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burden and trudged after Ole
Doc around the outskirts of the town toward the higher level of ground where
the river had been diverted into three reservoirs which provided the water
supply.
    Hippocrates
was under a double burden, the sack which he carried on his back and the burden
which lay in his mind. As they made their way through the night, the heavy
little being shaking the solid ground of Spico with every step no matter how
light he intended it, and Ole Doc regarding the stars with a musing eye,
Hippocrates rattled off the code from start to finish. Then he began again. Soon,
newer arguments for sanity occurred to him and he started to quote at length:
    On
Woman
    The
stronger the woman
The
safer the man
As
he ventures afar
On
the Spaces that span.
    For
love may be lovely
In
summer’s soft haze
And
days may be sweeter
When
fond passions blaze.
    But
far out on Astri
With
light frying hot
Adventure
can’t live
When
there’s naught in the pot.
    Her
sweet curling ringlets
Can’t
warm you at night
And
the dew in her eyes
May
but lead you to fight.
    No!
Take woman stronger
Than Vega ’s bright blare
For
then you live longer
Yea,
live to get there!
    (Tales
of the Space Rangers)
    Hippocrates
finished this quotation with considerable satisfaction which lasted only long
enough to see that Ole Doc hadn’t even heard it. He glumly subsided, despairing,
for there was no mistaking the elasticity of Ole Doc’s step, nor the softness
of his eye.
    It
was a beautiful night. Spico’s several moons made the ground iridescent and
played in triangular patterns upon the reservoirs. Ole Doc was very cheerful.
“Now there,” he said, “dump a third of that sack in each one of these and back
we’ll go.”
    It
was not until now that Hippocrates gave way to the most gloomy forebodings. He
had seen Ole Doc busy with his tubes. He had seen this white powder gushing out
into the sacks but he had not associated it with the population of Junction City. Even if his reasoning powers might be feeble, it took no great effort on his
part to see that Ole Doc fully intended to poison every person there.
Hippocrates hesitated.
    He
was trembling, so great was the effort to disobey Ole Doc. He had no
conversation to match his feelings about this. He could only look mutely,
appealingly, and stand still.
    â€œGo
ahead,” said Ole Doc. And then, focusing more closely upon his slave, he
suddenly realized that that being was considerably afraid.
    Hippocrates
tried to begin the Universal Medical Code once more but failed.
    Although
it greatly taxed his strength, Ole Doc picked up the bag and began the task
himself. The white powder went instantly into solution and one could see it
spreading far out across the reservoir in the moonlight. When he had treated
all three of the repositories he gave the empty sack back to Hippocrates. Such
was the manner of the giving that Ole Doc’s anger was clearly demonstrated in
it.
    All
the way back to the Morgue Hippocrates lagged behind, head heavy against
his barrel chest, gypsum tears dripping slowly onto his doublet. It was the
first time Ole Doc had ever been angry with him.

Chapter Four
    The
strains of various instruments and occasional shouts came on the night wind
from the more lawless quarter of Junction City. Closer at hand a campfire
burned and about it clustered the flame-bathed faces of pioneers. They listened
to a faint and plaintive Magri song which hung over them like some sad ghost of
night.
    Ole
Doc passed close to the group but paused to listen to the woman who sang. In
his present mood he could understand the notes if not the words of the melody.
They called before his eyes the cascades of bright hair which he supposed
waited for him over at the Morgue. A wind was blowing softly from
Spico’s white plains but there was a chill in it and those about the fire
huddled closer. They listened in deeper silence.
    An
eager-faced young Earthman noticed Ole Doc