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diff --git a/26206.txt b/26206.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f60711 --- /dev/null +++ b/26206.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1291 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pandemic, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Pandemic + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Barberis + +Release Date: August 6, 2008 [EBook #26206] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PANDEMIC *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Dave Lovelace, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +_PANDEMIC_ + +_BY J. F. BONE_ + + + _Generally, + human beings don't do + totally useless things + consistently and widely. + So--maybe there is + something to it--_ + + +"We call it Thurston's Disease for two perfectly good reasons," Dr. +Walter Kramer said. "He discovered it--and he was the first to die of +it." The doctor fumbled fruitlessly through the pockets of his lab coat. +"Now where the devil did I put those matches?" + +"Are these what you're looking for?" the trim blonde in the gray +seersucker uniform asked. She picked a small box of wooden safety +matches from the littered lab table beside her and handed them to him. + +"Ah," Kramer said. "Thanks. Things have a habit of getting lost around +here." + +"I can believe that," she said as she eyed the frenzied disorder around +her. Her boss wasn't much better than his laboratory, she decided as she +watched him strike a match against the side of the box and apply the +flame to the charred bowl of his pipe. His long dark face became half +obscured behind a cloud of bluish smoke as he puffed furiously. He +looked like a lean untidy devil recently escaped from hell with his +thick brows, green eyes and lank black hair highlighted intermittently +by the leaping flame of the match. He certainly didn't look like a +pathologist. She wondered if she was going to like working with him, and +shook her head imperceptibly. Possibly, but not probably. It might be +difficult being cooped up here with him day after day. Well, she could +always quit if things got too tough. At least there was that +consolation. + +He draped his lean body across a lab stool and leaned his elbows on +its back. There was a faint smile on his face as he eyed her +quizzically. "You're new," he said. "Not just to this lab but to the +Institute." + +[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED BY BARBERIS] + +She nodded. "I am, but how did you know?" + +"Thurston's Disease. Everyone in the Institute knows that name for the +plague, but few outsiders do." He smiled sardonically. "Virus pneumonic +plague--that's a better term for public use. After all, what good does +it do to advertise a doctor's stupidity?" + +She eyed him curiously. "_De mortuis?_" she asked. + +He nodded. "That's about it. We may condemn our own, but we don't like +laymen doing it. And besides, Thurston had good intentions. He never +dreamed this would happen." + +"The road to hell, so I hear, is paved with good intentions." + +"Undoubtedly," Kramer said dryly. "Incidentally, did you apply for this +job or were you assigned?" + +"I applied." + +"Someone should have warned you I dislike cliches," he said. He paused a +moment and eyed her curiously. "Just why did you apply?" he asked. "Why +are you imprisoning yourself in a sealed laboratory which you won't +leave as long as you work here. You know, of course, what the conditions +are. Unless you resign or are carried out feet first you will remain +here ... have you considered what such an imprisonment means?" + +"I considered it," she said, "and it doesn't make any difference. I +have no ties outside and I thought I could help. I've had training. I +was a nurse before I was married." + +"Divorced?" + +"Widowed." + +Kramer nodded. There were plenty of widows and widowers outside. Too +many. But it wasn't much worse than in the Institute where, despite +precautions, Thurston's disease took its toll of life. + +"Did they tell you this place is called the suicide section?" he asked. + +She nodded. + +"Weren't you frightened?" + +"Of dying? Hardly. Too many people are doing it nowadays." + +He grimaced, looking more satanic than ever. "You have a point," he +admitted, "but it isn't a good one. Young people should be afraid of +dying." + +"You're not." + +"I'm not young. I'm thirty-five, and besides, this is my business. I've +been looking at death for eleven years. I'm immune." + +"I haven't your experience," she admitted, "but I have your attitude." + +"What's your name?" Kramer said. + +"Barton, Mary Barton." + +"Hm-m-m. Well, Mary--I can't turn you down. I need you. But I could wish +you had taken some other job." + +"I'll survive." + +He looked at her with faint admiration in his greenish eyes. "Perhaps +you will," he said. "All right. As to your duties--you will be my +assistant, which means you'll be a dishwasher, laboratory technician, +secretary, junior pathologist, and coffee maker. I'll help you with all +the jobs except the last one. I make lousy coffee." Kramer grinned, his +teeth a white flash across the darkness of his face. "You'll be on call +twenty-four hours a day, underpaid, overworked, and in constant danger +until we lick Thurston's virus. You'll be expected to handle the jobs of +three people unless I can get more help--and I doubt that I can. People +stay away from here in droves. There's no future in it." + +Mary smiled wryly. "Literally or figuratively?" she asked. + +He chuckled. "You have a nice sense of graveyard humor," he said. "It'll +help. But don't get careless. Assistants are hard to find." + +She shook her head. "I won't. While I'm not afraid of dying I don't want +to do it. And I have no illusions about the danger. I was briefed quite +thoroughly." + +"They wanted you to work upstairs?" + +She nodded. + + * * * * * + +"I suppose they need help, too. Thurston's Disease has riddled the +medical profession. Just don't forget that this place can be a death +trap. One mistake and you've had it. Naturally, we take every +precaution, but with a virus no protection is absolute. If you're +careless and make errors in procedure, sooner or later one of those +submicroscopic protein molecules will get into your system." + +"You're still alive." + +"So I am," Kramer said, "but I don't take chances. My predecessor, my +secretary, my lab technician, my junior pathologist, and my dishwasher +all died of Thurston's Disease." He eyed her grimly. "Still want the +job?" he asked. + +"I lost a husband and a three-year old son," Mary said with equal +grimness. "That's why I'm here. I want to destroy the thing that killed +my family. I want to do something. I want to be useful." + +He nodded. "I think you can be," he said quietly. + +"Mind if I smoke?" she asked. "I need some defense against that pipe of +yours." + +"No--go ahead. Out here it's all right, but not in the security +section." + +Mary took a package of cigarettes from her pocket, lit one and blew a +cloud of gray smoke to mingle with the blue haze from Kramer's pipe. + +"Comfortable?" Kramer asked. + +She nodded. + +He looked at his wrist watch. "We have half an hour before the roll tube +cultures are ready for examination. That should be enough to tell you +about the modern Pasteur and his mutant virus. Since your duties will +primarily involve Thurston's Disease, you'd better know something about +it." He settled himself more comfortably across the lab bench and went +on talking in a dry schoolmasterish voice. "Alan Thurston was an +immunologist at Midwestern University Medical School. Like most men in +the teaching trade, he also had a research project. If it worked out, +he'd be one of the great names in medicine; like Jenner, Pasteur, and +Salk. The result was that he pushed it and wasn't too careful. He wanted +to be famous." + +"He's well known now," Mary said, "at least within the profession." + +"Quite," Kramer said dryly. "He was working with gamma radiations on +microorganisms, trying to produce a mutated strain of _Micrococcus +pyogenes_ that would have enhanced antigenic properties." + +"Wait a minute, doctor. It's been four years since I was active in +nursing. Translation, please." + +Kramer chuckled. "He was trying to make a vaccine out of a common +infectious organism. You may know it better as _Staphylococcus_. As you +know, it's a pus former that's made hospital life more dangerous than it +should be because it develops resistance to antibiotics. What Thurston +wanted to do was to produce a strain that would stimulate resistance in +the patient without causing disease--something that would help patients +protect themselves rather than rely upon doubtfully effective +antibiotics." + +"That wasn't a bad idea." + +"There was nothing wrong with it. The only trouble was that he wound up +with something else entirely. He was like the man who wanted to make a +plastic suitable for children's toys and ended up with a new explosive. +You see, what Thurston didn't realize was that his cultures were +contaminated. He'd secured them from the University Clinic and had, so +he thought, isolated them. But somehow he'd brought a virus +along--probably one of the orphan group or possibly a phage." + +"Orphan?" + +"Yes--one that was not a normal inhabitant of human tissues. At any rate +there was a virus--and he mutated it rather than the bacteria. Actually, +it was simple enough, relatively speaking, since a virus is infinitely +simpler in structure than a bacterium, and hence much easier to modify +with ionizing radiation. So he didn't produce an antigen--he produced a +disease instead. Naturally, he contracted it, and during the period +between his infection and death he managed to infect the entire +hospital. Before anyone realized what they were dealing with, the +disease jumped from the hospital to the college, and from the college to +the city, and from the city to--" + +"Yes, I know that part of it. It's all over the world now--killing +people by the millions." + + * * * * * + +"Well," Kramer said, "at least it's solved the population explosion." He +blew a cloud of blue smoke in Mary's direction. "And it did make +Thurston famous. His name won't be quickly forgotten." + +She coughed. "I doubt if it ever will be," she said, "but it won't be +remembered the way he intended." + +He looked at her suspiciously. "That cough--" + +"No, it's not Thurston's Disease. It's that pipe. It's rancid." + +"It helps me think," Kramer said. + +"You could try cigarettes--or candy," she suggested. + +"I'd rather smoke a pipe." + +"There's cancer of the lip and tongue," she said helpfully. + +"Don't quote Ochsner. I don't agree with him. And besides, you smoke +cigarettes, which are infinitely worse." + +"Only four or five a day. I don't saturate my system with nicotine." + +"In another generation," Kramer observed, "you'd have run through the +streets of the city brandishing an ax smashing saloons. You're a lineal +descendent of Carrie Nation." He puffed quietly until his head was +surrounded by a nimbus of smoke. "Stop trying to reform me," he added. +"You haven't been here long enough." + +"Not even God could do that, according to the reports I've heard," she +said. + +He laughed. "I suppose my reputation gets around." + +"It does. You're an opinionated slave driver, a bully, an intellectual +tyrant, and the best pathologist in this center." + +"The last part of that sentence makes up for unflattering honesty of the +first," Kramer said. "At any rate, once we realized the situation we +went to work to correct it. Institutes like this were established +everywhere the disease appeared for the sole purpose of examining, +treating, and experimenting with the hope of finding a cure. This +section exists for the evaluation of treatment. We check the human +cases, and the primates in the experimental laboratories. It is our +duty to find out if anything the boys upstairs try shows any promise. We +were a pretty big section once, but Thurston's virus has whittled us +down. Right now there is just you and me. But there's still enough work +to keep us busy. The experiments are still going on, and there are still +human cases, even though the virus has killed off most of the +susceptibles. We've evaluated over a thousand different drugs and +treatments in this Institute alone." + +"And none of them have worked?" + +"No--but that doesn't mean the work's been useless. The research has +saved others thousands of man hours chasing false leads. In this +business negative results are almost as important as positive ones. We +may never discover the solution, but our work will keep others from +making the same mistakes." + +"I never thought of it that way." + +"People seldom do. But if you realize that this is international, that +every worker on Thurston's Disease has a niche to fill, the picture will +be clearer. We're doing our part inside the plan. Others are, too. And +there are thousands of labs involved. Somewhere, someone will find the +answer. It probably won't be us, but we'll help get the problem solved +as quickly as possible. That's the important thing. It's the biggest +challenge the race has ever faced--and the most important. It's a +question of survival." Kramer's voice was sober. "We have to solve this. +If Thurston's Disease isn't checked, the human race will become +extinct. As a result, for the first time in history all mankind is +working together." + +"All? You mean the Communists are, too?" + +"Of course. What's an ideology if there are no people to follow it?" +Kramer knocked the ashes out of his pipe, looked at the laboratory clock +and shrugged. "Ten minutes more," he said, "and these tubes will be +ready. Keep an eye on that clock and let me know. Meantime you can +straighten up this lab and find out where things are. I'll be in the +office checking the progress reports." He turned abruptly away, leaving +her standing in the middle of the cluttered laboratory. + +"Now what am I supposed to do here?" Mary wondered aloud. "Clean up, he +says. Find out where things are, he says. Get acquainted with the place, +he says. I could spend a month doing that." She looked at the littered +bench, the wall cabinets with sliding doors half open, the jars of +reagents sitting on the sink, the drainboard, on top of the refrigerator +and on the floor. The disorder was appalling. "How he ever manages to +work in here is beyond me. I suppose that I'd better start +somewhere--perhaps I can get these bottles in some sort of order first." +She sighed and moved toward the wall cabinets. "Oh well," she mused, "I +asked for this." + + * * * * * + +"Didn't you hear that buzzer?" Kramer asked. + +"Was that for me?" Mary said, looking up from a pile of bottles and +glassware she was sorting. + +"Partly. It means they've sent us another post-mortem from upstairs." + +"What is it?" + +"I don't know--man or monkey, it makes no difference. Whatever it is, +it's Thurston's Disease. Come along. You might as well see what goes on +in our ultra modern necropsy suite." + +"I'd like to." She put down the bottle she was holding and followed him +to a green door at the rear of the laboratory. + +"Inside," Kramer said, "you will find a small anteroom, a shower, and a +dressing room. Strip, shower, and put on a clean set of lab coveralls +and slippers which you will find in the dressing room. You'll find +surgical masks in the wall cabinet beside the lockers. Go through the +door beyond the dressing room and wait for me there. I'll give you ten +minutes." + + * * * * * + +"We do this both ways," Kramer said as he joined her in the narrow hall +beyond the dressing room. "We'll reverse the process going out." + +"You certainly carry security to a maximum," she said through the mask +that covered the lower part of her face. + +"You haven't seen anything yet," he said as he opened a door in the +hall. "Note the positive air pressure," he said. "Theoretically nothing +can get in here except what we bring with us. And we try not to bring +anything." He stood aside to show her the glassed-in cubicle overhanging +a bare room dominated by a polished steel post-mortem table that +glittered in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Above the table a number of +jointed rods and clamps hung from the ceiling. A low metal door and +series of racks containing instruments and glassware were set into the +opposite wall together with the gaping circular orifice of an open +autoclave. + +"We work by remote control, just like they do at the AEC. See those +handlers?" He pointed to the control console set into a small stainless +steel table standing beside the sheet of glass at the far end of the +cubicle. "They're connected to those gadgets up there." He indicated the +jointed arms hanging over the autopsy table in the room beyond. "I could +perform a major operation from here and never touch the patient. Using +these I can do anything I could in person with the difference that +there's a quarter inch of glass between me and my work. I have controls +that let me use magnifiers, and even do microdissection, if necessary." + +"Where's the cadaver?" Mary asked. + +"Across the room, behind that door," he said, waving at the low, sliding +metal partition behind the table. "It's been prepped, decontaminated and +ready to go." + +"What happens when you're through?" + +"Watch." Dr. Kramer pressed a button on the console in front of him. A +section of flooring slid aside and the table tipped. "The cadaver slides +off that table and through that hole. Down below is a highly efficient +crematorium." + +Mary shivered. "Neat and effective," she said shakily. + +"After that the whole room is sprayed with germicide and sterilized with +live steam. The instruments go into the autoclave, and thirty minutes +later we're ready for another post-mortem." + +"We use the handlers to put specimens into those jars," he said, +pointing to a row of capped glass jars of assorted sizes on a wall rack +behind the table. "After they're capped, the jars go onto that carrier +beside the table. From here they pass through a decontamination chamber +and into the remote-control laboratory across the hall where we can run +biochemical and histological techniques. Finished slides and mounted +specimens then go through another decontamination process to the outside +lab. Theoretically, this place is proof against anything." + +"It seems to be," Mary said, obviously impressed. "I've never seen +anything so elegant." + +"Neither did I until Thurston's Disease became a problem." Kramer +shrugged and sat down behind the controls. "Watch, now," he said as he +pressed a button. "Let's see what's on deck--man or monkey. Want to make +a bet? I'll give you two to one it's a monkey." + +She shook her head. + + * * * * * + +The low door slid aside and a steel carriage emerged into the necropsy +room bearing the nude body of a man. The corpse gleamed pallidly under +the harsh shadowless glare of the fluorescents in the ceiling as Kramer, +using the handlers, rolled it onto the post-mortem table and clamped it +in place on its back. He pushed another button and the carriage moved +back into the wall and the steel door slid shut. "That'll be +decontaminated," he said, "and sent back upstairs for another body. I'd +have lost," he remarked idly. "Lately the posts have been running three +to one in favor of monkeys." + +[Illustration] + +He moved a handler and picked up a heavy scalpel from the instrument +rack. "There's a certain advantage to this," he said as he moved the +handler delicately. "These gadgets give a tremendous mechanical +advantage. I can cut right through small bones and cartilage without +using a saw." + +"How nice," Mary said. "I expect you enjoy yourself." + +"I couldn't ask for better equipment," he replied noncommittally. With +deft motion of the handler he drew the scalpel down across the chest +and along the costal margins in the classic inverted "Y" incision. +"We'll take a look at the thorax first," he said, as he used the +handlers to pry open the rib cage and expose the thoracic viscera. "Ah! +Thought so! See that?" He pointed with a small handler that carried a +probe. "Look at those lungs." He swung a viewer into place so Mary could +see better. "Look at those abscesses and necrosis. It's Thurston's +Disease, all right, with secondary bacterial invasion." + +The grayish solidified masses of tissue looked nothing like the normal +pink appearance of healthy lungs. Studded with yellowish spherical +abscesses they lay swollen and engorged within the gaping cavity of the +chest. + +"You know the pathogenesis of Thurston's Disease?" Kramer asked. + +Mary shook her head, her face yellowish-white in the glare of the +fluorescents. + +"It begins with a bronchial cough," Kramer said. "The virus attacks the +bronchioles first, destroys them, and passes into the deeper tissues of +the lungs. As with most virus diseases there is a transitory +leukopenia--a drop in the total number of white blood cells--and a rise +in temperature of about two or three degrees. As the virus attacks the +alveolar structures, the temperature rises and the white blood cell +count becomes elevated. The lungs become inflamed and painful. There is +a considerable quantity of lymphoid exudate and pleural effusion. +Secondary invaders and pus-forming bacteria follow the viral destruction +of the lung tissue and form abscesses. Breathing becomes progressively +more difficult as more lung tissue is destroyed. Hepatization and +necrosis inactivate more lung tissue as the bacteria get in their dirty +work, and finally the patient suffocates." + +"But what if the bacteria are controlled by antibiotics?" + +"Then the virus does the job. It produces atelectasis followed by +progressive necrosis of lung tissue with gradual liquefaction of the +parenchyma. It's slower, but just as fatal. This fellow was lucky. He +apparently stayed out of here until he was almost dead. Probably he's +had the disease for about a week. If he'd have come in early, we could +have kept him alive for maybe a month. The end, however, would have been +the same." + +"It's a terrible thing," Mary said faintly. + +"You'll get used to it. We get one or two every day." He shrugged. +"There's nothing here that's interesting," he said as he released the +clamps and tilted the table. For what seemed to Mary an interminable +time, the cadaver clung to the polished steel. Then abruptly it slid off +the shining surface and disappeared through the square hole in the +floor. "We'll clean up now," Kramer said as he placed the instruments in +the autoclave, closed the door and locked it, and pressed three buttons +on the console. + +From jets embedded in the walls a fine spray filled the room with fog. + +"Germicide," Kramer said. "Later there'll be steam. That's all for +now. Do you want to go?" + +Mary nodded. + +"If you feel a little rocky there's a bottle of Scotch in my desk. I'll +split a drink with you when we get out of here." + +"Thanks," Mary said. "I think I could use one." + + * * * * * + +"Barton! Where is the MacNeal stain!" Kramer's voice came from the lab. +"I left it on the sink and it's gone!" + +"It's with the other blood stains and reagents. Second drawer from the +right in the big cabinet. There's a label on the drawer," Mary called +from the office. "If you can wait until I finish filing these papers, +I'll come in and help you." + +"I wish you would," Kramer's voice was faintly exasperated. "Ever since +you've organized my lab I can't find anything." + +"You just have a disorderly mind," Mary said, as she slipped the last +paper into its proper folder and closed the file. "I'll be with you in a +minute." + +"I don't dare lose you," Kramer said as Mary came into the lab. "You've +made yourself indispensable. It'd take me six months to undo what you've +done in one. Not that I mind," he amended, "but I was used to things the +way they were." He looked around the orderly laboratory with a mixture +of pride and annoyance. "Things are so neat they're almost painful." + +"You look more like a pathologist should," Mary said as she deftly +removed the tray of blood slides from in front of him and began to run +the stains. "It's my job to keep you free to think." + +"Whose brilliant idea is that? Yours?" + +"No--the Director's. He told me what my duties were when I came here. +And I think he's right. You should be using your brain rather than +fooling around with blood stains and sectioning tissues." + +"But I like to do things like that," Kramer protested. "It's relaxing." + +"What right have you to relax," Mary said. "Outside, people are dying by +the thousands and you want to relax. Have you looked at the latest +mortality reports?" + +"No--" + +"You should. The WHO estimates that nearly two billion people have died +since Thurston's Disease first appeared in epidemic proportions. That's +two out of three. And more are dying every day. Yet you want to relax." + +"I know," Kramer said, "but what can we do about it. We're working but +we're getting no results." + +"You might use that brain of yours," Mary said bitterly. "You're +supposed to be a scientist. You have facts. Can't you put them +together?" + +"I don't know." He shrugged, "I've been working on this problem longer +than you think. I come down here at night--" + +"I know. I clean up after you." + +"I haven't gotten anywhere. Sure, we can isolate the virus. It grows +nicely on monkey lung cells. But that doesn't help. The thing has no +apparent antigenicity. It parasitizes, but it doesn't trigger any immune +reaction. We can kill it, but the strength of the germicide is too great +for living tissue to tolerate." + +"Some people seem to be immune." + +"Sure they do--but why?" + +"Don't ask me. I'm not the scientist." + +"Play like one," Kramer growled. "Here are the facts. The disease +attacks people of all races and ages. So far every one who is attacked +dies. Adult Europeans and Americans appear to be somewhat more resistant +than others on a population basis. Somewhere around sixty per cent of +them are still alive, but it's wiped out better than eighty per cent of +some groups. Children get it worse. Right now I doubt if one per cent of +the children born during the past ten years are still alive." + +"It's awful!" Mary said. + +"It's worse than that. It's extinction. Without kids the race will die +out." Kramer rubbed his forehead. + +"Have you any ideas?" + +"Children have less resistance," Kramer replied. "An adult gets exposed +to a number of diseases to which he builds an immunity. Possibly one of +these has a cross immunity against Thurston's virus." + +"Then why don't you work on that line?" Mary asked. + +"Just what do you think I've been doing? That idea was put out months +ago, and everyone has been taking a crack at it. There are twenty-four +laboratories working full time on that facet and God knows how many more +working part time like we are. I've screened a dozen common diseases, +including the six varieties of the common cold virus. All, incidentally, +were negative." + +"Well--are you going to keep on with it?" + +"I have to." Kramer rubbed his eyes. "It won't let me sleep. I'm sure +we're on the right track. Something an adult gets gives him resistance +or immunity." He shrugged. "Tell you what. You run those bloods out and +I'll go take another look at the data." He reached into his lab coat and +produced a pipe. "I'll give it another try." + +"Sometimes I wish you'd read without puffing on that thing," Mary said. + +"Your delicate nose will be the death of me yet--" Kramer said. + +"It's my lungs I'm worried about," Mary said. "They'll probably look +like two pieces of well-tanned leather if I associate with you for +another year." + +"Stop complaining. You've gotten me to wear clean lab coats. Be +satisfied with a limited victory," Kramer said absently, his eyes +staring unseeingly at a row of reagent bottles on the bench. Abruptly he +nodded. "Fantastic," he muttered, "but it's worth a check." He left the +room, slamming the door behind him in his hurry. + + * * * * * + +"That man!" Mary murmured. "He'd drive a saint out of his mind. If I +wasn't so fond of him I'd quit. If anyone told me I'd fall in love +with a pathologist, I'd have said they were crazy. I wish--" Whatever +the wish was, it wasn't uttered. Mary gasped and coughed rackingly. +Carefully she moved back from the bench, opened a drawer and found a +thermometer. She put it in her mouth. Then she drew a drop of blood from +her forefinger and filled a red and white cell pipette, and made a smear +of the remainder. + +She was interrupted by another spasm of coughing, but she waited until +the paroxysm passed and went methodically back to her self-appointed +task. She had done this many times before. It was routine procedure to +check on anything that might be Thurston's Disease. A cold, a sore +throat, a slight difficulty in breathing--all demanded the diagnostic +check. It was as much a habit as breathing. This was probably the result +of that cold she'd gotten last week, but there was nothing like being +sure. Now let's see--temperature 99.5 degrees, red cell count 4-1/2 +million. White cell count ... oh! 2500 ... leukopenia! The differential +showed a virtual absence of polymorphs, lymphocytes and monocytes. The +whole slide didn't have two hundred. Eosinophils and basophils way +up--twenty and fifteen per cent respectively--a relative rise rather +than an absolute one--leukopenia, no doubt about it. + +She shrugged. There wasn't much question. She had Thurston's Disease. It +was the beginning stages, the harsh cough, the slight temperature, the +leukopenia. Pretty soon her white cell count would begin to rise, but +it would rise too late. In fact, it was already too late. It's funny, +she thought. I'm going to die, but it doesn't frighten me. In fact, the +only thing that bothers me is that poor Walter is going to have a +terrible time finding things. But I can't put this place the way it was. +I couldn't hope to. + +She shook her head, slid gingerly off the lab stool and went to the hall +door. She'd better check in at the clinic, she thought. There was bed +space in the hospital now. Plenty of it. That hadn't been true a few +months ago but the only ones who were dying now were the newborn and an +occasional adult like herself. The epidemic had died out not because of +lack of virulence but because of lack of victims. The city outside, one +of the first affected, now had less than forty per cent of its people +left alive. It was a hollow shell of its former self. People walked its +streets and went through the motions of life. But they were not really +alive. The vital criteria were as necessary for a race as for an +individual. Growth, reproduction, irritability, metabolism--Mary smiled +wryly. Whoever had authored that hackneyed mnemonic that life was a +"grim" proposition never knew how right he was, particularly when one of +the criteria was missing. + +The race couldn't reproduce. That was the true horror of Thurston's +Disease--not how it killed, but who it killed. No children played in the +parks and playgrounds. The schools were empty. No babies were pushed in +carriages or taken on tours through the supermarkets in shopping +carts. No advertisements of motherhood, or children, or children's +things were in the newspapers or magazines. They were forbidden +subjects--too dangerously emotional to touch. Laughter and shrill young +voices had vanished from the earth to be replaced by the drab grayness +of silence and waiting. Death had laid cold hands upon the hearts of +mankind and the survivors were frozen to numbness. + + * * * * * + +It was odd, she thought, how wrong the prophets were. When Thurston's +Disease broke into the news there were frightened predictions of the end +of civilization. But they had not materialized. There were no mass +insurrections, no rioting, no organized violence. Individual excesses, +yes--but nothing of a group nature. What little panic there was at the +beginning disappeared once people realized that there was no place to +go. And a grim passivity had settled upon the survivors. Civilization +did not break down. It endured. The mechanics remained intact. People +had to do something even if it was only routine counterfeit of normal +life--the stiff upper lip in the face of disaster. + +It would have been far more odd, Mary decided, if mankind had given way +to panic. Humanity had survived other plagues nearly as terrible as +this--and racial memory is long. The same grim patience of the past was +here in the present. Man would somehow survive, and civilization go +on. + +It was inconceivable that mankind would become extinct. The whole vast +resources and pooled intelligence of surviving humanity were focused +upon Thurston's Disease. And the disease would yield. Humanity waited +with childlike confidence for the miracle that would save it. And the +miracle would happen, Mary knew it with a calm certainty as she stood in +the cross corridor at the end of the hall, looking down the thirty yards +of tile that separated her from the elevator that would carry her up to +the clinic and oblivion. It might be too late for her, but not for the +race. Nature had tried unaided to destroy man before--and had failed. +And her unholy alliance with man's genius would also fail. + +She wondered as she walked down the corridor if the others who had +sickened and died felt as she did. She speculated with grim amusement +whether Walter Kramer would be as impersonal as he was with the others, +when he performed the post-mortem on her body. She shivered at the +thought of that bare sterile room and the shining table. Death was not a +pretty thing. But she could meet it with resignation if not with +courage. She had already seen too much for it to have any meaning. She +did not falter as she placed a finger on the elevator button. + +Poor Walter--she sighed. Sometimes it was harder to be among the living. +It was good that she didn't let him know how she felt. She had sensed a +change in him recently. His friendly impersonality had become merely +friendly. It could, with a little encouragement, have developed into +something else. But it wouldn't now. She sighed again. His hardness had +been a tower of strength. And his bitter gallows humor had furnished a +wry relief to grim reality. It had been nice to work with him. She +wondered if he would miss her. Her lips curled in a faint smile. He +would, if only for the trouble he would have in making chaos out of the +order she had created. Why couldn't that elevator hurry? + + * * * * * + +"Mary! Where are you going?" Kramer's voice was in her ears, and his +hand was on her shoulder. + +"Don't touch me!" + +"Why not?" His voice was curiously different. Younger, excited. + +"I have Thurston's Disease," she said. + +He didn't let go. "Are you sure?" + +"The presumptive tests were positive." + +"Initial stages?" + +She nodded. "I had the first coughing attack a few minutes ago." + +He pulled her away from the elevator door that suddenly slid open. "You +were going to that death trap upstairs," he said. + +"Where else can I go?" + +"With me," he said. "I think I can help you." + +"How? Have you found a cure for the virus?" + +"I think so. At least it's a better possibility than the things they're +using up there." His voice was urgent. "And to think I might never +have seen it if you hadn't put me on the track." + +"Are you sure you're right?" + +"Not absolutely, but the facts fit. The theory's good." + +"Then I'm going to the clinic. I can't risk infecting you. I'm a carrier +now. I can kill you, and you're too important to die." + +"You don't know how wrong you are," Kramer said. + +"Let go of me!" + +"No--you're coming back!" + +She twisted in his grasp. "Let me go!" she sobbed and broke into a fit +of coughing worse than before. + +"What I was trying to say," Dr. Kramer said into the silence that +followed, "is that if you have Thurston's Disease, you've been a carrier +for at least two weeks. If I am going to get it, your going away can't +help. And if I'm not, I'm not." + +"Do you come willingly or shall I knock you unconscious and drag you +back?" Kramer asked. + +She looked at his face. It was grimmer than she had ever seen it before. +Numbly she let him lead her back to the laboratory. + + * * * * * + +"But, Walter--I can't. That's sixty in the past ten hours!" she +protested. + +"Take it," he said grimly, "then take another. And inhale. Deeply." + +"But they make me dizzy." + +"Better dizzy than dead. And, by the way--how's your chest?" + +"Better. There's no pain now. But the cough is worse." + +"It should be." + +"Why?" + +"You've never smoked enough to get a cigarette cough," he said. + +She shook her head dizzily. "You're so right," she said. + +"And that's what nearly killed you," he finished triumphantly. + +"Are you sure?" + +"I'm certain. Naturally, I can't prove it--yet. But that's just a matter +of time. Your response just about clinches it. Take a look at the +records. Who gets this disease? Youngsters--with nearly one hundred per +cent morbidity and one hundred per cent mortality. Adults--less than +fifty per cent morbidity--and again one hundred per cent mortality. What +makes the other fifty per cent immune? Your crack about leather lungs +started me thinking--so I fed the data cards into the computer and keyed +them for smoking versus incidence. And I found that not one heavy smoker +had died of Thurston's Disease. Light smokers and nonsmokers--plenty of +them--but not one single nicotine addict. And there were over ten +thousand randomized cards in that spot check. And there's the exact +reverse of that classic experiment the lung cancer boys used to sell +their case. Among certain religious groups which prohibit smoking there +was nearly one hundred per cent mortality of all ages! + +"And so I thought since the disease was just starting in you, perhaps I +could stop it if I loaded you with tobacco smoke. And it works!" + +"You're not certain yet," Mary said. "I might not have had the +disease." + +"You had the symptoms. And there's virus in your sputum." + +"Yes, but--" + +"But, nothing! I've passed the word--and the boys in the other labs +figure that there's merit in it. We're going to call it Barton's Therapy +in your honor. It's going to cause a minor social revolution. A lot of +laws are going to have to be rewritten. I can see where it's going to be +illegal for children not to smoke. Funny, isn't it? + +"I've contacted the maternity ward. They have three babies still alive +upstairs. We get all the newborn in this town, or didn't you know. +Funny, isn't it, how we still try to reproduce. They're rigging a smoke +chamber for the kids. The head nurse is screaming like a wounded tiger, +but she'll feel better with live babies to care for. The only bad thing +I can see is that it may cut down on her chain smoking. She's been +worried a lot about infant mortality. + +"And speaking of nurseries--that reminds me. I wanted to ask you +something." + +"Yes?" + +"Will you marry me? I've wanted to ask you before, but I didn't dare. +Now I think you owe me something--your life. And I'd like to take care +of it from now on." + +"Of course I will," Mary said. "And I have reasons, too. If I marry you, +you can't possibly do that silly thing you plan." + +"What thing?" + +"Naming the treatment Barton's. It'll have to be Kramer's." + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Analog Science Fact and Science + Fiction_ February 1962. 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