A lamp revealed a complete medical laboratory, one that had not, apparently, been used for months at least. Garth almost dropped a bottle as he fumbled it from the shelf. Cursing, he opened the rotgut Ganymedean whiskey and poured it down his throat.
That helped. Steadied somewhat, he went to work. The Noctoli pollen antitoxin was still here, but it might have lost its efficacy.
He tested it.
Good. It seemed strong, the antibodies having a long life-cycle. It would work.
Garth packed a compact medical kit. After that he stood for quite a while staring at two blank spaces on the wall, where pictures had once hung.
Moira and Doc Willard.
Damn! Garth snatched up the liquor and fled the house. He fought his way along the steep path that led to the Tor's summit. The physical exertion was a relief.
At the top, he sat down, his back against a rock. Beneath him lay Oretown, yellow-blue lights winking dimly. In a cleared field some distance away was the ovoid shape of the spaceship that had brought Paula and Brown—the Hunter.
To the west, across sandy desert, lay Chahnn, dead city that had once housed an incredibly-advanced science—lost now, its people dust. Northwest, beyond distant ridges, was the Black Forest, unexplored, secret, menacing.