Joe shrugged. "You need me," he said.
"Need you?" repeated Arden. "Need you to infect us so we can't get the ship going again."
Joe watched Arden, then he said: "Arden, why not cure me; then I won't be dangerous and I can help?"
"No." Arden's voice was flat. "I'm the only man on ship who knows how to give the treatment, and you're not getting any. Your life is forfeit for what you almost managed to do."
"You won't stop me, now, Arden," Joe said. "You can barely see me now, and you're trying so hard to keep from vomiting out your guts. You've got the radio disease; why don't you cure yourself?"
Joe moved back slowly; Arden's gun followed him hesitantly.
"You," Arden said. "You did it. You gave it to me." The gun steadied.
"No," Joe said. "You had it before I ever came aboard ship. But you didn't know it, did you, Arden? You're a carrier, and you came to the ship straight from your wife."
Arden shook his head weakly. "I took the usual tests; it showed me free of it."
"But you know the usual tests, Arden; you know you can't tell for sure until you get the nausea. And it acts at varying speeds with different people, doesn't it?"