"But we do know there may be Zarno around. We'll have to arrive there soon after dark, so I'll be ... conscious. If there's a fight, I want to be in on it. Why the devil didn't you test that antitoxin, Garth?" His voice was harshly angry.
Garth didn't answer. Brown had given him the rush act, but he wasn't making any excuses.
Paula said, "This isn't the best time to quarrel. You'd better talk to the men, Carver, so there'll be no trouble tomorrow."
"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so."
Even the rebellious Sampson was convinced by Brown's well-chosen remarks.
They slept uneasily, with guards replaced every two hours, and the next day woke to find Captain Brown once more sunk into his Noctoli-trance. A few of the men complained of headaches.
By mid-morning Paula succumbed to the poison. Garth did not realize at first what had happened. Then, turning, he saw the girl's blank face and wide eyes fixed straight ahead as she marched along, and knew that she was entranced by the Noctoli till nightfall. The exercise of walking, speeding metabolism, had hastened the action of the virus.
They went on. An hour later another man went under. Then another. By noon only five men, including Garth and Sampson, were still conscious.
Their difficulties increased proportionately. They had to be on guard every second. The Noctoli victims walked quietly in line, but they did not react to danger. If the tentacles of a bloodsucker plant flashed out, they wouldn't try to escape. Their instinct of self-preservation had been dulled and blanketed.
The afternoon was pure hell. Garth, Sampson, and one other man had to guard and lead the rest. Their guns crashed incessantly, it seemed.