The Jupiter Plague

Sam caught the sergeant’s eye and the big policeman smiled and shrugged. “The pilot’s name is Forson, and in addition to having big ears he has a big mouth and he is a lousy pilot, but I understand he was born back there in the sticks where we are going so we’ll need him.”

“For a city slicker you got a lot to learn, Sarge,” the pilot said, lifting the copter as they passed above the towers of the George Washington Bridge. “That’s just my country-boy curiosity that made me listen in on your top-level conversation. Someday I’ll be a sergeant and chew out the help too. Is that straight, Doc, about there being a guy that was cured?”

“That’s what we’re going there to find out.” Sam looked at the two policemen, doing their job with quiet efficiency, and decided that telling the truth was the wisest course. “So far there is no cure for Rand’s disease; if someone gets it he dies. So you can realize the importance of this. We have to find the right place and bring the patient and the doctor out.”

“Know that country like the back of my hand,” the pilot said, his face immobile, his eyes invisible behind the large sunglasses. “I came from Stony Point, great historical spot where we licked the British, and I’ve been all over those woods up there. I’ll drop you right into the center of Stone-bridge.”

“Don’t drop us, land us,” the sergeant said coldly.

“A figure of speech, Sarge, that’s all it was. I’ll take you to the town, then all we have to do is find the right house.”

At Haverstraw they turned away from the river and flew over the tree-covered slopes and the holiday lakes, all deserted now.

“Coming up,” Forson said. “That’s 17A below and the next turnoff leads up to Stonebridge; the farmhouse could be anywhere along the road here.”

Dropping lower, the copter swung into a course above the narrow side road and followed it toward a cluster of buildings that was visible ahead. There were no cars on the road, and even the sidewalks in the center of town were empty. They passed over it and when they reached the outskirts, on the far side, they saw a thread of smoke rising from beyond a grove of trees.

“That could be it,” the pilot said, tapping the typewritten message taped above the control panel. “Says here farm near Stonebridge and a fire will be burning so we can find it by the smoke…”

As they cleared the stand of silver birches they had a clear view of the smoking remains of a farmhouse and barn. A few cows and chickens ran wildly when the copter appeared, but there were no human figures.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” the sergeant said. “That house is still smoldering and there’s no one around. I wonder if it’s the one we want?”

“No way of telling from up here,” Forson said, tilting the machine into a tight circle. “Want to go down or swing around the town first?”

The animals had fled and the clearing around the farmhouse was still deserted.

“Around the town first, nothing much moving here and we can always come back. All right with you, Doctor?”

“Of course. There doesn’t seem to be anything that we can do here and there is no indication that it is the house we are looking for.”

“Up ahead, more smoke,” the pilot said as they passed west of the settlement. He followed a rutted farm road to a clearing where a white, frame house stood. A man was in the yard waving up at them and a trickle of smoke rose from the chimney.

“This looks more like it,” the sergeant said. He squinted into the sun as they turned and automatically loosened his recoilless.50 in its holster. “Is there enough room to set down there?”

“Enough room to put down five of these jobs. Here we go.”

The man below took shelter in the doorway of the farm as the copter settled straight down, a billowing circle of dust and weeds blowing out from below it. They touched gently and rocked on the wheels: Sam reached for the door handle but the sergeant put his hand on his shoulder.

“I think I’ll go out first, Doctor. The town was too quiet, and that house that burned down— there’s just the smell of trouble around here. Stay here and keep an eye on the bus, Forson.”

The pilot clicked off the jets and nodded. “You’re just not used to the country, Sarge. It’s always quiet like this.” He grunted. “Why do you think I came to the city?”

The sergeant jumped down and walked slowly toward the man who came out of the farmhouse and waved again, a gray-haired man who wore old-fashioned suspenders over a white shirt.

“Come in,” he called out. “I’m Dr. Stissing. I’m the one who called up; the patient is inside.”

The sergeant gave him a quick look in passing and just nodded, then went into the house. He came out a few moments later and called across to the copter.

“This is the right place, there’s a man in bed here.”

Sam was waiting with his black bag and climbed down. Stissing looked a little bewildered, rubbing at the white stubble on his jaw. In his late seventies, Sam guessed. He shook hands.

“I’m Dr. Bertolli, Bellevue Hospital. I’d like to see your patient if I may.”