Dalusa was not in the kitchen. Instead I found Calothrick there, rummaging through the cabinets in search of my private stock of Flare.
“Have you run out again?” I said.
Calothrick started, then turned and grinned nervously. “Yeah.”
“I thought you were sick. You’re supposed to be fiat on your back on deck.”
“Well, that . . . yeah . . .” Calothrick mumbled. I could almost hear gears mesh in his head as he dedded to tell the truth. “I was hit all right and I got part of the rash on my arm. But after I took a blast of Flare, it went away, and I had to rub it to bring it back. See?” He held out his thin freckled arm. The rash did not look very convincing to me, but Flack would probably chalk it up to Calothrick’s off-world physique.
“So you’ve been rdaxing on deck while the rest of the healthy ones are working overtime.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same -thing? Death, give me a break, John.”
It was a difficult question.
“Besides, everyone saw me take that first splatter. If I got well too soon they’d get suspidous.”
I nodded. “A good point Except that your bdng up and about is twice as suspicious. Get back on deck before Murphig sees you’re missing.”
“Hell just think I’ve gone down to the recycler to puke,” Calothrick said. “Besides, like you said, he’s too busy working to pay me much attention.”
“Murphig is healthy?” I said. “I thought I saw him take a splatter right across the leg.”
“No, he . . . well, I’m not sure if he did or not, come to think of it. Oh, here we go.” Calothrick brightened as he pulled out a jug of Flare and sniffed it. He took a frightening dose and then pulled a plastic packet out from under his flared sailor’s trousers. It was held to his skinny calf with elastic bands. He started filling it with Flare.
“I saw it,” I said. “He was hit. You realize what this means? Murphig has that bottle of Flare, the stolen one. He’s cured himself.”
“Murphig one of us?” Calothrick said incredulously. “Can’t be. He’s too much of a jerk.” Suddenly the packet began to overflow. “Look out!” I said. Calothrick stopped hastily and looked at the small beaded splash on the plastic counter top.
“But he’s not an idiot; he’d do what you’re doing, faking it. There must be some other explanation.”
Calothrick strapped the packet back onto his leg. The Flare didn’t seem to be affecting him as strongly as usual. By now a blast like that was probably only just enough to hold him together. “I’m awful hungry, man,” he complained. “You got anything to eat?”
“Get back on deck and try to look weak,” I said. “The starvation will help.”
“Hey, thanks a lot,” Calothrick said resentfully. Then he bent over and licked up the counter top puddle of Flare with his broad, spatulate tongue.
It seemed that he was hardly gone before Murphig came into the kitchen. He pulled off his mask; we eyed each other warily.
“You’re looking well,” he said at last.
“So are you.”
“I thought I saw you hit.”
“I know I saw you,” I said. “How’s the leg?”
“No worse than your neck.”
“Listen, Murphig,” I said patiently, “what’s on your mind? Food not to your taste?”
“Let’s quit fencing, Newhouse,” Murphig said. (Were his eyewhites just the faintest shade of yellow? No.) “You were hit, and I was hit, and neither one of us is sick. Fine. So you know it’s psychosomatic. Are you going to tell the captain about it?”
Confused, I kept silent.
“If Desperandum finds out he’ll keep us in the stinking backwater until something eats us alive,” Murphig said anxiously. “We’re breaking custom to come here. We’re begging for death, do you understand? This is their game preserve. The men know it. Even Desperandum knows it, somewhere inside, or else he wouldn’t be sick. We’re cracking . . . panicking. The longer we stay in here the worse the men will get”.
He seemed to expect an answer. I nodded.
“Even your little winged friend, huh?” Murphig said nastily. “She’s like a bird in a cage here. You know what birds are? Yeah, of course ... I saw her crack right after she hit the anemone; she headed east for the shadows. If you don’t get her out of here, she’ll die. You have influence with the captain. Get us out”.
“We’re leaving already,” I said. “And Dalusa, while no miracle of stability, is probably closer to sanity than you are.”
Murphig thought that over. “Yes. I can see how an off-worlder might think that”.
“Murphig,” I said, “get out of my kitchen before you make me break into hives.”
“You and I will have to work double shifts until we get out of here and the crew heals But I suppose you know that”.
“Out Murphig!”
Murphig left.
The outrushing cold breeze at the mouth of Glimmer Bay had caught the Lunglance; with the wind directly at our backs, we made for the middle of the channel. It was a simple maneuver; the bay seemed to usher us back into the sunlight. Mr. Grent had taken the tiller, below, Desperandum and I conversed in his cabin.
“I’ve had to face a temporary defeat here, Newhouse,” the captain said. “I can’t say I like that much. I’d turn this bay upside down, plague or no plague, if I didn’t know I’d be back. But I’ll be here next year, I swear that. With a... well, did you ever hear of a helicopter?”
“Certainly.”
“After this voyage I’ll have one built—secretly. I’ll run it on whale oil. I’ll need a crewman.”
“I don’t know much about Nullaquan law, Captain, but isn’t that illegal?”
“Why should that stop us?”
It was a good question. “Why a helicopter?”
“Because they’re fast, mobile, and invulnerable. I’ll take it on board ship—no one will recognize it for what it is, since there’s not a Nullaquan alive that’s ever seen a flying machine. Too wasteful of resources. But the Lunglance will stop outside the bay; well row off under cover of darkness and ride the updraft inside. Then, whatever’s necessary a few mild depth charges, for instance, should bring any anemones to the surface. I consider it a damn shame that I didn’t get a population count. For all we know, those two were the only members of their species left on the planet”.
I glanced past Desperandum’s shoulder and out of the window in the stern. Behind us, outlined by the inpouring glow from the crater, came Dalusa. She looked tired; her wings moved slowly and laboriously, as if she had been flying all night.
“Only two, Captain? Unlikely. A fertilized egg in our nets implies at least two adults. Or are they hermaphroditic?”
“No. But solid proof, you see, an actual specimen or authenticated eyewitness account . . . well, they’re lacking. We can’t be rock-solid certain.”
I gestured at the windows. “The lookout is coming in.”
Desperandum glanced outwards. “That’s good. I’ll dock her pay for the time she missed.”
An inch on his splattered hand distracted him. He ran one blunt finger gently over an inflamed knuckle.
We were halfway through the strait now, moving at a tremendous rate for the Lunglance. Behind us a strong gust caught Dalusa and she swooped low.
A forest of barbed tentacles leapt upwards from beneath the surface, scattering dust that trailed off, stolen by the wind. Dalusa beat desperately upwards; monster thorns scratched the air she had just vacated. As she gained height the anemones—a dozen at least—sank regretfully beneath the dust.
Desperandum was still fiddling with his knuckle. “Captain, did you see that?” I said.