Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction December 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. One man's poison By ROBERT SHECKLEY Illustrated by EMSH They could eat a horse, only luckily there was none ... it might have eaten them first! * * * * * Hellman plucked the last radish out of the can with a pair of dividers. He held it up for Casker to admire, then laid it carefully on the workbench beside the razor. "Hell of a meal for two grown men," Casker said, flopping down in one of the ship's padded crash chairs. "If you'd like to give up your share--" Hellman started to suggest. Casker shook his head quickly. Hellman smiled, picked up the razor and examined its edge critically. "Don't make a production out of it," Casker said, glancing at the ship's instruments. They were approaching a red dwarf, the only planet-bearing sun in the vicinity. "We want to be through with supper before we get much closer." Hellman made a practice incision in the radish, squinting along the top of the razor. Casker bent closer, his mouth open. Hellman poised the razor delicately and cut the radish cleanly in half. "Will you say grace?" Hellman asked. Casker growled something and popped a half in his mouth. Hellman chewed more slowly. The sharp taste seemed to explode along his disused tastebuds. "Not much bulk value," Hellman said. Casker didn't answer. He was busily studying the red dwarf. * * * * * As he swallowed the last of his radish, Hellman stifled a sigh. Their last meal had been three days ago ... if two biscuits and a cup of water could be called a meal. This radish, now resting in the vast emptiness of their stomachs, was the last gram of food on board ship. "Two planets," Casker said. "One's burned to a crisp." "Then we'll land on the other." Casker nodded and punched a deceleration spiral into the ship's tape. Hellman found himself wondering for the hundredth time where the fault had been. Could he have made out the food requisitions wrong, when they took on supplies at Calao station? After all, he had been devoting most of his attention to the mining equipment. Or had the ground crew just forgotten to load those last precious cases? He drew his belt in to the fourth new notch he had punched. Speculation was useless. Whatever the reason, they were in a jam. Ironically enough, they had more than enough fuel to take them back to Calao. But they would be a pair of singularly emaciated corpses by the time the ship reached there. "We're coming in now," Casker said.