ethal alkaloids in some greenish tree fungus, but
I doubt if the colony were indiscriminate fungus eaters. Bishop has
found a few new unicellular types, but nothing dangerous. There's one
tentacled thing that reminds me of a frightened rotifer. Max named it
_Armitagium_. Armitage is pleased.

Perhaps the fate of the hundred colonists will remain one of those
forever unsolved mysteries, like the fate of the _Mary Celeste_ or the
starship _Prometheus_.

This planet's _clean_.

* * * * *

_February 4_

Today Max and I went specimen-hunting.

It must be autumn on Epsilon. Everywhere the trees are a riot of scarlet
and ocher, the scrubby bushes are shedding their leaves. Once we came
upon a field of thistlelike plants with spiny seed-pods that opened as
we watched, the purple spores drifting afield in an eddy of tinted mist.
Max said it reminded him of Scotland. He kissed me.

On the way back to the ship we saw two skeletons. Each had its fingers
tightly locked about the other's throat.

* * * * *

_February 20_

We have, to date, analyzed nine hundred types of plant life for toxin
content. Bishop has tested innumerable spores and bacteria. Our slide
file is immense and still growing. Max has captured several insects.
There is one tiny yellow bush-spider with a killing bite, but the
species seem to be rare. Bishop has isolated a mold bacterium that could
cause a high fever, but its propagation rate is far too low to enable it
to last long in the bloodstream.

The most dangerous animal seems to be a two-foot-tall arthropod. They're
rare and peaceable. Bishop vivisected one yesterday and found nothing
alarming.

Last night I dreamed about the first expedition. I dreamed they all
committed suicide because Epsilon was too good for them.

This is ridiculous!

We're working in a sort of quiet madness getting no closer to the
solution.

Armitage talked to Senator Farragut yesterday and hinted darkly that the
first ship's hydroponics system went haywire and that an improper
carbohydrate imbalance killed the colony. Pretty thin. Farragut's
getting impatient. Bishop looks haggard. Max looks grim.

* * * * *

_February 23_

Our quantitative tests are slowing down. We play a rubber of bridge each
night before retiring. Last night I trumped Max's ace and he snarled at
me. We had a fight. This morning I found a bouquet of