“Dr. Smyth…” began José. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked Adam suspiciously. From what the captain had said, crew and passengers were not supposed to mix, and Adam was not interested in any trouble. On the other hand, the idea of having a friend among the crew was appealing and could come in handy.
“They sell cigarettes in the ship’s store,” said José. “If I gave you the money, would you buy some for me?”
“Why don’t you get them yourself?” asked Adam.
“We’re not allowed beyond this door.”
Adam considered the request. It seemed sufficiently innocuous. “How many packs do you want?”
“As many as you can get for this.” José reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.
Adam had the feeling that José’s request wasn’t so innocent after all. José was probably running a little shipboard black market.
“Let me start with ten dollars’ worth,” said Adam.
José quickly substituted a ten for the fifty.
Adam took the money and told José that he’d meet him at the same location the next day at eleven. He remembered from the lecture schedule there was a coffee break scheduled at that time. José smiled broadly, his teeth startlingly white against his mustache.
Taking a few deep breaths of sea air, Adam went inside and headed for his stateroom.
CHAPTER 13
Adam heard the voice calling Dr. Smyth but ignored it. The name had nothing to do with him, and he preferred remaining immobile. Then someone grasped his arm and with great effort he opened his eyes.
“My glasses,” said Adam, surprised to find he was slurring his words.
Slowly and carefully he swung his feet over the side of the bunk and groped around on the night table. His hand hit the glasses and knocked them on the floor. Reaching over to pick them up, he suddenly remembered he was Dr. Smyth.
The steward handed him a glass of water.
“Thank you,” said Adam, puzzled.
Then the steward held out another one of the yellow capsules. Without hesitating, Adam took it and put it into his mouth. But as he had done the day before, he didn’t swallow it, taking a little water instead.
Satisfied, the steward took the glass into the bathroom. Adam slipped the capsule from his mouth.
“Excuse me,” he said, his words much clearer. “What are these yellow pills?”
“They are to relax you,” the steward said in his oddly mechanical voice.
“Hey,” said Adam. “I am relaxed. A little seasick maybe, but relaxed. Wouldn’t it be better if you gave me something for my stomach?”
“The yellow pills are to make you more relaxed and receptive,” the steward said, opening the door.
“Receptive to what?” called Adam.
“To instructions,” said the steward as he pulled the door closed.
Adam got up feeling unusually tired and weak. He’d had no idea that seasickness could be so debilitating. Forcing himself into the bathroom, he showered and dressed, still puzzling over the steward’s comment.
On his way to breakfast, he decided to see if Alan were up. This time, instead of knocking, he just turned the knob and the door swung open.
Alan was still stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even.
“Alan,” called Adam. Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, only to close again. Adam bent down and gently lifted Alan’s eyelids. At first, all he saw was sclera, but then the corneas descended and seemed to focus.
“Wake up,” said Adam. He took his hands from Alan’s eyes and, grabbing his shoulders, pulled him into a sitting position.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Alan in a flat voice that reminded Adam of the steward’s. “I’m just tired. Let me sleep.” He started to sag backward, but Adam caught him.
“Tell me,” demanded Adam. “What is your name?”
“Alan Jackson.”
“Where are you?” asked Adam.
“I’m on an Arolen cruise.” Alan spoke with no inflection whatsoever.
“What month is this?”
“June,” said Alan.
“Raise your right hand,” said Adam.
Dutifully, Alan raised his right hand. He was like an automaton or a patient under heavy sedation. In fact, he reminded Adam of his patient with tardive dyskinesia. When the man had first come into the hospital, he’d been so heavily medicated that he’d slept around the clock, although if aroused he’d been oriented to time and place.
Adam allowed Alan to slump back onto his bed. After watching him for a moment or two, he returned to his own stateroom. Closing the door, Adam felt really afraid for the first time. Alan had been drugged. There was little doubt of that.
Obviously, the yellow pills were some kind of tranquilizer. All at once Adam recalled how drowsy he’d felt when the steward had awakened him. He had attributed his condition to the aftermath of seasickness, but maybe he, too, had been drugged. Yet how could that have happened? He hadn’t taken the yellow pills and what little dinner he’d eaten he’d vomited almost immediately. Maybe it was the water.
Adam went into the bathroom and filled his glass. It had no smell. Gingerly, he tasted it. It had a chemical flavor, but that could be from chlorination. Dumping it down the drain, Adam decided to go to breakfast.
The dining room held no trace of last night’s raucous party. A buffet had been set up in the center of the room with an impressive array of food. People were lined up, patiently awaiting their turn. Adam strolled among the tables and looked for Ned and Clair but didn’t see them.
His stomach not only felt better, he was actually hungry. The only trouble was, now that he had an appetite, he was terrified to eat. He eyed the buffet. There was the usual selection of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and Danish. Then Adam saw something even better: a large bowl of fruit.
Thinking that unpeeled fruit had to be safe, he took several bananas, two oranges, and a grapefruit and made his way to an empty table. Just as he sat down, Ned and Clair appeared. Adam called out to them, and they came over to his table. They said they would join him.
Adam watched them go through the buffet line. They seemed tired, and when they came and sat down, Adam noticed that they hadn’t taken much food. He was puzzled. If the drug were in the food and water, why weren’t they and the other doctors in the room knocked out like Alan? Maybe it was the yellow pill. Maybe it was only given to guests on their second cruise. Maybe it was the combination of the capsule and whatever was put in the food…
“Quite an affair last night,” said Ned interrupting Adam’s thoughts.
Adam nodded.
“I’m exhausted,” said Clair. “I didn’t think I’d drunk as much as I must have. I slept like the dead.”
“Same with me,” said Ned. “Must be the salt air.”
Trying to sound casual, Adam said, “Have you people been given any yellow capsules for seasickness?”
“I haven’t,” said Ned, sipping his coffee. He looked at Clair.
“Nor have I,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’m looking for an anti-nauseant. I just wondered…” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to arouse their suspicion. If he mentioned anything about the doctors being drugged, they would think he was crazy. Ned and Clair drank their coffee in silence. Obviously, neither of them felt very well.
After breakfast Adam stopped at the ship’s store. It had a new supply of Dramamine and anti-motion patches. Adam bought some of the patches, and before he left he remembered to pick up ten dollars’ worth of Marlboros for José.
Back in his cabin he found another yellow capsule with a glass of water on his night table. This time he flushed both down the toilet.
The first lecture of the morning was scheduled for the large auditorium. Given by a Columbia pathologist, it was stultifyingly dull. Adam noticed that a number of the doctors were dozing and wondered whether it was because they were bored or drugged. The second lecture was given by Dr. Goddard and was far more interesting. Adam noticed a number of the doctors straightening up in their chairs. Goddard was summarizing a recent experiment that showed that fetal tissue that was injected into adults was not rejected. The guess was that the fetal tissue had not developed antigens strong enough to elicit an antibody response. The potential for the therapy was immense. Repopulating islet cells in the pancreases of diabetics was only one of the revolutionary possibilities.