individuals showed the same reactions. In every test the results were
either flatly impossible or completely the opposite of what was
expected.

Carefully they retraced their steps, trying to pinpoint what could be
going wrong.

"There's _got_ to be a laboratory error," Dal said wearily. "We must
have slipped up somewhere."

"But I don't see where," Jack said. "Let's see those culture tubes
again. And put on a pot of coffee. I can't even think straight any
more."

Of the three of them, Jack was beginning to show the strain the most.
This was his special field, the place where he was supposed to excel,
and nothing was happening. Reports coming up from the planet were
discouraging; the isolation techniques they had tried to institute did
not seem to be working, and the spread of the plague was accelerating.
The communiqués from the Bruckians were taking on a note of desperation.

Jack watched each report with growing apprehension. He moved restlessly
from lab to control room, checking and rechecking things, trying to find
some sign of order in the chaos.

"Try to get some sleep," Dal urged him. "A couple of hours will freshen
you up a hundred per cent."

"I can't, I've already tried it," Jack said.