Pember was coming on the run. The private saluted the captain.
"Something's wrong, sir! Orkins is throwing a fit."
"Can't you quiet him? The spheres are near."
"Norden held his hand over Orkins' mouth, but it made Orkins worse. I—I think it's serious, sir."
Taylor followed Pember to the place where Orkins had been digging. Norden was there, bending over Orkins, who lay on the ground. Masters, standing behind Norden, shook his head.
"He's dead," Norden said, straightening.
"He was scared to death by the spheres," Masters said. "No one harmed him, except to hold a hand over his mouth. He wasn't choked. He could have breathed through his nostrils—"
"Wait—"
Taylor held up his hand. Something clicked in his brain.
Masters had said something about the spheres that fitted. He said, Maybe you don't have to touch 'em to kill 'em. Figuratively speaking, Orkins hadn't been seriously touched either.