The others nodded. After a time, Phillips' breathing grew more regular and he slept. As they watched, the rest of them saw the color creep back into his face, and sensed that he was better now. But still, it was a puzzling thing. Phillips had been ... what was the word?... Sick. According to MacMartree's histories, no man had been sick for the last thousand years.
They decided to return to their sleep-kits for the remaining hour of darkness, but they never got there.
Rising from his position beside the sleeping Phillips, Abner's long frame lurched suddenly forward. He sprawled at the feet of MacMartree and Cole ... and both men heard the dull snap as Abner hit the ground, his left arm caught beneath his body.
MacMartree cursed. "Blast it, Abner, pick up your feet!" Then to Cole: "Is the bone-mending stuff here, or in the ship?"
Cole started to say that he had brought it along, all right, but he was interrupted by Abner's scream.
The sound of it rasped across their nerves. They stared down at the writhing Abner, their brains numbed by that horrible, entirely unfamiliar sound.
"What is it?" Cole questioned, finding his voice after a moment. MacMartree ignored him, kneeling beside Abner.
Abner's wind sucked into his lungs, and was expelled in another fearful scream. In spite of himself, MacMartree felt a prickling along the back of his neck....
"Abner," he said intensely, "Abner, listen to me!"
But the younger man was doubled in a knot of agony, screaming and screaming and screaming.