"Whatever it is, it's cured us," whispered Emerson, turning to stare upwards at the great glittering cones, that towered high above him.
"Ada and the kids," Nichols sobbed. "If they were here we could cure them too."
"The world can be freed from the Plague," Emerson breathed.
"A fortune," grinned Mussdorf, eyes glinting.
Emerson said, "If we knew how this thing worked, we could set it up on Earth. Duplicate it."
Mussdorf slid a hand over the butt of his solar gun. He smiled grimly. "At a price, commander. Think of it. We'll be billionaires. That girl in New Mars—bah! I could have girls ten times better than her, just throwing themselves at me."
"We came to do a job," Emerson said flatly, "and we're going to see it through."
Mussdorf tugged at his gun, lifting it, aiming it at Emerson's broad chest.
"I'm tired of these damned ideals of yours," he grated savagely. "You'll never change. Neither will I. The time for words is past. I'm acting—"
His finger tightened on the trigger.