The inner hatch now opened and Dane waved his captive into the small section which must serve them as a decontamination space. Free at last of the suits, they went through one more improvised hatch to the main corridor of the Queen where Rip and Ali stood waiting, their weary faces lighting as they saw the Medic.
It was the latter who spoke first. "This is a plague ship—"
Rip shook his head. "It is not, sir. And you're the one who is going to help us prove that."
The man leaned back against the wall, his face expressionless. "You take a rather tough way of trying to get help."
"It was the only way left us. I'll be frank," Rip continued, "we're Patrol Posted."
The Medic's shrewd eyes went from one drawn young face to the next. "You don't look like desperate criminals," was his comment. "This your full crew?"
"All the rest are your concern. That is—if you will take the job—" Rip's shoulders slumped a little.
"You haven't left me much choice, have you? If there is illness on board, I'm under the Oath—whether you are Patrol Posted or not. What's the trouble?"
They got him down to Tau's laboratory and told him their story. From a slight incredulity his expression changed to an alert interest and he demanded to see, first the patients and then the pests now immured in a deep freeze. Sometime in the middle of this, Dane, overcome by fatigue which was partly relief from tension, sought his cabin and the bunk from which he wearily disposed Sinbad, only to have the purring cat crawl back once more when he had lain down.
And when he awoke, renewed in body and spirit, it was in a new Queen, a ship in which hope and confidence now ruled.