by Damon Knight
McNulty was puzzled. He went back down to the lab, looked around and asked questions, hoping to find there had been a leakage of some noxious gas, but nobody had been using any such thing. The fact that Geller and Barlow had been stricken a day apart suggested a communicable disease, but if so, it was not like anything he had ever heard of. His two patients remained stuporous and unresponsive.
Late that afternoon he got a third one, Manuel Obregón, a steward. Obregón had been in the room when Barlow collapsed.
It began to look to McNulty as if he had an epidemic on his hands. He put in a call to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. Their computer had never heard of this, either.
13
From his position in the midst of the electrical network of the man’s brain, he could see another person approaching. It was time to go; he felt the tug of new adventure. He slipped out and for a dizzy instant was only an energy pattern aware of other patterns in space, a perilous dark field that stretched to infinity. He moved to the nearest one, merged with it, slipped in, and again she experienced that incredible flood of sensory information, the vivid colors, the scents, the friction of clothes against her body, the tightness of undergarments and shoes, the sounds, the signals that told her the positions of her limbs. The shock was so great that her knees went weak for an instant and she almost fell. When she came upright again, she saw the man lying on the floor, eyes half-open, mouth slack. It was always that way when she left; she could hold them together while she was inside, and even make some simple improvements in the network of their minds, but once she was gone, they felt the drain of the energy she had taken.
“Julie, are you all right?” A man she knew, John Stevens, was bending over her.
“Yes, I think so,” she heard herself say. “I just felt— What’s wrong with that man?”
“Some kind of seizure. Sit down here a moment, let me see if there’s anything I can do.”
When he came back, he said, “They’ve called the doctor. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Let’s go in.” She observed with fascination the changes that were taking place in her body in response to his presence, the contact of their skins, the faint male odor that underlay the scent of his cologne. She had felt something like this once or twice before, in other bodies, but never so strongly. Her heartbeat had speeded up; she could feel her cheeks flushing.
Now they were in the restaurant, where the tables were spread with spotless cloths the color of saffron, gleaming china, silver, crystal; a slender vase of flowers was on each table, and the saffron napkins stood in folded flowerlike shapes. A waiter in a saffron jacket handed them the saffron menus. She heard herself say, “I think I’ll just have the sole. I’m not very hungry.”
“Julie, if you’re not feeling well, you really ought to go and lie down.”
She felt the responses again, stronger than before. She was intensely aware of her own thighs, of the man’s knees a few inches away from hers under the table. “I don’t want to worry Mom and Dad,” she heard herself say.
“Look, I’m not hungry either. Let’s go up to my room, and you can lie down for half an hour until you’re feeling better.”
Now they were leaving the restaurant, walking down the violet corridor, passing the other people in their variegated clothes. All these sights and scents were pleasing to her, even though the host body was paying no attention to them; she wished they had stayed for dinner, to experience more of the sensations of human food which she had found so pleasurable in the past; but there would be time for that.
They were riding up in the hushed elevator—what ingenuity! Now they were walking down another corridor. The man was opening a door, ushering her inside with a broad warm hand on her back.
“Julie, dear,” he said, drawing her into an embrace. Their bodies were pressed together, the soft tissues flattening; his hand slid higher on her back, his mouth came warm and moist on hers. Her eyes shuttered; her arms went around him, probing the hard muscles of his back. His tongue came gently into her mouth, and she felt herself slumping against him. The hollow organ between her legs was moistening, softening. The breath went out of her lungs; she turned her face away and pressed it into his shoulder.
“Julie—dear—”
Her heart was beating violently; the sensations were so strong that she could hardly bear them. Now he was unbuttoning her blouse, drawing it down over her arms. He unfastened her brassiere; his hands were on her breasts. Now he left her for a moment to pull back the covers of the bed; now he took off her skirt and panties, threw them at a chair. Now she was lying naked on the bed, her moist skin feeling the coolness. Through half-closed eyes she saw him undressing. The organ between his thighs stood up stiff and glistening. Evidently this was going to be a reproductive activity, the first she had witnessed in humans. Her interest almost overcame her excitement.
And now he was kissing her body; now he was entering her; and now, now, she felt her hips bucking as the sensations rose to a level she would not have believed possible.
When the postcoital courtesies were over, they got dressed and went down to the Upper Deck Grille. Stevens, who had been concealing his ferocious hunger, wolfed down a tenderloin and a baked potato; Julie had the chef’s salad.
Stevens took her to the door of her stateroom and left her, murmuring, “Tomorrow.” Back in his room, he felt relaxed and cheerful, but not at all sleepy. During the middle passage of his duet with Julie, a really intriguing idea had occurred to him. There was no reason not to check it out before he went to bed. Stevens got a traveling bag from the closet, removed a soft leather case and put it in his breast pocket. He took the elevator down to the Boat Deck. He met no one in the corridor.
He chose a bay twenty feet from the elevators. The two facing entrances were heavy watertight doors. He bent to examine the lock of Number Fifty-three. It was an inconspicuous slot, obviously for a magnetic key. From his kit Stevens took a strip of plastic with a round handle and connected it to a flat black metal box. He slid the plastic strip gently into the lock, watching the lights that blinked in sequence. He withdrew the strip and put it into a slot in the box; the lights blinked again, went out, and a single green light appeared.
Stevens smiled. He withdrew the strip and put it into the lock. There was a faint hum, and the massive door opened.
Stevens entered, closed the door behind him, and bent to look at the door of the lifeboat itself. He tried the same key, and it opened. The lights and the blower came on inside. Stevens stepped in and looked around. Beside the door, as he remembered, was an access panel. With a screwdriver from his kit, he had it off in a couple of minutes. Inside was an array of switches labeled UMBILICAL, SIGNAL and so on. The last one was AUTO LAUNCH; beside it was a timer.
Stevens smiled again; he replaced the panel and left as he had come, locking both doors behind him. In all probability there was a circuit that would signal the opening of the doors on a console in the Control Center, but if anybody came to look at it, they would conclude that it was an electrical malfunction.
In his room, he lay on the bed and watched a Chinese film broadcast from Hong Kong. There were English subtitles, and also Chinese subtitles. The costumes were gorgeous. The plot seemed to concern a young woman who was masquerading as a man disguised as a woman. There was a bride, who at one point appeared with an orange lampshade on her head. The heroine spent a good deal of her time languishing in graceful postures, but every now and then she lost patience with a gang of warriors and laid them out in rows.
Then a documentary about microelectronics. Stevens turned off the television and went peacefully to sleep.
In the morning he called the operator and asked for the Washington Suite.
“Yes?” said a male voice.
“Professor Newland, please.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no one by that name here.”
Next he tried the Lincoln Suite, with a similar result. Then the Cleveland Suite. Then t
he Jefferson Suite. The Adams Suite did not answer. He tried the McKinley Suite.
“Hello?”
“Professor Newland?”
“Who’s calling?”
“This is Jack Boyle of the CV Journal. You know, the little newspaper we put out for the passengers. Is this Professor Newland?”
“No, I’m his assistant. Professor Newland doesn’t give interviews.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, thanks anyhow.”
14
The Executive Council always met in a conference room on the Upper Deck, because it was about halfway between the Control Center and the perm section. Most of the others were already there when Bliss and McNulty arrived—the five Town Council members, Ben Higpen, the mayor, and representatives from the fishing and hydroponics sections. Yvonne Barlow usually attended to represent the marine scientists, but she was in the hospital, and the marine people had not sent anybody else.
Bliss found a seat for McNulty and then went up to the head of the table to talk to Yetta Bernstein, the Council president. Yetta had her glasses on and was fussing with the papers in front of her.
“Mrs. Bernstein, pardon me,” said Bliss, leaning over. “I’ve got an item for the agenda, if you don’t mind.”
She fixed him with a steely glance. “Agenda items are supposed to be provided ten days before the meeting. You know that, Mr. Bliss.”
“I do, yes, but this is an emergency matter. A medical problem. I’ve brought Dr. McNulty to talk about it.”
“What kind of medical problem?”
“A threatened epidemic.”
“All right. I’ll put you down for number seven.”
Bliss said, “Thank you, Mrs. Bernstein.”
He went back to his seat. Items one through six concerned the hiring of a new mathematics teacher for the high school, problems with the air-conditioning system, a proposed change in the spring planting schedule, and similar matters. Bliss tuned out after a while.
“Item seven,” said Mrs. Bernstein. “A threatened epidemic. Dr. McNulty.”
McNulty looked startled; he cleared his throat. “Two days ago,” he said, “we started getting cases of what looks like an unknown infectious disease. I had two cases Monday, three more yesterday, and so far there are two new ones today. There are only eight beds in the hospital. We can cram another couple of beds in there, and maybe one more in the examination room, but that will be it. We’re going to need more space, and until we find out more about this, I think it ought to be in an isolation area.”
“What kind of disease is it?” asked the dentist, Ira Clark.
“It’s completely unfamiliar. The patients suddenly collapse, go into a stupor. We’re feeding them by stomach tube.”
“Mr. Bliss?” said Mrs. Bernstein.
Bliss said, “Dr. McNulty has asked me to clear out a section on the Upper Deck, near the hospital, and relocate the passengers elsewhere.”
“How big a section?”
Bliss raised an eyebrow at McNulty, who said, “No use doing it halfway. I’d like about a hundred rooms—that would be Corridor Thirteen from Corridor F to K. We’re going to need some nurses too.”
“Let’s do one thing at a time,” said Mrs. Bernstein. “Mr. Bliss, what’s your feeling about this?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice. It will show up on the balance sheets later on, of course.”
Mrs. Bernstein’s lips tightened. “Can you get that many passengers to move?”
“Oh, yes. They won’t be happy about it, though.”
“Dr. McNulty,” said another council member, “if we give you this hospital annex, or whatever you want to call it, can you contain the epidemic?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. The disease doesn’t seem to be communicable after the patient collapses. There’s a latency period. But I just think it would be a good idea to isolate the patients. We can’t have them all over the place, anyhow.”
“Any further comments?” Mrs. Bernstein asked.
“Call for a vote,” said Higpen.
“The motion is to approve clearing out a section of staterooms on the Upper Deck, from—what was it, Dr. McNulty?” “Corridor Thirteen from F to K.”
“All right. In favor?” All the hands went up.
“Motion carried. Mr. Higpen, will you find out who we’ve got that has nursing experience, and coordinate with Mr. Bliss and Dr. McNulty?”
“Yes. I can think of three or four.”
“Meeting adjourned.”
As the others left, Mrs. Bernstein, Mayor Higpen and Ira Clark came toward them. “Let’s go in here and talk,” said Bernstein.
They sat at a circular table in the small room off the Council chamber. “Doctor, how serious is this?” Mrs. Bernstein asked.
“Hard to say. It’s got me buffaloed; doesn’t behave like any disease I ever heard of.”
Ira Clark, a scholarly looking man, leaned forward. “What are the symptoms before a person collapses?”
“None that we know of. Well, there is one thing. A momentary dizziness or faintness a day or so before.”
“What if we asked everybody to report to you if they felt dizzy? Could we isolate them that way and keep this thing from spreading?”
“Maybe. That’s another can of worms, though. In a place this size, how many people feel dizzy? It’s a common experience, especially in older folks.”
“Would you be willing to try it?”
“Sure. Might need another hundred rooms, though.”
“Mr. Bliss?”
“Gentlemen, and Mrs. Bernstein,” said Bliss, spreading his hands, “I’m willing to do anything in reason, but can’t we go a little slower? For the moment, at least, Doctor, don’t you think a hundred rooms might be enough?”
“I guess so. If we run out, we can always ask for more space.”
McNulty’s phone beeped; he said, “Excuse me,” and took it out of his pocket. “McNulty.”
He listened a moment. “Okay, I’m coming.” He put the phone away and said, “Got another patient—that makes eight. I’ve got to go.”
15
The new patient was Julie Prescott, twenty-eight. Her parents were all over McNulty with anxious questions. With them was a young man named Stevens; he and Ms. Prescott had been on the Promenade Deck when she was stricken.
“Did you notice any dizziness at the time?” McNulty asked.
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact. It was just for a moment. That’s odd, isn’t it, because the same thing happened to Julie yesterday.”
“Where was that? What time?”
“In the Liberty Restaurant, about seven o’clock.”
McNulty made a note. “Did a man collapse, near your table?”
“Yes. Really, Doctor, this is amazing.”
McNulty felt a breath of cold air on his skin. He drew a cross and put a square around it. “Mr. Stevens, I’m going to see if I can have you assigned to another stateroom temporarily. It’ll be in an isolation corridor here on the Upper Deck.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“There’s a chance that you’re infected. I don’t want to alarm you, but I think the best thing is to put you where we can keep an eye on you. You’re traveling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you did come down with it, you wouldn’t want to be by yourself.” McNulty pressed a button on his desk. “Jan, will you call Bliss’s office and see if you can get Mr. Stevens into an isolation room as soon as possible?”
“Yes, Doctor. What room is he in now?”
McNulty asked, and passed the information along. “In the meantime,” he said, “it would be better if you wouldn’t go back to your room. If you’ll wait in the outer office, as soon as we’re ready to move you, we’ll give you a buzz.”
“This is very alarming, Doctor.”
“I know it is, but you look to me like a young man who can do whatever has to be done.”
“Thank you,” said Stevens with a charming smile, and
stood up. “Until later, then.”
The man did not wait. As he left the office, the watcher inside him was interested to note that his agitation was not expressed in the muscles of his face. His movements were natural and unhurried as he crossed the lobby to the elevator and stood aside to allow two elderly women to enter. As the elevator rose, he was thinking simultaneously of two things. One was that if, as seemed likely, he had been infected with Julie’s disease, he had only a short time to work in. He could not take the risk of waiting until tonight to carry out his attack. Elegance would have to go; this would have to be quick and dirty. In his mind was the image of a sleek gray-steel gun, small enough to be concealed in the palm of his hand; he was visualizing its location in a locked traveling case in his closet.
Under this, rigidly suppressed, was the image of a man, himself, lying on a hospital bed with a tube up his nose, and the thought that of all possible things, he detested illness most. He was recalling that he had decided years ago that he would prefer death to being a helpless vegetable; but he put this thought aside. At the surface of his mind there were other images: the door opens, a large young man appears—Harold Winter, Newland’s companion. He raises the gun…
With regret, the observer realized that it was time to go. For him, too, there were unacceptable risks. He slipped out into that fuzzy black space of floating snowflake patterns, and drifted toward the nearest one.
Mr. and Mrs. Eulan Neffield had just finished dressing for dinner when there was a tap at the door. “Yes?” said Mr. Neffield.
“Security.”
Mr. Neffield opened the door: there stood a woman in uniform, with a steward and a stewardess behind her. “Mr. Neffield, we’re sorry to disturb you and your wife, but there’s a medical emergency, and we’re going to have to move you to another stateroom.”