A silence. O’Brien tried to pull himself together. “Well,” he said. “We really found something on Mars, didn’t we? And if we’re going to start back for Earth, I might as well prepare a course based on present planetary positions.”
Again that look in Smathers’ eyes, stronger than ever. “That won’t be necessary, O’Brien. We won’t go back in the same manner as we came. Our way will be—well, faster.”
“Good enough,” O’Brien said shakily and got to his feet. “And while you’re working out the details, I’ll climb into a spacesuit and hustle down to that Martian city. I want to get me a good strong dose of Belov’s Disease.”
The thing that had been Tom Smathers grunted. O’Brien stopped. Suddenly he understood the meaning of that frightening look he had had first from Belov and now from Smatters.
It was a look of enormous pity.
“That’s right,” said Smathers with infinite gentleness. “You can’t ever get Belov’s Disease. You are naturally immune.”