Armitage is chafing.
"It's in the flora," he insisted today. "Something, perhaps, that they ate." He stood with a strained tautness, staring feverishly at the chronometer. "Senator Farragut's due to make contact soon. What'll I tell him?"
"That we're working on it," Bishop said dryly. "That the four best scientists in the Galaxy are working toward the solution."
"That's good," Armitage said seriously. "But they'll worry. You are making progress?"
I wanted to wrap a pestle around his neck.
We were all in the control room an hour later. Armitage practically stood at attention while Farragut's voice boomed from the transmitter.
It was very emetic. The Senator said the entire hemisphere was waiting for us to announce the planet was safe for immigration. He said the stars were a challenge to Man. He spoke fearfully of the Coming World Crisis. Epsilon was Man's last chance for survival. Armitage assured him our progress was satisfactory, that within a few days we would have something tangible to report. The Senator said we were heroes.
Finally it was over. Max yawned. "Wonder how many voters start field work at once."
Armitage frowned. "It's not funny, Cizon. Not funny at all. Inasmuch as we've checked out the atmosphere, I suggest we start field work at once."
Taylor blinked. "We're still testing a few residual—"