"Oh, rats! I got bull-headed and forced one issue. It never occurred to you big brains that you were failing to consult the one real Venus expert you had on tap-Mary, I mean. But I didn't expect to find out anything; I had a lucky break."

He shook his head. "I don't believe in luck, Sam. Luck is a tag given by the mediocre to account for the accomplishments of genius."

I placed my hands on the desk and leaned toward him. "Okay, so I'm a genius-just the same you are not going to get me to hold the sack. When this is over Mary and I are going up in the mountains and raise kittens and kids. We don't intend to spend our time bossing screwball agents."

He smiled gently as though he could see farther into the future than I could. I went on, "I don't want your job-understand me?"

"That is what the Devil said to the Deity after he displaced him-but he found he could not help himself. Don't take it so hard, Sam. I'll keep the title for the present and give you all the help I can. In the meantime, what are your orders, sir?"

The worst of it was, he meant it. I tried to correct matters by going limp on him, but it did not work. A top-level conference was called late that afternoon; I was notified but I stayed away. Shortly a very polite little WAC came to tell me that the commanding officer was waiting and would I please come at once?

So I went-and tried to stay out of the discussion. But my father has a way of conducting any meeting he is in, even if he is not in the chair, by looking expectantly at the one he wants to hear from. It's a subtle trick, as the group does not know that it is being led.

But I knew. With every eye in the room on you, it is easier to voice an opinion than to keep quiet. Particularly as I found that I had opinions.

The meeting was largely given over to moaning and groaning about the utter impossibility of using nineday fever against the slugs. Admitted that it would kill slugs-it would even kill Venerians who can be chopped in two and still survive. But it was sure death to any human-or almost any human; I was married to one who had survived-death to the enormous majority. Seven to ten days after exposure, then curtains.

"Yes, Mr. Nivens?" It was the commanding general, addressing me. I hadn't said anything but Dad's eyes were on me, waiting.

"I think there has been a lot of despair voiced at this session," I said, "and a lot of opinions given that were based on assumptions. The assumptions may not be correct."

"Yes?"

I did not have an instance in mind; I had been shooting from the hip. I continued to do so. "Well . . . for example-I hear constant reference to nine-day fever as if the 'nine-day' part were an absolute fact. It's not."

The boss brass shrugged impatiently. "It's a convenient tag-it averages nine days."

"Yes-but how do you know it lasts nine days-for a slug?"

By the murmur with which it was received I knew that I had hit the jackpot again.

A few minutes later I was being invited to explain why I thought the fever might run a different time in slugs and, if so, why it mattered. I began to feel like the after-dinner speaker who wishes he had not gotten up in the first place. But I bulled on ahead. "As to the first point," I said, "according to the record I saw this morning in the only case we know about the slug did die in less than nine days-quite a lot less. Those of you who have seen the records on my wife-and I gather that entirely too many of you have-are aware that her parasite left her, presumably dropped off and died, long before the eighth-day crisis. One datum does not fair a curve, but if it is true and experiments show it to be, then the problem is very different. A man infected with the fever might be rid of his slug in-oh, call it four days. That gives you five days to catch him and cure him."

The general whistled. "That's a pretty heroic solution, Mr. Nivens. How do you propose to cure him? For that matter, how do you propose to catch him? I mean to say, suppose we do plant an epidemic of nineday fever in Zone Red, it would take some incredibly fast footwork-in the face of stubborn resistance, remember-to locate and treat more than fifty million people before they died of the fever."

It was a hot potato, so I slung it right back. I wondered as I did so how many "experts" made their names by passing the buck. "As to the second question, that is a logistical and tactical problem-your problem, not mine. As to the first, there is your expert." I pointed to Dr. Hazelhurst. "Ask him."

Hazelhurst huffed and puffed and I knew how he felt. Insufficient former art . . . more research needed . . . experiments would be required . . . he seemed to recall that some work had been done toward an antitoxin treatment but the vaccine for immunizing had proven so successful that he was not sure the antitoxin had ever been perfected. Anyway, everyone who went to Venus nowadays was immunized before leaving. He concluded lamely by saying that the study of the exotic diseases of Venus was necessarily still in its infancy.

The general interrupted him as he was finishing. "This antitoxin business-how soon can you find out about it?"

Hazelhurst said he would get after it at once, there was a man at the Sorbonne he wanted to phone.

"Do so," his commanding officer said. "You are excused."

Hazelhurst came buzzing at our door before breakfast the next morning. I was annoyed but tried not to show it when I stepped out into the passage to see him. "Sorry to wake you," he said, "but you were right about that antitoxin matter."

"Huh?"

"They are sending me some from Paris; it should arrive any minute now. I do hope it's still potent."

"And if it isn't?"

"Well, we have the means to make it. We'll have to make it, of course, if this wild scheme is used-millions of units of it."

"Thanks for telling me," I said. "I know the general will be pleased." I started to turn away; he stopped me.

"Uh, Mr. Nivens-"

"Yes?"

"About the matter of vectors-"

"Vectors?" At the moment all the word meant to me was little arrows pointing in various directions.

"Disease vectors. We can't use rats or mice or anything like that. Do you happen to know how the fever is transmitted on Venus? By a little flying rotifer, the Venerian equivalent of an insect-but we don't have such here and that is the only way it can be carried."

"Do you mean to say you couldn't give it to me if you tried? Even with a jugful of live culture?"

"Oh, yes-I could inject you with it. But I can't picture a million paratroopers dropping into Zone Red and asking the parasite-ridden population to hold still while they gave them injections." He spread his hands helplessly.

Something started turning slowly over in my brain . . . a million men, in a single drop. "Why ask me?" I said. "It seems to be a medical problem."

"Uh, yes, it is of course. I just thought-Well, you seemed to have a ready grasp-" He paused.

"Thanks." My mind was struggling with two problems at once and beginning to have traffic problems. How many people were there in Zone Red? "Let me get this straight: suppose you had the fever and I didn't; I could not catch it from you?" The drop could not be medical men; there weren't that many.

"Not very easily. If I took a live smear from my throat and placed it in your throat, you might contract it. If I opened a vein of mine and made a trace transfusion to your veins, you would be sure to be infected with it."

"Direct contact, eh?" How many people could one paratrooper service? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? Or more? "If that is what it takes, you don't have any problem."

"Eh?"

"What's the first thing one slug does when he runs across another slug he hasn't seen lately?"