"You're not going to catch anything out in this lagoon," objected Hart.
"And how do you know that, given that we have a ghost ship of a whaler tied to our side?" countered Drexler. "You don't know how or where that disease will strike."
"If there's a chance that those people are alive— "
"Gentlemen!" It was Schmidt, sounding impatient. "It seems to me that we have a more immediate question: whether to quarantine our two AWOL explorers."
"We're not a risk," said Greta.
"You don't know that."
"Maybe I do," said Greta. She turned to Drexler and Heiden. "The reason we went ashore is that Owen and Fritz found documentary evidence— a diary— that some Norwegians survived. They'd been in the cave; Owen and I went there to learn why. We… thought it would be quicker to just go without telling anyone." She glanced apologetically at Drexler. "We weren't trying to alarm you."
He looked at her gloomily.
She took a breath. "We found an interesting organism there, an algae or spongelike animal colony, tied to a subterranean heat source and possibly independent of the need for sunlight. My hypothesis is that this organic growth may have evolved toxins to stave off the bacterium. That's common enough in nature. Perhaps the Norwegians who lived drank cave water. We fell into an underground lake and inadvertently swallowed some of the water, so far without ill effect. And before we left the ship I filled this small bottle with a culture of the disease from my laboratory."
She brought it out of her pocket and held it up.
"At that time the solution was a cloudy white from the explosive growth of the bacteria. So I added some of the cave organism. As you can see, it has turned perfectly clear."
The Germans looked confused. Schmidt took the bottle curiously.
"What does this mean?" Heiden asked slowly.
"That there might be an antidote to this disease," Greta explained. "A naturally produced antibiotic. And if it kills this bacteria, perhaps it will kill others. Just like Fleming's penicillin."
"That British research was a failure," Schmidt objected. "Fleming couldn't find a way to efficiently grow, purify, or store his mold. He gave up. That's why German laboratories have developed a chemical alternative, prontosil."
"Yes, but penicillin worked better than chemicals in the tiny amounts Fleming could isolate," Greta countered. "His mold didn't damage healthy tissue. And this may work too, at least for an emergency." She turned to Drexler. "Can't you see, Jürgen? This could be far more important and exciting than a ghastly new microbe. Infection killed millions in the Great War. What if we had a way to battle it? We can't leave on the verge of such a discovery."
Drexler studied her, considering. Hart almost felt sorry for the man, his wound so obvious. Clearly, the political officer was still deeply in love with Greta and to have to listen as she lamely defended her leave-taking while standing next to the man she'd gone away with— well, it must have been tough.
And yet, the pilot could see Jürgen mentally squelching the pain, compartmentalizing it, as he thought furiously of the broader picture. Greta's betrayal, the risk of disease, a new microbe, the chance for the expedition to become a medical success, led to this island by… Jürgen Drexler. The German swung his gaze to Hart.
"What you say is intriguing," Drexler said carefully. "But all we have at this moment is a bottle of clear liquid and two people still alive after crawling through a hole in the ground." He considered. "And an opportunity for an immediate test." He nodded toward the captain.
"Yes," said Heiden cautiously. "It's obvious. See if this slime you found helps those soldiers."
"And Fritz," Hart amended.
"Exactly," Drexler agreed. "God has given us a chance to try for a miracle, perhaps. If you're right. And if we can find them."
"I'll find them," Hart said.
"Owen!" Greta touched his sleeve, Jürgen's eye following her hand. "No."
Hart looked at Drexler. "I'm not leaving live men behind. I'll find them from Boreas. If they're alive, I'll land to either distribute the drug or ferry them out."
"Then I'll go with him," Greta announced.
"Out of the question," snapped Drexler.
"It's my discovery, Jürgen!"
"No. I'm not risking you again and you've neglected your cultures long enough. If you want to study this cave slime, the best place is your lab."
She looked frustrated.
"Hart, on the other hand, is our last fit pilot. Lambert is still bandaged up. And he's right, the airplane is the fastest way to locate the squad. Then we can decide what to do next."
Greta knew better than to protest further. She flashed a pained look at Hart.
The pilot met her gaze, then turned to Heiden. "This bowl is too narrow for takeoff. We need to launch and recover from outside the crater. Is the ship seaworthy enough to do that?"
"I hope so. That's been the point of our repairs."
"The plane's radio is still out. I'll fly, find them, and return. I want the skis attached to the bottom of the pontoons in case I have to land on snow."
"Will you need a man to come with you again?" Feder asked.
Drexler scowled.
"No," Hart decided. "It's senseless to risk more lives than necessary. Let me check on their condition and we'll proceed from there."
"What if you don't come back?" Schmidt asked.
He shrugged. "Sail without me."
"No!" Greta cried. "That's crazy!"
"I'll be back." He turned and took the biologist by her shoulders. "Greta, I'll eat the organisms myself and go with a mask. We can't wait to test this drug further, we have to bet on it now. Lives are at stake. I trust your judgment. Will this stuff help Fritz and those men? Will it keep me alive?"
"My God, Owen, I can't promise that for raw… pond scum, based on a single bottled experiment. Even drugs that work well for one person don't always work for another. Maybe the organism loses its effectiveness as it dries, or with time. And those men may already be dead. This is an incredible risk." Her eyes were troubled. "Please, don't go alone. Please."
"A short flight, a check on their situation, and I'm back." He turned to Schmidt. "If they're alive, if they're not too far gone, we can quarantine them on the aft deck where Passat was tethered. You can isolate me too."
"So, how long before you get back?" Feder asked.
Hart shrugged. "The valley is too dry for the skis so I'll have to find an ice field upslope to land. Four hours?"
"Six," demanded Greta.
"No!" said Feder. "The barometer is dropping again and this patched tub is going to be out on an ocean awash with icebergs. It must be quicker!"
"Eight," said Drexler. "Or more." He looked at Greta. "I'm not abandoning anybody either."
Hart launched as planned from the open ocean, climbed around the flank of the harbor volcano, and squeezed over the valley ridge beyond, flying below a thickening ceiling of dark cloud.
The valley was like a brown trough with the white platter of frozen lake running up its center, its eroded ice far too rumpled to land on. Despite the landscape's sterility the pilot flew to the second volcano without seeing anything: the beleaguered squad was surprisingly hard to spot from the air. He turned and dropped in elevation, going back the way he'd come. Still nothing.
Then a rock sprang to life and began waving frantically.
Hart waggled his wings and circled, studying the barren pumice slope to finally pick out the forms of still humans. The mountaineers were sprawled like scattered sticks. One stood apart, dancing energetically.