"Yes," MacMartree agreed. "For a year. And after the year, another patrol, and another year, and so on through a hundred patrols and years, until the place is classified safe for colonization." "I think my species is cowardly," Cole said, a trifle hotly. "Cautious," MacMartree corrected gently. "Only cautious. It's as it should be ... they have set up rules of caution, and we've never suffered for it." "Except from boredom," Phillips cut in, and they all laughed again. "Really though," said MacMartree, "you should be proud, not bored. Think of it, if the sun that just rolled down the horizon should suddenly begin to expand into a super-nova, it's within our ability to restore it to its normal status. Should a comet sweep this planet tonight and drag a tail of poisonous gases over us as we sleep, our force screen would protect us, and our mechanisms and devices would make the air sweet and clean for us in minutes. If--oh, but you know. Appreciate your power, your ability. Be glad you are what you are!" The young men smiled in the darkness, because, of course, they _were_ proud, and satisfied, and pleased with their own omnipotence. MacMartree slept the sleep of the aged, curled in the clinging, billowy warmth of his sleep-kit. It took him a minute to rouse, when Cole came and shook him by the shoulder. "It's Phillips," Cole was saying. "Come and see him, Mac, come and see." "Eh?" MacMartree questioned. "What about Phillips?" "There's something--something wrong with him. I don't know ... come and see, Mac!" Abner lighted the lamp, and MacMartree blinked against the glare that flooded the area within the screen. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the brilliance, he saw what was happening to Phillips. "You see?" Cole said, in great agitation. "Something is wrong with him." As they watched, the stricken Phillips retched and vomited again. MacMartree's nostrils crinkled at the offensive odor of it. "Throw a disposal over that," he directed Abner. The younger man went to his pack and returned with the disposal unit. One of the disposal wafers took care of the mess Phillips had made. "What's wrong with him?" Abner asked, completely bewildered. MacMartree searched his memory for the word. "Sick," he said at last. "Phillips is sick." "Sick?" Cole echoed. "What's that?" Abner wanted to know. "I don't know, exactly. I've only read about it, in my books. A long time ago, men got sick, like this." "But why?" Abner and Cole said it together. "I don't know." He bent down over Phillips. "Are you going to do that anymore?" he asked. Phillips looked up at him dully. "I ... I don't think so," he said, weakly and breathlessly. "Lie back," MacMartree commanded. "Close your eyes. Sleep if you can. Maybe we can help you." * * * * * Phillips nodded, lips bluish and tight, his whole face a ghastly pewter hue. He put his head down, eyelids fluttered shut. MacMartree regarded him in silence for several minutes.