[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.So my decision to leave made no difference to anything.It's very easy for me to sit here now, safe and comfortable, and say, "Why, it's obvious what was happening.All the evidence was sitting there in front of me, spread out on a platter.All I had to do was put two and two together.How could anyone who prides himself on his intelligence possibly be so dense?"Unfortunately, my brain refused to operate as logically and smoothly when I was rattling through space in a decrepit, noisy tin can, my bowels constricted with terror of the plague, one man dead from it already, the rest of us liable to go the same way any time, and with no company except for four drunken, filthy crewmen and a pair of giant pigs.In that situation, sphincter control alone merited the Golden Sunburst.No doubt about it, things were bad.Within twelve hours, they looked even worse.Jackman and Ramada were feeling feverish.Nielsen couldn't hold down any food.Poindexter was complaining of a headache and blurred vision, and he hadn't been able to get through to Mars or to anyone else.We held an emergency meeting on the bridge."We have to assume the worst," said Poindexter.I was running well ahead of him on that."Carver is the only man who doesn't seem to have caught it.Did you ever pilot a spaceship?"That question, if it hadn't been packed with ominous implications, would have been screamingly funny.I couldn't navigate a bicycle without assistance.I shook my head."Then you'd better be ready to learn awful fast.If things go the way they are looking, you may be the only healthy person to dock us on Phobos Station.You should be all right.They design these ships so the orbit matching can be done by complete idiots."Thank you, Captain Poindexter."Now, does anyone have any ideas?" he went on."For instance, why is it Carver that's immune? We all eat the same food and we all saw about the same amount of Vladic.Is it prayer, chastity, clean living, meditation, or what?"There was a long silence, which I at last broke—somewhat hesitantly."Do you think it could be the pigs? I mean, me living in with the pigs." The others seemed blank and unreceptive."I mean," I went on, "maybe there's something special about the pigs—their smell, or sweat, or manure, or something—that stops the disease.Maybe if we all lived there, the disease wouldn't be able to affect us.Maybe the disease is killed by pig manure."I trailed off.All right, so admittedly in retrospect my idea was complete nonsense.I still don't think it deserved the reception they gave it.Sick as they were all supposed to be feeling, they found the strength to break into hoots of derision."Move in with the pigs!" cried Jackman."Lie by pit shit, he says!" Nielsen echoed, guffawing like a jackass."Bottle up the smell of 'em and ship it forward!" roared Ramada."So, Mr.Carver," Poindexter said finally, with a fine show of sarcasm—as we all know, the lowest form of wit."We should all move aft, is that it? We should share the cargo hold with you and the two porkers, should we? Lay us down among the swine, eh? What else do you suggest we ought to do? Mutter mumbo-jumbo, shave our heads, and all wear a hair shirt like you, I suppose.I should have known better than to ask—what sort of sense can you expect from a man with more hair aft than he has forrard?"They collapsed again into laughter, but it was the last laughter for a long time.After a few more hours, it was quite clear that everyone on the Deimos Dancer, except for me, had the plague.The Empress of Blandings and Waldo were thriving too, but they were not much help as crew.There is a horrifying bit in Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner, where all the sailors on the ship, except for the Mariner himself, one by one, drop dead."With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, they dropped down one by one." I felt just like the Mariner as, one by one, Ramada, Jackman, Nielsen, and then finally Poindexter shuffled off this mortal coil.After five days of horror and useless medical attention, I found I was "alone, alone, all, all alone, alone on a wide, wide sea." The space between Earth and Mars was wider than Coleridge could ever have imagined.It doesn't say whether or not the Ancient Mariner had any pigs or other livestock for company, but I imagine he didn't.The worst time began.I expected to be struck down by the plague at any moment.All I could think to do was follow my established routine with truly religious ferver—rise and shave my head, live in with the pigs, eat the same dreadful food, and hope that the combination would continue to protect me.For six more days we moved in a ghastly rushing silence between Earth and Mars while I waited for a death that never came.Finally, I had to act
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]