"Sir," Rip pleaded, "you can load us with suppressives. It's only a few days more before we reach Terra. You can keep us going until then. We'll both turn in for full treatment as soon as we get to the space platform. But we have to finish the job, can't you see that, sir?"
The doctor shook his head. "You're a fool, even for a Planeteer. Before you get over this you'll be sicker than you've ever been. You have a month in bed waiting for you. If I let you go back to the asteroid, I'll only be delaying the time when you start full treatment."
"But the delay won't hurt if you inject us with suppressives, will it?" Rip asked quickly. "Don't they keep the sickness checked?"
"Yes, for a maximum of about ten days. Then they no longer have sufficient effect and you come down with it."
"But it won't take ten days," Rip pointed out. "It will only take a couple, and it won't hurt us."
MacFife had arrived to hear the last exchange. He nodded sympathetically. "Doctor, I can appreciate how the lad feels. He started something and he wants to finish it. If y'can let him, safely, I think ye should."
The doctor shrugged. "I can let him. There's a nine to one chance it will do him no harm. But the one chance is what I don't like."
"I'll know it if the suppressives start to wear off, won't I?" Rip asked.
"You certainly will. You'll get weaker rapidly."
"How rapidly?"