He glanced anxiously at Mona’s face. The pallor had gone. A harshening of her exquisite skin had taken its place.
The contents of the capsule dissolved in five liters of water in a matter of seconds. Rod picked an unfilled dart from a litter on a table. He filled it with his newly made solution and injected it in the girl’s arm.
They waited.
“Will it do any good, Rod?” Williamson was solemn in the quiet room.
“I don’t know. We developed it on Earth in our lab in the Rockies. There was plenty of gryxon in our machines. Volunteers exposed themselves to it. That capsule, Bill, was purchased at the price of martyrdom.”
“If it works, our race is saved.”
“That’s how they felt about it. We found that raw gryxon was instant death to humans over twenty-five. Those under twenty-five were immune unless they came from stock that matured early—as the Mediterranean peoples. They succumbed before twenty-five. That was what really gave us our answer. We knew that ankylosis—joining of certain spinal vertebrae—occurred earlier in humans that matured earlier—and that age twenty-five was the time for the joinder to occur. So we turned to the serums that had increased human life spans by retarding ankylosis—and developed this one.”
They studied Mona’s face again.
Was it possible that the yellow tinge was stayed—was turned to waxen ivory? The girl’s breast rose and fell—ever so gently.