5
“The Rand-alpha virus didn’t propagate in human tissue culture,” Nita said, her hands clasped so tightly together that her fingertips were white, “so there is almost no chance that you will catch the disease.” She was trying to reassure herself as much as him and he recognized the fact. It had been an abrupt change for her, to move in a single day from the quiet laboratory to this jarring contact with death.
“Little or no chance at all,” he said. “Hadn’t you better report to McKay what we have done while I take a look at the patient?”
The policeman was still asleep — but was his breathing hoarser? Sam thumbed the transcript button on the medical recorder and it whirred softly as it scanned the minute-to-minute record it had made of the patient’s medical history since he had been placed in the bed. There was a clunk and the sheet of graph paper fell into Sam’s hand. He followed the recorded curves of the different instruments and they all showed a steady deterioration up until the time of the interferon injection. At this point — almost three hours earlier — the decline leveled off, even improved slightly when the antipyretic brought the fever down. But the remission was over, the fever was rising again, blood pressure decreasing and the stricken man was sliding once more toward the threshold of death. Sam at once prepared another injection of interferon and administered it. It appeared to have no effect.
“Dr. McKay was very angry,” Nita said. “Then he said that we must keep accurate account of what happens, he thinks you’re an insane fool— I’m quoting — but he thanks you for doing it. Has there… been anything?” She turned his wrist so she could look at the dials of the telltale there.
“No, no reaction at all, you can see for yourself. There’s no reason that there should be, human tissue culture is sensitive enough. If Rand-alpha were transmittable to human tissue we would know it by now.”
Once more a patient of Dr. Bertolli was dying before his eyes and there was nothing he could do. The interferon had worked at first, delaying the onslaught by a few hours, but it would not work a second time. Higher and higher the fever rose and the antipyretic no longer affected it. The heart-lung machine was attached and then the artificial kidney when renal failure seemed imminent. Sam’s only hope was that he could aid the patient’s body in its fight against the invading virus, support it with transfusions of whole blood and stave off any secondary infections with antibiotics. It was a hopeless cause but he would not admit it. This was a battle he had to win, but he could not. Only when Nita pulled at his arm and he became aware that she was crying did he turn away.
“Sam, he’s dead, please, there’s nothing more you can do.”
The exhaustion hit him then; how long had it been, twelve hours or more? He looked at his watch and noticed the telltale on his arm. It was registering normally, though his pulse was depressed with fatigue. He had forgotten all about it! If he were going to catch the virulent Rand’s disease he would have had it by now; the experiment had paid off, he was safe. It seemed a small victory after the tragedy of the last hours.
“Sit down, please,” she said, “and here’s some black coffee.” He sipped it first, then gulped at it, drinking almost the entire cup at once before he put it down.
“What’s been happening?” he asked. “It’s after two in the morning.”
“We’ve been released from quarantine, that was Dr. McKay’s decision. He said if there were no symptoms by midnight that the quarantine was over…” She put her hand on his arm as he started to rise. “Now, wait, please, finish the coffee and hear the rest.”
He hesitated a moment, then sat down heavily. “It’s good coffee and I’ll have another cup.” He almost smiled. “I’m sorry if I have been acting like an idiot, but this whole dirty business has been so personal, ever since Rand came out of the ship, practically falling into our arms. Here, sit down, and have some coffee yourself.”
She poured the coffee and stirred cream and sugar into hers.
“The city is in a very bad way,” she said. “I can tell that from the medical reports. The Rand-beta virus is easy to pick up and deadly. The birds die very quickly after being infected, but by the time they do their entire body and all their feathers are coated with the virus. Apparently the virus spreads by simple contact with the skin, all of the people who have caught it have either handled a bird or touched the ground where the bird has been. The virus eventually dies after leaving the host, but they are not sure yet how long it takes.”
“How many cases have there been?”
She hesitated a moment before she answered. “Over three thousand the last I heard.”
“So fast! — What’s being done?”
“So far just stopgap measures, but there is a meeting going on right now, all the medical authorities, the mayor, police, everyone, here in Bellevue in auditorium number two. Professor Chabel of World Health is the chairman and he wants you to come down. I saved that information for last because you looked like you needed the cut of coffee first.”
“I did,” he said, standing and stretching, more under control. Nita stood too, very close, and his hands went out, almost of their own volition, taking her by the shoulders. He started to say something but he was aware only of the warmth of her flesh through the thin cotton smock. Then he was pulling her closer and her lips were on his, firm and alive, her strong arms holding him tightly against her body.
“Well!” he said, more than a little surprised at himself. “I’m really not sure why I did that. I’m sorry…”
“Are you?” She was smiling. “Well, I’m not. I thought it was very nice. Though I imagine it would feel even better after you have shaven.”
When he ran his fingers up his cheeks they rasped like sandpaper. “I hadn’t realized it — I must look like a porcupine, I certainly feel like one. Before I go down to that meeting I’ll have to get rid of these.”
The ship lighting around the mirror in the bathroom threw back dazzling highlights from the glazed tile and polished metal fixtures, and Sam squinted at his features through the glare. The radiating head of the supersonic shaver moved smoothly over his skin, shattering the brittle whiskers, but was irritatingly audible when he pressed too hard over the bone. The shaver’s sound was of course too high pitched to hear directly, but it vibrated his skull and set up overtones that whined in his inner ear like a fleet of tiny insects. His eyes were red-rimmed and set in darkened sockets. Aspirin would take care of the headache and five milligrams of Benzedrine would get him through the meeting, but he would have to stop by his room first and get some shoes; the white jacket and pants would be all right but he couldn’t very well wear the cotton scuffs.
“Will you let me know what is going to happen?” Nita asked as he was leaving. He nodded as he pushed again, impatiently, on the door switch as it slowly began the opening cycle.
“Yes, I’ll phone you as soon as I can,” he said distractedly, thinking about the city outside. He would have to be prepared for a number of changes.
When the outer door finally opened after the sterilizing cycle and Sam stepped through, the first thing he saw was Killer Dominguez stretched out asleep on a bench outside. Killer opened one eye suspiciously when the door mechanism hummed, then jumped to his feet.
“Welcome back to civilization, Doc, for a while there we were afraid they were gonna throw away the key on you, but I got it on the grapevine that you were outta quarantine so I came along as a committee of one to offer congratulations.”
“Thanks, Killer. Did the grapevine also tell you that I had to get right down to this meeting?”