They matched and Morley called it wrong. He plucked a sample of the fruit and stood regarding it like some bewhiskered Little Jack Horner. Finally he broke the thin skin with his thumbnail and gingerly conveyed a couple of drops of juice to his tongue. The taste was simultaneously oily and faintly sweet, and after a short wait he essayed a fair sized bite. Madsen was about to follow suit, when Morley motioned him to wait. The next second he was rolling on the ground, coughing and choking, while Madsen tried grimly to feed him water from a canteen.
It was no use. The throat tissues became swollen and inflamed in seconds, to the point of agony, and swallowing was totally impossible. To this was shortly added an overpowering nausea. When the retching finally stopped, Morley tried to speak, but in vain. Even the effort meant waves of pain.
Madsen watched helplessly, and when the spasms of choking finally stopped, spoke gently.
"We'll be camping right here for a while, looks like. Try to get some sleep if it slacks off any. You'll be okay in a while."
His doubts were hidden, and Morley thanked him with his eyes.
III
As the hours dragged on, Madsen sat quietly on guard, while the sick man tossed in uneasy slumber. The eternal day was comfortably warm, and eventually the watcher closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he thought drowsily, just for a nap. Head pillowed on his arm, he slept. The alien hillside was very quiet. He slept, dreaming of the long trip home, of Port Chicago, of beer, and girls, and a fistfull of credits.
When Madsen awoke, he knew instantly that something was out of key, that some subtle change in the surroundings had triggered a warning bell in his subconscious. Without any sudden move, he cast an all inclusive glance over the surrounding terrain. Morley still slept, and the scene seemed unchanged. But no! Wait! There on the fitful breeze that had sprung up, that faint sweetish smell. He sniffed, facing upwind. What the devil was it? Frowning, he stared toward the crest of the hill. There was one tree, a few rods away, that seemed different from the others. Larger, and the branches were whiplike, drooping. It looked vaguely like a weeping willow on Earth. Madsen started toward it, walking softly. As he drew nearer, the scent became stronger, and now he recognized it. Carrion! It was coming from the tree, and he was able to see the source.
The corpses of two or three scaled green lizards, and one of the lopers from the fern forest. The drooping limbs of the tree moved undulantly in the breeze, almost as if they possessed an awareness of his approach, and he noticed that they were armed with two inch thorns. He was very close now. He took another step, and then, without warning, every nerve and muscle seemed to twist and contract violently. Blacking out between two breaths, he still realized what had happened. Once before, on Ceres, he had experienced the paralyzing effect of a blaster bolt from a weapon set at high aperture.