ago."

Dal walked over to the platform and peered down at his pink friend in
alarm. He took him up and rested him on his shoulder, a move that
invariably sent Fuzzy into raptures of delight. Now the little creature
just sat there, trembling and rubbing half-heartedly against Dal's neck.

Dal held him out at arm's length. "Fuzzy, _what's the matter with you?_"

"Do you think something's wrong with him?" Jack said, looking up
suddenly. "Looks like he's having trouble keeping his eyes open."

"His color isn't right, either," Tiger said. "He looks kind of blue."

Quite suddenly the little black eyes closed and Fuzzy began to tremble
violently. He drew himself up into a tight pink globule as the fuzz-like
hair disappeared from view.

Something was unmistakably wrong. As he held the shivering creature, Dal
was suddenly aware that something had been nibbling at the back of his
mind for hours. Not a clear-cut thought, merely an impression of pain
and anguish and sickness, and now as he looked at Fuzzy the impression
grew so strong it almost made him cry out.

Abruptly, Dal knew what he had to do. Where the thought came from he
didn't know, but it was crystal clear in his mind. "Jack, where is our
biggest virus filter?" he asked quietly.

Jack stared at him. "Virus filter? I just took it out of the autoclave
an hour ago."