"It means we're getting closer." Ross smiled thinly. "And just in case you wonder what we're getting closer to, the answer is; closer and closer to Tornelescu's life catalyst, closer to the formula ... maybe even closer to Adjudicator Pike Mawson."
Veta's eyes suddenly were shadowed. She looked away and bit her lip.
Ross said, "You don't seem very happy."
"Stewart—Please, Stewart...." Veta broke off, lips aquiver. And then, in a shaky, uneven voice: "Can't we forget about them, Stewart—all of them—the catalyst, the formula, Mawson?"
"Oh?"
"Don't you understand? There's death in that catalyst, Stewart—death in it, and everything about it. It's cursed. Anyone who even comes close to it goes.—Like Sanford—"
"I know," Ross said. But the words held no sympathy, no understanding. "Now that your brother's dead, the catalyst's cursed. We should forget about it."
Veta's face came up. She stared at Ross. "Stewart, please—"
Ross kept on as if she hadn't spoken. "The only question is," he clipped, "will some other people forget about it just as easily?"
"Other people—?"