There was a murmured consultation from the speaker. Evidently, the ship's commander was conferring with his communications officer.
"We need a point oh nine seven five," Wills said at last. "Why? What's that got to do with—"
"Just as I thought, sir!" Hale interrupted. "The crystal in my radio happens to be a point oh nine seven five!" It wasn't, but he had several of them in his pack. "Now, my ship is guarded by several armed natives, and they won't let me in again. They think I have a weapon hidden inside. However, my crystal is intact; it was the modulator section they smashed.
"Now; we can do one of two things. We can wait until the Plague has thoroughly decimated the population and they give up guarding my ship, or we can cure them of the Plague and earn their gratitude."
Wills thought that one over. "I'm afraid it will have to be the former, Hale; we have nothing on board to cure that disease. As a physician, I hate to do it, but we'll simply have to let those people die."
"I think not, sir. How much acetylsalicylic acid do you have aboard?"
"Aspirin? Oh, a hundred thousand five-grain tablets, I should imagine, but—"
"How about vitamin C—ascorbic acid?"
"In the pure form? Why, our food synthesizer could be adjusted for almost unlimited amounts of that, but—"
"And you could adjust for thiamine, too?" Hale persisted.