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 the 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.