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And he’d thought there was something romantic about being a hero!

The supplies that had already been sent up by the superfast unmanned missiles would give him something to do, at least. He moved back the two feet needed to reach his developing tanks and went through the process of spraying and gargling. It was soothing enough while it went on, but it offered only momentary help.

Then his stomach began showing distress signs. He fought against it, tightening up. It did no good. His hasty breakfast of just black coffee wanted to come up—and did, giving him barely time to make the little booth.

He washed his mouth out and grabbed for the radar key, banging out a report on this. The doctors must have been standing by down at the big station, because there was only a slight delay before the answering signal came: “Any blood?”

Another knot added itself to his intestines. “I don’t know—don’t think so, but I didn’t look.”

“Look, next time. We’re trying to get this related to some of the familiar diseases. It must have some relation—there are only so many ways a man can be sick. We’ve got a doctor coming over, Adams. None on the Moon, but we’re shipping him through. He’ll set down in about nine hours. And there’s some stuff to take on the supply missiles. May not help, but we’re trying a mixture of the antibiotics. Also some ACS and anodynes for the itching and rash. Hope they work. Let us know any reaction.”