Feldman felt the kid's eyes on his back as he stumbled through the
aisles to his cot again. He slumped down, rolling another cigarette in
hands that shook. The sick man was approaching delirium now, and the
moans were mixed with weak whining sounds of fear. Other men had wakened
and were watching, but nobody made a move to help.
The retching and writhing of the sick man had begun to weaken, but it
was still not too late to save him. Hot water and skillful massage could
interrupt the paroxysms. In fifteen minutes, Feldman could have stopped
the attack completely.
He found his feet on the floor and his hands already reaching out.
Savagely he pulled himself back. Sure, he could save the man--and wind
up in the gas chamber! There'd be no mercy for his second offense
against Lobby laws. If the spaceman lived, Feldman might get off with a
flogging--that was standard punishment for a pariah who stepped out of
line. But with his luck, there would be a heart arrest and another juicy
story for the papers.
Idealism! The Medical Lobby made a lot out of the word. But it wasn't
for him. A pariah had no business thinking of others.
As Feldman sat there staring, the spaceman grew quieter. Sometimes, even
at this stage, massage could help. It was harder without liberal
supplies of hot water, but the massage was the really important
treatment.
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