He made lunch, then set himself the job of waiting out the afternoon. Ages later he cooked dinner. He managed to eat most of his steak, envying Waverill the wolfish appetite that made quick work of the meal.
The long night somehow wore through, and he embraced eagerly the small respite of breakfast.
He felt unreal when the alien voice said, "Do not bother to wash the dishes. Lie down on your bunks for your final examination. When you awake you may leave."
The fear spread through him again as he moved slowly to his couch. He thought, If they've caught me, this is when they'll kill me. He was afraid, no doubt of that; all the old symptoms were there. But, oddly, there was a trace of perverse comfort in the thought: Maybe I've lost. Maybe I'll just never wake up. Then dizziness hit him. He was aware of a brief, feeble effort to resist it, then he slid into darkness.
He came awake still dizzy, and with a drugged feeling. His mouth was dry. Breath came hard at first. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too stiff. He spent a few minutes just getting his breath to working, then he was able to open his eyes a little. When he sat up there was a wash of nausea. He sat on the edge of the bunk, head hung, until it lessened. Gradually he felt stronger.
Waverill was sitting up too, looking no better than Murdoch felt. He seemed to recover faster, though. Murdoch thought. He's actually healthier than I am now. I hope he hasn't become a superman.
The voice from the ceiling said, "Your clothes are in the next room. Dress and leave at once. The barriers will be opened for you."
Murdoch got to his feet and headed for the other room. He paused to let Waverill go ahead, and noticed that Waverill had no trouble finding the door. The older man wasn't talking this morning, and the jubilation he must feel at seeing again was confined, outwardly, to a tight grin.
They dressed quickly, Murdoch noting in the process that his clothes had been gone over carefully and all weapons removed. It didn't matter. But it did matter that he had to collect his prize on the way to the ship, and the sweaty anxiety was with him.