“I believe they do.”
He nodded. “That might account for Miguel.”
He took a minute hypodermic syringe from the kit, inserted the needle through a penetration point on the container he had selected, filled it slowly. Jill stirred uneasily, asked, “What are you giving him?”
Dowland glanced over at her. “I don’t know exactly. The brand name’s `medic’. There are around thirty other names for what’s probably the same preparation. They’re all very popular wherever good doctors and good hospitals aren’t readily available. I haven’t run into medic on Terra, but I bring along my own supply.”
“What will it do for him?”
“Well, as I understand it, as soon as I inject this into his arm, it will spread through his body and start looking things over. Medic appears to know what a healthy human body should be like. So it diagnoses what’s wrong—cold symptoms, burned-out lung, hangover, broken ankle—and then tries to bring the situation back to normal.”
* * ** * *
He slid up Miguel Trelawney’s sleeve, inserted the needle tip into the thick, flaccid biceps, slowly depressed the plunger. “Medic’s supposed to be in the class of a virus—a very well-intentioned virus when it comes to human beings.” He removed the needle, glanced at his watch. “Almost six-thirty . . . A hangover’d get knocked out in three minutes. But judging from the condition your uncle seems to be in, it might be four or five hours now before the stuff really begins to take hold with him. If it can bring him back to consciousness by itself, it probably won’t happen much before morning. Might be earlier; but I don’t think we should wait for that before trying to get your Uncle Paul out of the lab. If he hasn’t come out on his own, he may be in the same shape as Miguel. Or worse.”
Jill’s face paled slightly. “Yes. I’ve been thinking of that.”
Dowland stood looking down at her, chewing on his lower lip. “You know, Miss Trelawney, there’s something very odd about the fact that you found Miguel lying outside the lab when the door was locked.”
She nodded. “I know. I don’t have any explanation for it.”
“Isn’t there a storeroom of some kind around—where they might be keeping radiation suits, for instance?”
“The ranch storehouse is the small square building just south of here. I went through it this morning looking for a key to the lab. There aren’t any radiation suits there.”
“You know what those suits look like?”
“Yes. I’ve worn them when taking part in attack drills.”
“Would you recognize the lab key if you saw it?”
“Yes. Miguel showed me the one he usually carries with him.” She got up, went over to the mantle above the fireplace, took down a circular wedge of metal, a half-inch thick, with smoothly beveled rim. She handed it to Dowland. “The key is very similar to this one, but at least three times as large.”
Dowland hefted the object shook his head. “Lady, by the weight of it, this thing’s metasteel. The stuff they use for bank vaults and the hulls of battleships. And it looks as if the door to your uncles’ laboratory has an atomic lock because that’s what this type of key is made for. Do you know if the building’s lined with steel inside?”
“It might be. Miguel told me that it had been extremely expensive to build, that he had wanted to make sure no one could get into it while he was away.”
“If it’s built of metasteel, he’s done just that,” Dowland said. “And that makes it tough.” He looked at the key in his hand. “What does this key fit into?”
“I don’t know. But I’m sure there’s no other door on the ranch that has an—an atomic lock. I found the key in Miguel’s pocket this morning.”
“Well, it’s probably no good to us,” Dowland said. “Now look, Miss Trelawney. I’m carrying a protection gun that can be stepped up to around six times the shock power of a heavy rifle slug. I’ll try that out at full charge on the lock to the lab, and then around the walls. But if it’s all metasteel, shooting at it won’t get us anywhere. Then we might make another search for that key. Or I could try getting down off the mesa to get help.”
Jill looked doubtful. “There’s no easy way down off the mesa even in daylight. And at night it would be worse.”
Dowland said, “That part of it won’t be too much of a problem. I brought mountaineering equipment along this trip—planned to pick up a Marco Polo ram and a few ewes—piton gun, clamp pitons, half-mile of magnetic rope; the works. Question is, how much good will it do? I’ve got a camp communicator, but it’s grid-powered, and we don’t know how far the power failure extends around here at ground level. Is there anyone down in the plain we could contact? They might have horses.”
She shook her head. “I would have heard of that. You could wander around there for weeks before you were seen.”
Dowland was silent a moment. “Well,” he said, “it should be worth a try if we can’t accomplish anything within another few hours. Judging from my car’s position when its power went off, it shouldn’t really be more than a ten-mile hike from the bottom of the mesa before I can start using the communicator. But, of course, it will take up a lot of time. So we’ll see what we can do here first.”
He slipped his jacket on. “You’d better stay with your uncle, Miss Trelawney. I—”
He interrupted himself. An unearthly din had begun suddenly outside the house—whistling squeals, then an angry ear-shattering noise somewhere between a howl and a roar. The girl started, then smiled nervously. Dowland asked, “What is that?”
“Miguel’s pigs. I expect they’re simply hungry. The feeding equipment in the animal house isn’t operating either, of course.”
“Pigs? I’ve heard pigs make a racket, but never anything like that.”
“These,” said Jill, “are rather large. My uncle is interested in experimental breeding. I understand the biggest tusker weighs nearly two tons. They’re alarming beasts. Miguel’s the only one who can get close to the boar.”
* * ** * *
Outside it was early evening, still light, but Dowland went first to the wrecked grid-car to get a flashlight. He’d need it during the night, might even need it immediately if he found he could force an entry into the laboratory. In that case—if the building wasn’t metasteel after all—he probably would find no YM inside it. Which, Dowland admitted to himself, would be entirely all right with him.
But he was reasonably certain it was there. The Overgovernment’s instructions about what to watch for remained annoyingly indefinite, but uniformly they stressed the unusual, in particular when associated with the disastrous. And so far, that described the situation here. The large and uncomfortable question was what kind of disaster might be about to erupt next.
There were other questions, somewhat too many of them at the moment. But the one he wanted answered immediately concerned Jill Trelawney’s role. There was a guaranteed way of getting the information from her, but he had to be sure she wasn’t as innocent as she acted before resorting to it. At the very least, he had to establish that the activities in the laboratory constituted some serious violation of Overgovernment law—even if not directly connected with YM—and that the girl knew about it. Otherwise, the whole present pattern of the YM-400 search on Terra might become very obvious to all interested parties.
He thought he had a method of forcing Jill’s hand. If she had guilty knowledge, she might consider a non-Terran animal trader, who’d just happened to drop in, literally, a convenient tool to use in this emergency. She wanted to get help, too, though not from the Solar Police Authority. The Trelawneys couldn’t possibly be alone in this thing.
But she couldn’t, if guilty, take the chance of trying to make use of an Overgovernment cop. A policeman wouldn’t be here at this particular moment by accident. There was some risk in revealing himself—she might react too hastily—but not much risk, Dowland thought. From what he’d seen of her, she’d use her head. She’d make sure of him.
The uproar from the animal building lessened as he went back across the slope to the entrance of the lab. Miguel’s beasts might have caught his footsteps, and started to listen to see if he was coming in. The outer door to the lab—a frame of the weather-proofed wood that covered the building—stood slightly open. Dowland pulled it back, looked for a moment at the slab of metasteel behind it, and at the circular depression in the slab which was the atomic lock.
In character, so far. Three windows at the back of the house where he had left Jill Trelawney with Miguel overlooked the lab area. Guilty or not, she’d be watching him from behind one of those windows, though she mightn’t have come to any conclusions about him as yet. The reference to his “protection” gun had been a definite giveaway; he’d described an IPA police automatic, and that was a weapon civilians didn’t carry—or didn’t mention to strangers if they happened to carry them.