"Except from boredom," Phillips cut in, and they all laughed again.
"Really though," said MacMartree, "you should be proud, not bored. Think of it, if the sun that just rolled down the horizon should suddenly begin to expand into a super-nova, it's within our ability to restore it to its normal status. Should a comet sweep this planet tonight and drag a tail of poisonous gases over us as we sleep, our force screen would protect us, and our mechanisms and devices would make the air sweet and clean for us in minutes. If—oh, but you know. Appreciate your power, your ability. Be glad you are what you are!"
The young men smiled in the darkness, because, of course, they were proud, and satisfied, and pleased with their own omnipotence.
MacMartree slept the sleep of the aged, curled in the clinging, billowy warmth of his sleep-kit. It took him a minute to rouse, when Cole came and shook him by the shoulder.
"It's Phillips," Cole was saying. "Come and see him, Mac, come and see."
"Eh?" MacMartree questioned. "What about Phillips?"
"There's something—something wrong with him. I don't know ... come and see, Mac!"
Abner lighted the lamp, and MacMartree blinked against the glare that flooded the area within the screen. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the brilliance, he saw what was happening to Phillips.
"You see?" Cole said, in great agitation. "Something is wrong with him."
As they watched, the stricken Phillips retched and vomited again. MacMartree's nostrils crinkled at the offensive odor of it.