The Jupiter Plague

The bacteria that had infected Lieutenant Topholm during the stay of the first expedition on Venus had not produced any symptoms until after the return to Earth. There had not been an epidemic, yet a great number of people had died and there were still men whose feet and hands had to be amputated who could attest to the virulency of the disease. Since that time the quarantine of spaceships had become more strict to avoid any recurrence of alien infection.

Sam was galvanized into sudden motion by the sound of approaching engines; he jumped to his feet and ran toward the returning ambulance, which was being followed by two police cars.

“Stop!” he shouted, standing directly in their path with his arms raised. Brakes squealed as they halted and the police started to climb out. “No— don’t come any closer. It would be better if you backed off at least fifty yards. A man came out of the ship, and he’s sick. He’s going into tight quarantine at once and only Dr. Mendel and myself will remain close to him.”

“You heard the doctor, get them back,” the police captain said hoarsely. The two cars backed up but the ambulance didn’t move.

“I can help you, Doc,” Killer said casually enough, though his face was drained of blood.

“Thanks, Killer, but Dr. Mendel and I can handle this. No one else is going to get exposed until we find out what is wrong with the man. I want you to get back there with the others, then call the hospital and report exactly what has happened so that they can contact public health. I’m bringing the man in — unless they order otherwise — and if I do we’ll need the tight quarantine ward. Then seal off your cab and make sure that your gas closures are screwed down tight. Let me know as soon as you hear anything. Move!”

“You’re the doctor — Doctor.” He managed a crooked smile and began backing up.

Nita had both medical kits open and was strapping a recording telltale to the spaceman’s wrist. “The radius seems to be fractured,” she said without looking up when she heard his footsteps approaching. “Respiration shallow, temperature one hundred and five. He’s still unconscious.”

He kneeled next to her. “You can move away and I’ll take over — there’s no point in having both of us exposed, Nita.”

“Don’t be foolish, I’m as exposed by now as I’ll ever be. But that doesn’t matter — I’m still a physician.”

“Thanks.” His worried face broke into a smile for a brief second. “I can use your help…”

The sick man’s eyes were open and he made a muffled gargled noise deep in his throat. Sam gently opened the spaceman’s jaw with a tongue depressor and examined the inside of his mouth. “Parrot tongue,” he said, looking at the characteristic dry, horny surface produced by severe fever. “And the mucous membranes in the throat seem to be swollen as well.” The man’s eyes were fixed on his face as the throat contracted with effort. “Don’t try to talk, you can’t with a throat like that…”

“Sam — look at his fingers, he’s moving them as if he were writing. He wants to tell us something!”

Sam pushed a heavy marking pen into the man’s hand and held the clipboard up so that he could write. The fingers moved clumsily, leaving a shaking mark: he used his left hand and he was probably right-handed — but his right arm was broken. With a tremendous effort he scrawled the twisting lines onto the paper, but collapsed, unconscious again, before he could finish. Sam eased him slowly back to the ground.

“It says SICK,” Nita said. “Then, it looks like INCH — no, it’s IN, then SHIP. Sick in ship — is that what he meant to write?”

“Sick in ship… sickness in spaceship. He may have been trying to warn us of infection there — or tell us that there are others in there. I’ll have to go see.”

Nita started to say something — then stopped and looked down at the telltale. “His condition hasn’t changed, but he should be in the hospital.”

“We can’t move him until we have orders from the public health people, so make him as comfortable as possible. Don’t try to set his arm, but do put the supporting brace on it. I’m going to look into the ship. Put on isolation gloves before you touch him any more, that will lessen the hazard of accidental infection from those suppurating boils. I’ll do the same thing myself before I climb the ladder.”

The gloves, really elbow-length gauntlets, were made of thin but very tough plastic, and they each pulled on a pair while he inserted filter plugs into his nostrils. Sam slung the medical kit over his shoulder by the carrying strap and quickly climbed the hanging ladder. When he clambered through the threaded, circular opening he found himself in a metal, boxlike room as wide as it was high and featureless except for a large door on the far wall flanked by a telephone unit. It was obviously a space lock, and the inner door should lead into the ship. A control panel was set next to it and Sam pressed the button labeled CYCLE OPEN.