might be present in microscopic amounts. Do youknow how much botulin toxin it takes to kill a man? A fraction of amilligram!"
Smathers looked as though he were about to quote the minimum dosage, soPetrelli charged on: "If you think anyone could isolate an unknownorganic compound out of a--"
"Gentlemen! _Please!_" said Dr. Pilar sharply. "I realize that this is astrain, but bickering won't help. What about your latest tests onMacNeil, Dr. Smathers?"
"As far as I can tell, he's in fine health. And I can't understand why,"said the physician in a restrained voice.
Pilar tapped one of the report sheets. "You mean the vitamins?"
"I mean the vitamins," said Smathers. "According to Dr. Petrelli, thefruits contain neither A nor B_1. After living solely on them for fourweeks now, he should be beginning to show some deficiencies--but he'snot.
"No signs?" queried Dr. Pilar. "No symptoms?"
"No signs--at least no abnormal ones. He's not getting enough protein,but, then, none of us is." He made a bitter face. "But he has plenty ofsymptoms."
Dr. Petrelli raised a thin eyebrow. "What's the difference between asign and a symptom?"
"A sign," said Smathers testily, "is something that can be objectivelychecked by another person than the patient. Lesions, swellings,inflammations, erratic heartbeat, and so on. A symptom is a subjectivefeeling of the patient, like aches, pains, nausea, dizziness, or spotsbefore the eyes.
"And MacNeil is beginning to get all kinds of symptoms. Trouble is, he'sgot a record of hypochondria, and I can't tell which of the symptoms arepsychosomatic and which, if any, might be caused by the fruit."
"The trouble is," said Petrelli, "that we have an unidentifiable diseasecaused by an unidentifiable agent which is checked by an unidentifiablesomething in MacNeil. And we have neither the time nor the equipment tofind out. This is a job that a fully equipped research lab might take acouple of years to solve."
"We can keep trying," said Pilar, "and hope we stumble across it byaccident."
Petrelli nodded and picked up the beaker he'd been heating over anelectric plate. He added a chelating agent which, if there were anynickel present, would sequester the nickel ions and bring them out ofsolution as a brick-red precipitate.
Smathers scowled and bent over his microscope to count more leucocytes.
Pilar pushed his notes aside and went over to check his agar plates inthe constant-temperature box.
The technicians who had been listening to the conversation with earswide open went back to their various duties.
And all of them tried in vain to fight down the hunger pangs that werecorroding at their insides.
* * * * *
Broderick MacNeil lay in his bed and felt pleasantly ill. He treasuredeach one of his various symptoms; each pain and ache was just right. Hehadn't been so comfortable in years. It really felt fine to have allthose doctors fussing over him. They got snappy and irritable once in awhile, but then, all them brainy people had a tendency to do that. Hewondered how the rest of the boys were doing on their diet ofbanana-pears. Too bad they weren't getting any special treatment.
MacNeil had decided just that morning that he'd leave the whole state ofhis health in the hands of the doctors. No need for a fellow to dosehimself when there were three medics on the job, was there? If he neededanything, they'd give it to him, so he'd decided to take no medicine.
A delightful, dulling lassitude was creeping over him.
* * * * *
"MacNeil! _MacNeil!_ Wake up, MacNeil!"
The spaceman vaguely heard the voice, and tried to respond, but a suddendizziness overtook him. His stomach felt as though it were going to comeloose from his interior.
"I'm sick," he said weakly. Then, with a terrible realization, "I'mreally _awful_ sick!"
He saw Dr. Smathers' face swimming above him and tried to lift himselffrom the bed. "Shoulda taken pills," he said through the haze that wasbeginning to fold over him again. "Locker box." And then he wasunconscious again.
Dr. Smathers looked at him bleakly. The same thing was killing MacNeilas had killed the others. It had taken longer--much longer. But it hadcome.
And then the meaning of the spaceman's mumbled words came to him. Pills?Locker box?
He grabbed the unconscious man's right hand and shoved his right thumbup against the sensor plate in the front of the metal box next to thebed. He could have gotten the master key from Colonel Fennister, but hehadn't the time.
The box door dilated open, and Dr. Smathers looked inside.
When he came across the bottles, he swore under his breath, then flungthe spaceman's arm down and ran from the room.
* * * * *
"That's where he was getting his vitamins, then," said Dr. Pilar as helooked over the assortment of bottles that he and Smathers had takenfrom the locker box. "Look at 'em. He's got almost as many pills as youhave." He looked up at the physician. "Do you suppose it was justvitamins that kept him going?"
"I don't know," said Smathers. "I've given him massive doses of everyone of the vitamins--from my own supplies, naturally. He may rallyround, if that's what it was. But why would he suddenly be affected bythe stuff _now_?"
"Maybe he quit taking them?" Pilar made it half a question.
"It's possible," agreed Smathers. "A hypochondriac will sometimes leaveoff dosing himself if there's a doctor around to do it for him. As longas the subconscious need is filled, he's happy." But he was shaking hishead.
"What's the matter?" Pilar asked.
Smathers pointed at the bottles. "Some of those are mislabeled. They allsay vitamins of one kind or another on the label, but the tablets insidearen't all vitamins. MacNeil's been giving himself all kinds of things."
Pilar's eyes widened a trifle. "Do you suppose--"
"That one of them is an antidote?" Smathers snorted. "Hell, anything'spossible at this stage of the game. The best thing we can do, I think,is give him a dose of everything there, and see what happens."
* * * * *
"Yeah, Doc, yeah," said MacNeil smiling weakly, "I feel a little better.Not real good, you understand, but better."
Under iron control, Dr. Smathers put on his best bedside manner, whilePilar and Petrelli hovered in the background.
"Now, look, son," said Smathers in a kindly voice, "we found themedicines in your locker box."
MacNeil's face fell, making him look worse. He'd dropped down close todeath before the conglomerate mixture which had been pumped into hisstomach had taken effect, and Smathers had no desire to put too muchpressure on the man.
"Now, don't worry about it, son," he said hurriedly; "We'll see to itthat you aren't punished for it. It's all right. We just want to ask youa few questions."
"Sure, Doc; anything," said MacNeil. But he still looked apprehensive.
"Have you been dosing yourself pretty regularly with these things?"
"Well ... uh ... well, yeah. Sometimes." He smiled feebly. "Sometimes Ididn't feel so good, and I didn't want to bother the medics. You knowhow it is."
"Very considerate, I'm sure," said Smathers with just the barest traceof sarcasm, which, fortunately, fell unheeded on MacNeil's ears. "Butwhich ones did you take every day?"
"Just the vitamins." He paused. "And ... uh ... maybe an aspirin. Theonly things I took real regular were the vitamins, though. That's allright ain't it? Ain't vitamins food?"
"Sure, son, sure. What did you take yesterday morning, before you got sosick?"
"Just the vitamins," MacNeil said stoutly. "I figured that since youdocs was takin' care of me, I didn't need no medicine."
Dr. Smathers glanced up hopelessly at the other two men. "Thateliminates the vitamins," he said, _sotto voce_. He looked back at thepatient. "No aspirin? No APC's? You didn't have a headache at all?"
MacNeil shook his head firmly. "I don't get headaches much." Again heessayed a feeble smile. "I ain't like you guys
, I don't overwork mybrains."
"I'm sure you don't," said Smathers. Then his eyes gleamed. "You havequite a bit of stomach trouble, eh? Your digestion bad?"
"Yeah. You know; I told you about it. I get heartburn and acid stomachpretty often. And constipation."
"What do you take for that?"
"Oh, different things. Sometimes a soda pill, sometimes milk
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