Over his limp body they stared at one another bleakly.
"Six down," Ali observed, "and six to go. How do you feel?"
"Tired, that's all. What I don't understand is that once they go into
this stupor they just stay. They don't get any worse, they have no rise
in temperature--it's as if they are in a modified form of cold sleep!"
"How is Tang?" Rip asked from the corridor.
"Usual pattern," Ali answered, "He's sleeping. Got a pain, Fella?"
Rip shook his head. "Right as a Com-unit. I don't get it. Why does it
strike Tang who didn't even hit dirt much--and yet you keep on--?"
Dane grimaced. "If we had an answer to that, maybe we'd know what caused
the whole thing--"
Ali's eyes narrowed. He was staring straight at the unconscious Com-tech
as if he did not see that supine body at all. "I wonder if we've been
salted--" he said slowly.
"We've been _what?_" Dane demanded.
"Look here, we three--with Weeks--drank that brew of the Salariki, didn't
we? And we--"
"Were as sick as Venusian gobblers afterwards," agreed Rip.
Light dawned. "Do you mean--" began Dane.
"So that's it!" flashed Rip.
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