Wills explained in detail what had happened twelve years before. "So you see," he finished, "we've been holding them off all this time. Yon the Fisher has been trying to get us to repair the Morris, but we've refused steadily. In the first place, if we exposed ourselves, we'd be dead before we reached another planet. In the second place, we wouldn't dare give these people interstellar ships; if the Plague ever began to spread through the galaxy, it would mean the end of civilization as we know it. Every planet would be like Cardigan's Green. Mankind would have to start all over again from the lowest barbarian stage."
"You mean your sub-radio is wrecked, sir? Completely inoperative?"
"Completely," said the captain doctor. "Oh, it's not wrecked, but we lack a diamond tuning crystal."
Well, well, well, said Hale to himself. Well, well, well, well, well.
"Of course," said Captain Wills, with more heartiness in his voice, "now that you're here, we can call Health Central and—and get off this—this—" His voice choked.
Hale took a deep breath. This was it. "I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, sir. You see, I landed my ship here not knowing that the—ah—natives were hostile. I landed near their village. They pretended to be friendly, so I went out to meet them. They overpowered me and went into my ship. They smashed my sub-radio and took away parts of my drive unit." He paused for effect. "I'm afraid, sir, that their ship will be ready to go shortly, and we have no way to contact Health Central."
The sudden tumbling of a gigantic house of cards was marked by an awful roar of silence.
Hale waited. He had plenty of time.
When it finally came, the voice of Captain Doctor Latimer Wills was distorted with frustration, anger, fear, and despair. "Then that's the end. It—it isn't your fault, of course, Lieutenant Hale. You couldn't have known." It was obvious that his first emotional reaction had been violently against "Lieutenant" Hale, and he had suppressed it with effort.