The ship physician believes Mrs. Everts may have the
plague, but isn't sure of the symptoms. I understand you are quite
expert."
Doc wondered about the physician. Apparently there was another man who
placed his patients above anything else, though he was probably
meticulous about obeying all actual rules. There was no law against
listening to a pariah, at least.
"When did she have Selznik's migraine?" he asked.
"About thirteen years ago. We went through it together, shortly after
having our metabolism switched during the food shortage of '88."
Doc felt carefully at the base of the Captain's skull; the swelling was
there. He asked a few questions, but there could be no doubt.
"Both of you must have it, Captain, though it won't mature for another
year. I'm sorry."
"There's no hope, then?"
Doc studied the man. But Everts wasn't the sort to dicker even for his
life. "Nothing that I've found, Captain. I have a clue, but I'm still
working on it. Perhaps if I could leave a few notes for your
physician--"
It was Everts' turn to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Feldman. I have
orders to burn out your cabin when you leave. But thank you." He got to
his feet and left as quietly and erectly as he had entered.
Doc tore up his notes bitterly. He paced his cabin slowly, reading out
the hours while his eyes lingered on the little bottle of cultures.
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