The Jupiter Plague

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?”

“It did. And Charley Stein in the gyn lab said they would probably incinerate all your clothes. Including shoes? I asked, and he said no doubt of it.” Killer reached under the bench and dragged out a pair of white, gum-soled shoes. “So I figured at least you oughta have a pair of shoes, so I got these out of your room, and I see I figured right.”

“You’re a friend in need, Killer,” Sam said, kicking off the scuffs and zipping up the shoes. “You’ve been on duty while I’ve been locked up here — what’s it like outside?”

For the first time since Sam had known him Killer’s face lost its neutral expression of urban sophistication, falling into lines of fatigue and worry.