowly.