He stopped to rest and Lake waited.

“Beriberi⁠—pellagra⁠—we had deficiency diseases on Earth. But none so fatal⁠—so quickly. I told Bemmon⁠—ration out fruits and vegetables to everybody. Hurry⁠—or it will be too late.”

Again he stopped to rest, the last vestige of color gone from his face.

“And you?” Lake asked, already knowing the answer.

“For me⁠—too late. I kept thinking of viruses⁠—should have seen the obvious sooner. Just like⁠—”

His lips turned up a little at the corners and the Chiara of the dead past smiled for the last time at Lake.

“Just like a damned fool intern.⁠ ⁠…”

That was all, then, and the chamber was suddenly very quiet. Lake stood up to leave, and to speak the words that Chiara could never hear:

“We’re going to need you and miss you⁠—Doctor.”

He found Bemmon in the food storage cavern, supervising the work of two teenage boys with critical officiousness although he was making no move to help them. At sight of Lake he hurried forward, the ingratiating smile sliding across his face.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “I had to take charge when Anders got sick and he had everything in such a mess. I’ve been working day and night to undo his mistakes and get the work properly under way again.”

Lake looked at the two thin-faced boys who had taken advantage of the opportunity to rest. They leaned wearily against the heavy pole table Bemmon had had them moving, their eyes already dull with the incipient sickness and watching him in mute appeal.

“Have you obeyed Chiara’s order?” he asked.

“Ah⁠—no,” Bemmon said. “I felt it best to ignore it.”

“Why?” Lake asked.