"Now wait a minute, Mac," Gallifa protested.
"Sorry, boy," MacFarland said grimly. "If I knew everyone else was barehanded, I would go along with you. I may not be the next victim—or the tenth. I'll more than likely have to protect myself against someone who has come down with it, however, and I've got an overwhelming desire to stay alive."
Gallifa let his hands drop helplessly to his sides. MacFarland was right, of course. They hadn't acted soon enough. Was this how panic was born?
"Mac," Gallifa tried huskily. "We've got to keep our heads. If we don't, we'll destroy ourselves."
"I'm open to any suggestions," MacFarland said steadily. "But until I'm satisfied that the danger is past, I'll just hang on to this axe."
"Let's go back over to the hospital," Gallifa said wearily. "We'll use Thorndyke's projector and go over every inch of micro-film we have. We may be too close to the problem. There must be something we've overlooked."
Outside the rain had slackened into a fine mist. Overhead the clouds still held, but they were somewhat lighter. In a short while, it would be dawn. Every light in the compound was burning fiercely. Gallifa suddenly remembered the generator in the shack behind the Administration Building. If anyone smashed or damaged the generator beyond repair, the camp would be without power of any kind. And they might be forced to warn the colonists to stay away from the planet.
He stopped MacFarland. "I think we better secure the door to the generator shack," he said thoughtfully. "We can put a robot control on the radio, but we have to insure power."
MacFarland understood the reason immediately. But before he could answer angry voices rang out somewhere across the compound.
Gallifa hesitated. "You better see what that is," he told MacFarland. "And I'll check the generator."