They made sure of their weapons, and left the control room. Within the whole ship there was no sound except their footsteps in the corridor. One by one, they opened the stateroom doors as they went down toward the locks. They held the cloths moistened with the restoring vapors to the nostrils of each of their own men.
The first were Dreyer and Phyfe. Mason and his crew were found in the next room toward the stern. Quick explanations were made and those revived went to the task of restoring still others.
In Illia's stateroom, they found her lying composed upon her bunk. For a moment, as he looked down upon her serene features, Underwood forgot the intense urgency of his tasks. He tried to recall just why he had been willing to sacrifice the life that Illia and he had hoped to share—sacrifice, because she had believed in man, while Underwood had wanted only escape from the pressure of an erratic and chaotic society. Surely that life together would not have been postponed if he could have seen the choices earlier as he saw them now. Was it too late to hope now for reprieve from the destruction that hovered over them? He dared not answer.
Gently, he restored her to consciousness.
"I had the nicest dream," she said. "I knew you were in control as soon as the first whiff of triptanate came through."
"We're not in control yet. The main fleet will arrive within a few hours and have us cornered. Most of us are revived with the exception of a large group down by the locks. Will you go up and help Armstrong, the engineer? He's in B05 and badly hurt. We haven't been able to do a thing for him yet."
Illia nodded. "I'll take care of him. Any others?"
"Terry here." He motioned at Terry's bloodcaked arm. "You'd have to tie him down to work on him, though. Maybe he can go until we get organized."
They separated in the corridor and Underwood hurried on toward the stern locks. As he came up he could see a large group of the men gathered around. Apprehension drove him to a run along the narrow passageway. The group turned as they heard his footsteps and made a path for him.
A scene of death lay before him. Bodies of scientists and Disciples lay side by side on the floor. There were Roberts, the surgeon, and Parker and Muth, two of the chemists. Three others were not recognizable. Six of his own men had died and five of the Disciples before the gas had brought an instant and bloodless end to the battle.