They could do nothing. The guards outside were changed at regular intervals and remained alert. For the first few hours the telephones would not work. The general had disconnected them while taking over the ship. Once he was securely in control he must have felt sure of his position, because the phone service was restored. Don tried calling the engine-room, but one of Briggs' men answered the phone. The same thing happened when he tried air technology, and all the other places where crewmen were on duty. The crew members were being kept apart from each other, and appeared to be outnumbered at least two to one by their captors when they were on duty. The ship could not be retaken.
With a feeling of intense despair Don tried to aid his patients. There were fourteen of them now, and the first ones to be stricken were sinking fast. He tried every combination of antibiotics and medicines in the vain hope that he might accidentally stumble on a cure. Nothing worked.
Exhausted by strain and fatigue, he finally lay down, fully dressed, and tried to sleep. It was the middle of the ships night. Though the spacer was in continuous day, with the sun shining all the time, a regular cycle of day and night was followed. Not only did this permit the meals and social affairs to occur at set times, but it was essential for the health of the people aboard. The human body has a circadian rhythm, regular times for waking and sleeping, that causes difficulties if upset. Therefore the ship slept at night' and only the crewmen on duty were normally awake at this time.
Don slept, but was awakened at 04-00 hours, shiptime, by the repeated ringing of the telephone. He fumbled for it and the screen lit up with the image of Doyle, the general's secretary.
'Tell the guards to come in,' he ordered. 'I want to talk to them.'
Don's first thought was to slam the phone down. Let them carry their own messages - he didn't want to help them! But there was nothing to be gained by this, much as he would enjoy doing it, so he went to the door. The guards were suspicious and one of them watched Don closely while the other answered the phone. He listened, then hung up.
'They want the doctor in the control-room,' he said. 'I'm to bring him down while you stay here.'
'Did they say why?' the other man asked.
'Someone is sick. Grab your little black bag, Doc, and let's go.'
Don washed the sleep from his eyes and took an emergency kit from the locker. Another case of fever? He wondered who it was and, knowing the feeling was most unprofessional, he hoped that it was the general. The rebellion would undoubtedly fall apart if he were out of the way. He started for the control-room with the guard following close behind.
A guard outside nodded as they came up, then opened the door for them. The first thing Don saw when they entered was Sparks lying on the deck. His eyes were closed and he moaned and clutched at his stomach. Dr Ugalde was in the captains chair while Doyle was on the other side of the room holding the gun.
'Take care of him,' Doyle ordered. 'He's sick. He just folded up and collapsed. We need him on the radio.'
'I touched his head and it was most warm,' Ugalde said.
This was not the way the fever usually began, but anything was possible with a new disease. Don knelt by Sparks and snapped open his case. As he took out the recording telltale he laid the back of his hand against the man's forehead. His skin was cool, his temperature perfectly normal.
Before Don could say anything Sparks opened his eyes - then closed one again in a long, deliberate wink.
At this same moment the door to the corridor opened and he recognized Kurikka's voice.
'Drop that gun, Doyle, and no one will get hurt.'
Don spun about and saw that the scene had changed dramatically. Kurikka stood in the open doorway, pushing the disarmed hall guard before him. He held a large automatic pistol which he levelled steadily at Doyle. Dr Ugalde now stood behind the other guard and had the point of his knife pressed into the side of the man's neck.
'Drop the weapon,' Ugalde snarled, in a voice quite different from his normal one, 'or I will drive this knife deep into your throat and kill you instantly.'
The bar clanged to the deck.
Doyle hesitated, confused, looking from one to the other of them - then brought up his pistol.
Kurikka's gun fired just once and Doyle howled in pain. His pistol dropped from his fingers and he clutched at his arm. Slow blood oozed between his fingers.
Sparks rose to his feet and cheered, then picked up the fallen gun. Don was dazed.
'Kurikka,' he asked, 'how did you manage it?'
The Chief smiled and lowered his automatic. 'Thank Dr Ugalde. He arranged the whole thing and masterminded the plot.'
Ugalde beamed with pleasure and bowed slightly when they all looked towards him.
'There is much precedent, in my country, for this sort of thing. The misguided General Briggs approached me for aid, knowing of the revolutionary background of my ancestors. I accepted at once, because he had neglected to remember the counter-revolutionary history of my land. It is far easier to work from inside an evil organization. I joined, entered his highest councils, then waited until the night. It must always be considered that movements are easier to destroy early, before they have become established. At this time, if you will excuse my saying so, it was just a matter of waiting for an opportunity. As soon as the general retired, and left his creature, Doyle, with the gun, I knew we must strike. A telephone call to Chief Kurikka alerted him for his part, and he was kind enough to inform me that he knew where a weapon was concealed in the captains cabin. The information is not commonly known, but there is always a gun aboard every craft for emergencies, madmen and the like. A most foresighted conception. Then, one, two, three, Sparks collapses on cue, you are sent for, Chief Kurikka arrives, and the matter is over...
'Not quite. You still have to deal with me.'
General Briggs stood in the door, his face white with anger. He stepped into the room, looking about him coldly.
'You will not be able to get away with this pathetic little plot,' he said. 'I was informed as soon as the doctor left the sick bay. There was always a chance that this madman, in desperation, might attempt to regain the ship. That is not to be.'
He pointed back to the door where a number of men armed with clubs and bludgeons waited.
'Now lay down your weapons and there will be no violence.' Briggs even smiled, condescendingly. 'Do it at once and there will be no reprisals or bloodshed. Now - hand over that gun!'
He raised his hand and started towards Kurikka. The Chief slowly lifted his weapon and centred it between the general's eyes.
'Come any closer and you are dead.'
The general stopped.
I want to avoid bloodshed,' he said. 'This is your last chance to surrender. You do not have enough bullets in that gun to kill us all - and we are desperate men.'
There was a paralysing silence in the control-room as the two men faced each other. No one moved.
'It won't do, Briggs,' Don said, his voice stern with authority. 'You're a fake and you know it. A bitter, evil little man, and a bungling pirate as well. No one is going to die for you. I am the captain of this ship, and I promise leniency to you men if you drop your weapons at once...'
'Don't listen to him!' Briggs shouted, his voice cracking with rage, his face flushed red. 'Attack! Get them!'
But the spell had been broken by Don's words, and the armed men wavered. They would fight for their lives if they thought they had something to win. But they could not face the black eye of certain death in the muzzle of the Chiefs unwavering automatic. They moved restlessly, looking at each other - but they did not advance.