The Jupiter Plague

The ambulance curved in an arc around the base of the “Pericles” like a bug circling a tree, keeping clear of the churned-up soil and buckled slabs of concrete that were still smoking from the landing. The Jupiter rocket was shaped like a squat artillery shell with the rounded swellings of rocket lubes about its base. It was built of incredibly thick metal, they could tell this by the meter-deep holes that had been gouged in the sides without penetrating, and it was grooved, scarred and pitted like a piece of furnace slag. They could only stare at the great bulk in silence while they swept out and around it.

“There’s the plane ahead,” Sam shouted, and Killer jammed on the brakes.

They saw at first glance that there was very little they could do, nevertheless they tried. The small jet had been flipped onto its back and crushed, then burned into a twisted and blackened ruin. Sam managed to pry the side door partly open and one look at the charred bodies inside was enough.

“We better get back,” he said. “They may need our help.” He put his hand under Nita’s arm, ostensibly to steady her over the broken ground, but he had seen her face go white.

“I–I don’t know if I can be of any help,” she said. “I never practiced after I took my degree, I’ve been in research, in the lab…”

“It’s just like school — you’ll be all right. It hits us all like this the first time, but you’ll find your hands automatically doing all the things that you have learned. And I’ll bet that you’re a good doctor.”

“Thank you,” she said, some of the color coming back. “For helping. I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself.”

“You’re not a fool, Nita. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in not enjoying the sight of sudden death, particularly as drastic as that…”

“LOOK!” Killer shouted. “Up there!”

There was a squealing from the side of the ship, about twenty feet above the ground, and bits of metal flaked down. A circle appeared and a portion of the ship ten feet in diameter began to revolve like a giant plug.

“It’s the air lock,” Sam said. “They’re coming out.”

2

From the other side of the mountainous ship there came the distant rumble of engines, an occasional shout and the clank of heavy machinery, but the sounds were dwarfed by the bulk of the spacer. Other than this an unnatural quiet hung over the an port, an oppressive silence, undoubtedly the first time in years without the scream of jets or to.iring of propellers. A flock of starlings settled onto the nearby, churned-up earth, pecking at the suddenly exposed insect life. Overhead a gull drifted in from the ocean on motionless wings, only its head turning quickly, trying to see if the starlings had discovered anything edible. It dipped a sudden wing tip in alarm and swooped away as metal squealed on metal and the great Wright of the outer door of the air lock swung free. “Unload the surgical and medical kits, Killer,” Sam ordered, “then get around to the police and tell them what has happened. Fast!”

The sound of the ambulance died away and the thin whine of an electric motor could be heard inside the ship, growing louder as the massive door, now free of the threads, swung out on its central pivot. As soon as the opening was large enough a jointed metal ladder dropped down, unrolling as it fell, stopping almost at their feet. A man appeared in the opening above them and dangled his legs over the edge, groping for the rungs with his toes, then began a slow and painful descent.

“Is anything wrong?” Sam shouted up to him. “Can we help you?” There was no answer, just the hesitant motion of the man’s arms and legs. “I’d better climb up there and help him down…”

“He’s falling!” Nita screamed.

Ten feet above the ground the spaceman’s hands seemed to lose their strength, they could not hold on. He fell, twisting in the air, landing on his side. The two doctors ran to him.

“Easy,” Sam said. “Free his arm while I roll him onto his back. Careful with it, I think it’s fractured.”

“Look at his face! What is that..”.?“

The man’s skin was pale and covered with swollen red nodules as large as walnuts, some of them were ruptured and suppurating. The same boils were visible at the open neck of his gray space-jumper and on the backs of his hands.

“Furunculosis of some kind,” Sam said slowly. “Though I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. You don’t think—”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Nita’s gasp ended it for him. When he raised his head he found himself looking into her widened eyes and saw there the fear that he knew must be mirrored in his own.

“Topholm’s pachyacria,” she said so softly he could barely hear it.

“It might be something like that, we can’t be sure — but we’ll still have to take every precaution.” He remembered what had happened then.