had the vague impression of
whirring wings passing near him. Whispering wings, as if a soul were
taking flight.

From the engine room Neff appeared. "I heard somebody scream over the
intercom. Oh, I see." His face worked, his jaws moved as if he was
trying to speak. But no sound came.

Fortune emerged from his quarters to look down at Ross. "Our fumigating
didn't work, huh?"

"Maybe he caught the bug on the planet," Thompson said. He tried to put
conviction into his voice. The effort failed. "Get sheets," he said.

* * * * *

There was no prayer. There was no burial ceremony. The body went through
the ejection port and disappeared in the vast depths of space.

Thompson returned to his cabin, slumped down at his desk, Fortune and
Neff following.

Buster meowed. "Okay, pal." The cat jumped into Thompson's lap.

"I guess there's not much point in trying to kid ourselves any longer,"
Fortune said. His voice was dull and flat, without tone and without
spirit. A muscle in Neff's cheek was twitching.

"I don't understand you," Thompson said.

"Hell, you understand me well enough. The facts are obvious. We've
either all got the virus, or it's here in the ship, and we will get it.
All we're doing is waiting to see who goes next. What I want to know
is--Who'll shove the last man through the ejection port?"

"I don't know," Thompson answered.

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" The tic in Neff's cheek was
becoming more pronounced.

"If there is, I don't know--What the hell, Buster?" The cat which had
been lying in his lap, suddenly leaped to the floor. Tail extended,
crouched, eyes alert, the cat seemed to be trying to follow the flight
of something through the air above him.

Very vaguely, very dimly, Thompson caught the rustle of wings.

The actions of the cat, and the sound, sent a wave of utter cold washing
over his body.

Before he could move, the cat leaped upward, caught something in
snapping jaws.

In the same split second Thompson moved. Before Buster had had time to
swallow, Thompson had caught him behind the jaws, forcing them shut. On
his desk was a bell jar. He lifted it, thrust the cat's head under it,
forced his thumb and forefinger against the jaws of the cat.

The outraged Buster disgorged something. Thompson jerked the cat's head
from under the jar, slammed down the rim. The angry cat snarled at him.
Neff and Fortune were staring at him from eyes that indi