Fraser scowled. "You are. What about the others? Can't they—?"
"Do I know what I ate? The proportions? What went with what and how much? I was dizzy as a loon. All I really remember clearly is eating t'ang berries. Deadly poison. Can a cure be mixed with ingredients like that?"
Fraser was not daunted. "Perhaps you can't force the law, Thorne. But you do know what cured you. Work out a cure. Get the botanists and biologists on it, man. Let them do the work, if it is your clue. Flying isn't the only thing in life, Jeff."
"Do I look like a fountain, to start research on the course, Joy?" Thorne surveyed his rags in a spotted mirror on the wall of the freighter's little surgery. "I look like the subject matter."
"You can do anything with money, lad."
"And do I look like money, Joy?"
"Not at present, of course. But when we reach Vulhan City, you can look as you like. Ye're wealthy, lad. Wealthier than Donaldson o' the Line."
"Which of us has been drinking the t'ang, Joy?"
"This is no dream, pipe or any other kind, Jeff." The captain held up a small, broken sliver of irridescent golden amber, clamped in a leaden grip, which he had taken from the cabinet as Thorne jeered. "I think you'll find it worth about one hundred and seventy thousand, lad. One hundred and seventy thousand. Think it over. Ye had it caught in your clothes when we found ye."