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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12df10b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51231 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51231) diff --git a/old/51231-h.zip b/old/51231-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e01bf42..0000000 --- a/old/51231-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51231-h/51231-h.htm b/old/51231-h/51231-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3027999..0000000 --- a/old/51231-h/51231-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1191 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Syndrome Johnny, by Charles Dye. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Syndrome Johnny, by Charles Dye - -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/license - - -Title: Syndrome Johnny - -Author: Charles Dye - -Release Date: February 16, 2016 [EBook #51231] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYNDROME JOHNNY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="336" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>Syndrome Johnny</h1> - -<p>BY CHARLES DYE</p> - -<p>Illustrated by EMSH</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction July 1951.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="391" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3">The plagues that struck mankind could be attributed<br /> -to one man. But was he fiend ... or savior?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p>The blood was added to a pool of other blood, mixed, centrifuged, -separated to plasma and corpuscles, irradiated slightly, pasteurized -slightly, frozen, evaporated, and finally banked. Some of the plasma -was used immediately for a woman who had bled too much in childbirth.</p> - -<p>She died.</p> - -<p>Others received plasma and did not die. But their symptoms changed, -including a syndrome of multiple endocrine unbalance, eccentricities of -appetite and digestion, and a general pattern of emotional disturbance.</p> - -<p>An alert hospital administrator investigated the mortality rise and -narrowed it to a question of who had donated blood the week before. -After city residents were eliminated, there remained only the signed -receipts and thumbprints of nine men. Nine healthy unregistered -travelers poor enough to sell their blood for money, and among them a -man who carried death in his veins. The nine thumbprints were broadcast -to all police files and a search began.</p> - -<p>The effort was futile, for there were many victims who had sickened and -grown partially well again without recognizing the strangeness of their -illness.</p> - -<p>Three years later they reached the carrier stage and the epidemic -spread to four cities. Three more years, and there was an epidemic -which spread around the world, meeting another wave coming from the -opposite direction. It killed two out of four, fifty out of a hundred, -twenty-seven million out of fifty million. There was hysteria where -it appeared. And where it had not appeared there were quarantines to -fence it out. But it could not be fenced out. For two years it covered -the world. And then it vanished again, leaving the survivors with a -tendency toward glandular troubles.</p> - -<p>Time passed. The world grew richer, more orderly, more peaceful.</p> - -<p>A man paused in the midst of his work at the U.N. Food and Agriculture -Commission. He looked up at the red and green production map of India.</p> - -<p>"Just too many people per acre," he said. "All our work at improving -production ... just one jump ahead of their rising population, one jump -ahead of famine. Sometimes I wish to God there would be another plague -to give us a breathing spell and a fair chance to get things organized."</p> - -<p>He went back to work and added another figure.</p> - -<p>Two months later, he was one of the first victims of the second plague.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the dining hall of a university, a biochemical student glanced up -from his paper to his breakfast companion. "You remember Johnny, the -mythical carrier that they told about during the first and second -epidemics of Syndrome Plague?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Syndrome Johnny. They use that myth in psychology class as a -typical example of mass hysteria. When a city was nervous and expecting -the plague to reach them, some superstitious fool would imagine he saw -Syndrome Johnny and the population would panic. Symbol for Death or -some such thing. People imagined they saw him in every corner of the -world. Simultaneously, of course."</p> - -<p>It was a bright morning and they were at a window which looked out -across green rolling fields to a towering glass-brick building in the -distance.</p> - -<p>The student who had gone back to his paper suddenly looked up again. -"Some Peruvians here claim they saw Syndrome Johnny—"</p> - -<p>"Idiotic superstition! You'd think it would have died down when the -plague died."</p> - -<p>The other grinned. "The plague didn't die." He folded his newspaper -slowly, obviously advancing an opening for a debate.</p> - -<p>His companion went on eating. "Another of your wild theories, huh?" -Then through a mouthful of food: "All right, if the plague didn't die, -where did it go?"</p> - -<p>"Nowhere. <i>We have it now.</i> We all have it!" He shrugged. "A virus -catalyst of high affinity for the cells and a high similarity to a -normal cell protein—how can it be detected?"</p> - -<p>"Then why don't people die? Why aren't we sick?"</p> - -<p>"Because we have sickened and recovered. We caught it on conception -and recovered before birth. Proof? Why do you think that the countries -which were known as the Hungry Lands are now well-fed, leisured, -educated, advanced? Because the birth rate has fallen! Why has the -birth rate fallen?" He paused, then very carefully said, "Because two -out of three of all people who would have lived have died before birth, -slain by Syndrome Plague. We are all carriers now, hosts to a new -guest. And"—his voice dropped to a mock sinister whisper—"with such a -stranger within our cells, at the heart of the intricate machinery of -our lives, who knows what subtle changes have crept upon us unnoticed!"</p> - -<p>His companion laughed. "Eat your breakfast. You belong on a horror -program!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A police psychologist for the Federated States of The Americas was -running through reports from the Bureau of Social Statistics. Suddenly -he grunted, then a moment later said, "Uh-huh!"</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh what?" asked his superior, who was reading a newspaper with his -feet up on the desk.</p> - -<p>"Remember the myth, of Syndrome Johnny?"</p> - -<p>"Ghost of Syndrome Plague. Si, what of it?"</p> - -<p>"Titaquahapahel, Peru, population nine hundred, sent in a claim that he -turned up there and they almost caught him. Crime Statistics rerouted -the report to Mass Phenomena, of course. Mass Phenomena blew a tube and -sent their folder on Syndrome Johnny over here. Every report they ever -had on him for ninety years back! A memo came with it." He handed the -memo over.</p> - -<p>The man behind the desk looked at it. It was a small graph and some -mathematical symbols. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>"It means," said the psychologist, smiling dryly, "that every crazy -report about our ghost has points of similarity to every other crazy -report. The whole business of Syndrome Johnny has been in their 'funny -coincidence' file for twenty years. This time the suspect hits the -averaged description of Johnny too closely: A solid-looking man, -unusual number of visible minor scars, and a disturbing habit of -bending his fingers at the first-joint knuckles when he is thinking. -The coincidence has gotten too damn funny. There's a chance we've been -passing up a crime."</p> - -<p>"An extensive crime," said the man at the desk softly. He reached -for the folder. "Yes, a considerable quantity of murder." He leafed -through the folder and then thought a while, looking at the most recent -reports. Thinking was what he was paid for, and he earned his excellent -salary.</p> - -<p>"This thumbprint on the hotel register—the name is false, but the -thumbprint looks real. Could we persuade the Bureau of Records to give -their data on that print?"</p> - -<p>"Without a warrant? Against constitutional immunity. No, not a chance. -The public has been touchy about the right to secrecy ever since that -police state was attempted in Varga."</p> - -<p>"How about persuading an obliging judge to give a warrant on grounds of -reasonable suspicion?"</p> - -<p>"No. We'd have the humanist press down on our necks in a minute, and -any judge knows it. We'd have to prove a crime was committed. No crime, -no warrant."</p> - -<p>"It seems a pity we can't even find out who the gentleman is," the -Crimes Department head murmured, looking at the thumbprint wistfully. -"No crime, no records. No records, no evidence. No evidence, no proof -of crime. Therefore, we must manufacture a small crime. He was attacked -and he must have defended himself. Someone may have been hurt in the -process." He pushed a button. "Do you think if I send a man down there, -he could persuade one of the mob to swear out a complaint?"</p> - -<p>"That's a rhetorical question," said the psychologist, trying to work -out an uncertain correlation in his reports. "With that sort of mob -hysteria, the town would probably give you an affidavit of witchcraft."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Phone for you, Doctor Alcala." The nurse was crisp but quiet, smiling -down at the little girl before vanishing again.</p> - -<p>Ricardo Alcala pushed the plunger in gently, then carefully withdrew -the hypodermic needle from the little girl's arm. "There you are, -Cosita," he said, smiling and rising from the chair beside the white -bed.</p> - -<p>"Will that make me better, Doctor?" she piped feebly.</p> - -<p>He patted her hand. "Be a good girl and you will be well tomorrow." He -walked out into the hospital corridor to where the desk nurse held out -a phone.</p> - -<p>"Alcala speaking."</p> - -<p>The voice was unfamiliar. "My deepest apologies for interrupting your -work, Doctor. At this late hour I'm afraid I assumed you would be at -home. The name is Camba, Federation Investigator on a health case. I -would like to consult you."</p> - -<p>Alcala was tired, but there was nothing to do at home. Nita was at the -health resort and Johnny had borrowed all his laboratory space for a -special synthesis of some sort, and probably would be too busy even -to talk. Interest stirred in him. This was a Federation investigator -calling; the man's work was probably important. "Tonight, if that's -convenient. I'll be off duty in five minutes."</p> - -<p>Thirty minutes later they were ordering in a small cantina down the -street from the hospital.</p> - -<p>Julio Camba, Federation Investigator, was a slender, dark man with -sharp, glinting eyes. He spoke with a happy theatrical flourish.</p> - -<p>"Order what you choose, Senor. We're on my expense account. The -resources of the Federated States of all The Americas stand behind your -menu."</p> - -<p>Alcala smiled. "I wouldn't want to add to the national debt."</p> - -<p>"Not at all, Senor. The Federated States are only too happy thus to -express a fraction of their gratitude by adding a touch of luxury to -the otherwise barren and self-sacrificing life of a scientist."</p> - -<p>"You shame me," Alcala said dryly. It was true that he needed -every spare penny for the health of Nita and the child, and for the -laboratory. A penny saved from being spent on nourishment was a penny -earned. He picked up the menu again and ordered steak.</p> - -<p>The investigator lit a cigar, asking casually: "Do you know John -Osborne Drake?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alcala searched his memory. "No. I'm sorry...." Then he felt for the -first time how closely he was being watched, and knew how carefully his -reaction and the tone of his voice had been analyzed. The interview was -dangerous. For some reason, he was suspected of something.</p> - -<p>Camba finished lighting the cigar and dropped the match into an -ash-tray. "Perhaps you know John Delgados?" He leaned back into the -shadowy corner of the booth.</p> - -<p>Johnny! Out of all the people in the world, how could the government be -interested in him? Alcala tried to sound casual. "An associate of mine. -A friend."</p> - -<p>"I would like to contact the gentleman." The request was completely -unforceful, undemanding. "I called, but he was not at home. Could you -tell me where he might be?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Senor Camba, but I cannot say. He could be on a business -trip." Alcala was feeling increasingly nervous. Actually, Johnny was -working at his laboratory.</p> - -<p>"What do you know of his activities?" Camba asked.</p> - -<p>"A biochemist." Alcala tried to see past the meditative mask of the -thin dark face. "He makes small job-lots of chemical compounds. Special -bug spray for sale to experimental plantations, hormone spray for -fruits, that sort of thing. Sometimes, when he collects some money -ahead, he does research."</p> - -<p>Camba waited, and his silence became a question. Alcala spoke -reluctantly, anger rising in him. "Oh, it's genuine research. He has -some patents and publications to his credit. You can confirm that if -you choose." He was unable to keep the hostility out of his voice.</p> - -<p>A waiter came and placed steaming platters of food on the table. Camba -waited until he was gone. "You know him well, I presume. Is he sane?"</p> - -<p>The question was another shock. Alcala thought carefully, for any man -might be insane in secret. "Yes, so far as I know." He turned his -attention to the steak, but first took three very large capsules from a -bottle in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"I would not expect that a doctor would need to take pills," Camba -remarked with friendly mockery.</p> - -<p>"I don't need them," Alcala explained. "Mixed silicones. I'm guinea -pigging."</p> - -<p>"Can't such things be left to the guinea pigs?" Camba asked, watching -with revulsion as Alcala uncapped the second bottle and sprinkled a -layer of gray powder over his steak.</p> - -<p>"Guinea pigs have no assimilation of silicones; only man has that."</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course. I should have remembered from your famous papers, <i>The -Need Of Trace Silicon In Human Diet</i> and <i>Silicon Deficiency Diseases</i>."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Obviously Camba had done considerable investigating of Alcala before -approaching him. He had even given the titles of the research papers -correctly. Alcala's wariness increased.</p> - -<p>"What is the purpose of the experiment this time?" asked the small dark -Federation agent genially.</p> - -<p>"To determine the safe limits of silicon consumption and if there are -any dangers in an overdose."</p> - -<p>"How do you determine that? By dropping dead?"</p> - -<p>He could be right. Perhaps the test should be stopped. Every day, with -growing uneasiness, Alcala took his dose of silicon compound, and every -day, the chemical seemed to be absorbed completely—not released or -excreted—in a way that was unpleasantly reminiscent of the way arsenic -accumulated without evident damage, then killed abruptly without -warning.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="600" height="382" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Already, this evening, he had noticed that there was something faulty -about his coordination and weight and surface sense. The restaurant -door had swung back with a curious lightness, and the hollow metal -handle had had a curious softness under his fingers. Something merely -going wrong with the sensitivity of his fingers—?</p> - -<p>He tapped his fingertips on the heavy indestructible silicone plastic -table top. There was a feeling of heaviness in his hands, and a feeling -of faint rubbery <i>give</i> in the table.</p> - -<p>Tapping his fingers gently, his heavy fingers ... the answer was -dreamily fantastic. <i>I'm turning into silicon plastic myself</i>, he -thought. But how, why? He had not bothered to be curious before, but -the question had always been—what were supposedly insoluble silicons -doing assimilating into the human body at all?</p> - -<p>Several moments passed. He smoothed back his hair with his oddly heavy -hand before picking up his fork again.</p> - -<p>"I'm turning into plastic," he told Camba.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing. A joke."</p> - -<p>Camba was turning into plastic, too. Everyone was. But the effect was -accumulating slowly, by generations.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Camba lay down his knife and started in again. "What connections have -you had with John Delgados?"</p> - -<p><i>Concentrate on the immediate situation.</i> Alcala and Johnny were -obviously in danger of some sort of mistaken arrest and interrogation.</p> - -<p>As Alcala focused on the question, one errant whimsical thought -suddenly flitted through the back of his mind. In red advertising -letters: TRY OUR NEW MODEL RUST-PROOF, WATERPROOF, HEAT & SCALD -RESISTANT, STRONG—EXTRA-LONG-WEARING HUMAN BEING!</p> - -<p>He laughed inwardly and finally answered: "Friendship. Mutual interest -in high ion colloidal suspensions and complex synthesis." Impatience -suddenly mastered him. "Exactly what is it you wish to know, Senor? -Perhaps I could inform you if I knew the reasons for your interest."</p> - -<p>Camba chose a piece of salad with great care. "We have reason to -believe that he is Syndrome Johnny."</p> - -<p>Alcala waited for the words to clarify. After a moment, it ceased to -be childish babble and became increasingly shocking. He remembered the -first time he had met John Delgados, the smile, the strong handclasp. -"Call me Johnny," he had said. It had seemed no more than a nickname.</p> - -<p>The investigator was watching his expression with bright brown eyes.</p> - -<p>Johnny, yes ... but not Syndrome Johnny. He tried to think of some -quick refutation. "The whole thing is preposterous, Senor Camba. The -myth of Syndrome Plague Johnny started about a century ago."</p> - -<p>"Doctor Alcala"—the small man in the gray suit was tensely -sober—"John Delgados is very old, and John Delgados is not his proper -name. I have traced his life back and back, through older and older -records in Argentina, Panama, South Africa, the United States, China, -Canada. Everywhere he has paid his taxes properly, put his fingerprints -on file as a good citizen should. And he changed his name every twenty -years, applying to the courts for permission with good honest reasons -for changing his name. Everywhere he has been a laboratory worker, held -patents, sometimes made a good deal of money. He is one hundred and -forty years old. His first income tax was paid in 1970, exactly one -hundred and twenty years ago."</p> - -<p>"Other men are that old," said Alcala.</p> - -<p>"Other men are old, yes. Those who survived the two successive plagues, -were unusually durable." Camba finished and pushed back his plate. -"There is no crime in being long-lived, surely. But he has changed his -name five times!"</p> - -<p>"That proves nothing. Whatever his reasons for changing his name, it -doesn't prove that he is Syndrome Johnny any more than it proves he -is the cow that jumped over the moon. Syndrome Johnny is a myth, a -figment of mob delirium."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As he said it, he knew it was not true. A Federation investigator would -not be on a wild goose chase.</p> - -<p>The plates were taken away and cups of steaming black coffee put -between them. He would have to warn Johnny. It was strange how well you -could know a man as well as he knew Johnny, firmly enough to believe -that, despite evidence, everything the man did was right.</p> - -<p>"Why must it be a myth?" Camba asked softly.</p> - -<p>"It's ridiculous!" Alcala protested. "Why would any man—" His voice -cut off as unrelated facts fell into a pattern. He sat for a moment, -thinking intensely, seeing the century of plague as something he had -never dreamed....</p> - -<p>A price.</p> - -<p>Not too high a price in the long run, considering what was purchased. -Of course, the great change over into silicon catalysis would be a -shock and require adjustment and, of course, the change must be made in -several easy stages—and those who could not adjust would die.</p> - -<p>"Go on, Doctor," Camba urged softly. "'<i>Why</i> would any man—'"</p> - -<p>He tried to find a way of explaining which would not seem to have any -relationship to John Delgados. "It has been recently discovered"—but -he did not say <i>how</i> recently—"that the disease of Syndrome Plague -was not a disease. It is an improvement." He had spoken clumsily.</p> - -<p>"An improvement on life?" Camba laughed and nodded, but there were -bitterness and anger burning behind the small man's smile. "People -can be improved to death by the millions. Yes, yes, go on, Senor. You -fascinate me."</p> - -<p>"We are stronger," Alcala told him. "We are changed chemically. The -race has been improved!"</p> - -<p>"Come, Doctor Alcala," Camba said with a sneering merriment, "the -Syndrome Plagues have come and they have gone. Where is this change?"</p> - -<p>Alcala tried to express it clearly. "We are stronger. Potentially, we -are tremendously stronger. But we of this generation are still weak -and ill, as our parents were, from the shock of the change. And we -need silicone feeding; we have not adjusted yet. Our illness masks our -strength." He thought of what that strength would be!</p> - -<p>Camba smiled and took out a small notebook. "The disease is connected -with silicones, you say? The original name of John Delgados was John -Osborne Drake. His father was Osborne Drake, a chemist at Dow Corning, -who was sentenced to the electric chair in 1967 for unauthorized -bacterial experiments which resulted in an accidental epidemic and -eight deaths. Dow Corning was the first major manufactury of silicones -in America, though not connected in any way with Osborne Drake's -criminal experiments. It links together, does it not?"</p> - -<p>"It is not a disease, it is strength!" Alcala insisted doggedly.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The small investigator looked up from his notebook and his smile was -an unnatural thing, a baring of teeth. "Half the world died of this -strength, Senor. If you will not think of the men and women, think of -the children. Millions of children died!"</p> - -<p>The waiter brought the bill, dropping it on the table between them.</p> - -<p>"Lives will be saved in the long run," Alcala said obstinately. -"Individual deaths are not important in the long run."</p> - -<p>"That is hardly the philosophy for a doctor, is it?" asked Camba with -open irony, taking the bill and rising.</p> - -<p>They went out of the restaurant in silence. Camba's 'copter stood at -the curb.</p> - -<p>"Would you care for a lift home, Doctor Alcala?" The offer was made -with the utmost suavity.</p> - -<p>Alcala hesitated fractionally. "Why, yes, thank you." It would not do -to give the investigator any reason for suspicion by refusing.</p> - -<p>As the 'copter lifted into the air, Camba spoke with a more friendly -note in his voice, as if he humored a child. "Come, Alcala, you're a -doctor dedicated to saving lives. How can you find sympathy for a -murderer?"</p> - -<p>Alcala sat in the dark, looking through the windshield down at the -bright street falling away below. "I'm not a practicing medico; only -one night a week do I come to the hospital. I'm a research man. I don't -try to save individual lives. I'm dedicated to improving the average -life, the average health. Can you understand that? Individuals may be -sick and individuals may die, but the average lives on. And if the -average is better, then I'm satisfied."</p> - -<p>The 'copter flew on. There was no answer.</p> - -<p>"I'm not good with words," said Alcala. Then, taking out his pen-knife -and unfolding it, he said, "Watch!" He put his index finger on the -altimeter dial, where there was light, and pressed the blade against -the flesh between his finger and his thumb. He increased the pressure -until the flesh stood out white on either side of the blade, bending, -but not cut.</p> - -<p>"Three generations back, this pressure would have gone right through -the hand." He took away the blade and there was only a very tiny cut. -Putting the knife away, he brought out his lighter. The blue flame -was steady and hot. Alcala held it close to the dashboard and put his -finger directly over it, counting patiently, "One, two, three, four, -five—" He pulled the lighter back, snapping it shut.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="600" height="352" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Three generations ago, a man couldn't have held a finger over that -flame for more than a tenth part of that count. Doesn't all this prove -something to you?"</p> - -<p>The 'copter was hovering above Alcala's house. Camba lowered it to -the ground and opened the door before answering. "It proves only that -a good and worthy man will cut and burn his hand for an unworthy -friendship. Good night."</p> - -<p>Disconcerted, Alcala watched the 'copter lift away into the night, -then, turning, saw that the lights were still on in the laboratory. -Camba might have deduced something from that, if he knew that Nita and -the girl were not supposed to be home.</p> - -<p>Alcala hurried in.</p> - -<p>Johnny hadn't left yet. He was sitting at Alcala's desk with his feet -on the wastebasket, the way Alcala often liked to sit, reading a -technical journal. He looked up, smiling. For a moment Alcala saw him -with the new clarity of a stranger. The lean, weathered face; brown -eyes with smile deltas at the corners; wide shoulders; steady, big -hands holding the magazine—solid, able, and ruthless enough to see -what had to be done, and do it.</p> - -<p>"I was waiting for you, Ric."</p> - -<p>"The Feds are after you." Ricardo Alcala had been running. He found he -was panting and his heart was pounding.</p> - -<p>Delgados' smile did not change. "It's all right, Ric. Everything's -done. I can leave any time now." He indicated a square metal box -standing in a corner. "There's the stuff."</p> - -<p>What stuff? The product Johnny had been working on? "You haven't time -for that now, Johnny. You can't sell it. They'd watch for anyone of -your description selling chemicals. Let me loan you some money."</p> - -<p>"Thanks." Johnny was smiling oddly. "Everything's set. I won't need it. -How close are they to finding me?"</p> - -<p>"They don't know where you're staying." Alcala leaned on the desk edge -and put out his hand. "They tell me you're Syndrome Johnny."</p> - -<p>"I thought you'd figured that one out." Johnny shook his hand formally. -"The name is John Osborne Drake. You aren't horrified?"</p> - -<p>"No." Alcala knew that he was shaking hands with a man who would be -thanked down all the successive generations of mankind. He noticed -again the odd white web-work of scars on the back of Johnny's hand. He -indicated them as casually as he could. "Where did you pick those up?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>John Drake glanced at his hand. "I don't know, Ric. Truthfully. -I've had my brains beaten in too often to remember much any more. -Unimportant. There are instructions outlining plans and methods filed -in safety deposit boxes in almost every big city in the world. Always -the same typing, always the same instructions. I can't remember who -typed them, myself or my father, but I must have been expected to -forget or they wouldn't be there. Up to eleven, my memory is all right, -but after Dad started to remake me, everything gets fuzzy."</p> - -<p>"After he did <i>what</i>?"</p> - -<p>Johnny smiled tiredly and rested his head on one hand. "He had to -remake me chemically, you know. How could I spread change without -being changed myself? I couldn't have two generations to adapt to -it naturally like you, Ric. It had to be done artificially. It took -years. You understand? I'm a community, a construction. The cells that -carry on the silicon metabolism in me are not human. Dad adapted them -for the purpose. I helped, but I can't remember any longer how it was -done. I think when I've been badly damaged, organization scatters to -the separate cells in my body. They can survive better that way, and -they have powers of regrouping and healing. But memory can't be pasted -together again or regrown."</p> - -<p>John Drake rose and looked around the laboratory with something like -triumph. "They're too late. I made it, Ric. There's the catalyst -cooling over there. This is the last step. I don't think I'll survive -this plague, but I'll last long enough to set it going for the finish. -The police won't stop me until it's too late."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Another plague!</p> - -<p>The last one had been before Alcala was born. He had not thought that -Johnny would start another. It was a shock.</p> - -<p>Alcala walked over to the cage where he kept his white mice and looked -in, trying to sort out his feelings. The white mice looked back -with beady bright eyes, caged, not knowing they were waiting to be -experimented upon.</p> - -<p>A timer clicked and John Delgados-Drake became all rapid efficient -activity, moving from valve to valve. It lasted a half minute or less, -then Drake had finished stripping off the lab whites to his street -clothes. He picked up the square metal box containing the stuff he had -made, tucked it under his arm and held out a solid hand again to Alcala.</p> - -<p>"Good-by, Ric. Wish me luck. Close up the lab for me, will you?"</p> - -<p>Alcala took the hand numbly and mumbled something, turned back to the -cages and stared blindly at the mice. Drake's brisk footsteps clattered -down the stairs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Another step forward for the human race.</p> - -<p>God knew what wonders for the race were in that box. Perhaps something -for nerve construction, something for the mind—the last and most -important step. He should have asked.</p> - -<p>There came at last a pressure that was a thought emerging from the -depth of intuition. <i>Doctor Ricardo Alcala will die in the next plague, -he and his ill wife Nita and his ill little girl.... And the name of -Alcala will die forever as a weak strain blotted from the bloodstream -of the race....</i></p> - -<p>He'd find out what was in the box by dying of it!</p> - -<p>He tried to reason it out, but only could remember that Nita, already -sickly, would have no chance. And Alcala's family genes, in attempting -to adapt to the previous steps, had become almost sterile. It had been -difficult having children. The next step would mean complete sterility. -The name of Alcala would die. The future might be wonderful, but it -would not be <i>his</i> future!</p> - -<p>"Johnny!" he called suddenly, something like an icy lump hardening in -his chest. How long had it been since Johnny had left?</p> - -<p>Running, Alcala went down the long half-lit stairs, out the back door -and along the dark path toward the place where Johnny's 'copter had -been parked.</p> - -<p>A light shone through the leaves. It was still there.</p> - -<p>"Johnny!"</p> - -<p>John Osborne Drake was putting his suitcase into the rear of the -'copter.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Ric?" he asked in a friendly voice without turning.</p> - -<p><i>It would be impossible to ask him to change his mind.</i> Alcala found -a rock, raised it behind Syndrome Johnny's back. "I know I'm being -anti-social," he said regretfully, and then threw the rock away.</p> - -<p>His fist was enough like stone to crush a skull.</p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Syndrome Johnny, by Charles Dye - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYNDROME JOHNNY *** - -***** This file should be named 51231-h.htm or 51231-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/3/51231/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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/license - - -Title: Syndrome Johnny - -Author: Charles Dye - -Release Date: February 16, 2016 [EBook #51231] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYNDROME JOHNNY *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - Syndrome Johnny - - BY CHARLES DYE - - Illustrated by EMSH - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction July 1951. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - The plagues that struck mankind could be attributed - to one man. But was he fiend ... or savior? - - -The blood was added to a pool of other blood, mixed, centrifuged, -separated to plasma and corpuscles, irradiated slightly, pasteurized -slightly, frozen, evaporated, and finally banked. Some of the plasma -was used immediately for a woman who had bled too much in childbirth. - -She died. - -Others received plasma and did not die. But their symptoms changed, -including a syndrome of multiple endocrine unbalance, eccentricities of -appetite and digestion, and a general pattern of emotional disturbance. - -An alert hospital administrator investigated the mortality rise and -narrowed it to a question of who had donated blood the week before. -After city residents were eliminated, there remained only the signed -receipts and thumbprints of nine men. Nine healthy unregistered -travelers poor enough to sell their blood for money, and among them a -man who carried death in his veins. The nine thumbprints were broadcast -to all police files and a search began. - -The effort was futile, for there were many victims who had sickened and -grown partially well again without recognizing the strangeness of their -illness. - -Three years later they reached the carrier stage and the epidemic -spread to four cities. Three more years, and there was an epidemic -which spread around the world, meeting another wave coming from the -opposite direction. It killed two out of four, fifty out of a hundred, -twenty-seven million out of fifty million. There was hysteria where -it appeared. And where it had not appeared there were quarantines to -fence it out. But it could not be fenced out. For two years it covered -the world. And then it vanished again, leaving the survivors with a -tendency toward glandular troubles. - -Time passed. The world grew richer, more orderly, more peaceful. - -A man paused in the midst of his work at the U.N. Food and Agriculture -Commission. He looked up at the red and green production map of India. - -"Just too many people per acre," he said. "All our work at improving -production ... just one jump ahead of their rising population, one jump -ahead of famine. Sometimes I wish to God there would be another plague -to give us a breathing spell and a fair chance to get things organized." - -He went back to work and added another figure. - -Two months later, he was one of the first victims of the second plague. - - * * * * * - -In the dining hall of a university, a biochemical student glanced up -from his paper to his breakfast companion. "You remember Johnny, the -mythical carrier that they told about during the first and second -epidemics of Syndrome Plague?" - -"Sure. Syndrome Johnny. They use that myth in psychology class as a -typical example of mass hysteria. When a city was nervous and expecting -the plague to reach them, some superstitious fool would imagine he saw -Syndrome Johnny and the population would panic. Symbol for Death or -some such thing. People imagined they saw him in every corner of the -world. Simultaneously, of course." - -It was a bright morning and they were at a window which looked out -across green rolling fields to a towering glass-brick building in the -distance. - -The student who had gone back to his paper suddenly looked up again. -"Some Peruvians here claim they saw Syndrome Johnny--" - -"Idiotic superstition! You'd think it would have died down when the -plague died." - -The other grinned. "The plague didn't die." He folded his newspaper -slowly, obviously advancing an opening for a debate. - -His companion went on eating. "Another of your wild theories, huh?" -Then through a mouthful of food: "All right, if the plague didn't die, -where did it go?" - -"Nowhere. _We have it now._ We all have it!" He shrugged. "A virus -catalyst of high affinity for the cells and a high similarity to a -normal cell protein--how can it be detected?" - -"Then why don't people die? Why aren't we sick?" - -"Because we have sickened and recovered. We caught it on conception -and recovered before birth. Proof? Why do you think that the countries -which were known as the Hungry Lands are now well-fed, leisured, -educated, advanced? Because the birth rate has fallen! Why has the -birth rate fallen?" He paused, then very carefully said, "Because two -out of three of all people who would have lived have died before birth, -slain by Syndrome Plague. We are all carriers now, hosts to a new -guest. And"--his voice dropped to a mock sinister whisper--"with such a -stranger within our cells, at the heart of the intricate machinery of -our lives, who knows what subtle changes have crept upon us unnoticed!" - -His companion laughed. "Eat your breakfast. You belong on a horror -program!" - - * * * * * - -A police psychologist for the Federated States of The Americas was -running through reports from the Bureau of Social Statistics. Suddenly -he grunted, then a moment later said, "Uh-huh!" - -"Uh-huh what?" asked his superior, who was reading a newspaper with his -feet up on the desk. - -"Remember the myth, of Syndrome Johnny?" - -"Ghost of Syndrome Plague. Si, what of it?" - -"Titaquahapahel, Peru, population nine hundred, sent in a claim that he -turned up there and they almost caught him. Crime Statistics rerouted -the report to Mass Phenomena, of course. Mass Phenomena blew a tube and -sent their folder on Syndrome Johnny over here. Every report they ever -had on him for ninety years back! A memo came with it." He handed the -memo over. - -The man behind the desk looked at it. It was a small graph and some -mathematical symbols. "What is it?" - -"It means," said the psychologist, smiling dryly, "that every crazy -report about our ghost has points of similarity to every other crazy -report. The whole business of Syndrome Johnny has been in their 'funny -coincidence' file for twenty years. This time the suspect hits the -averaged description of Johnny too closely: A solid-looking man, -unusual number of visible minor scars, and a disturbing habit of -bending his fingers at the first-joint knuckles when he is thinking. -The coincidence has gotten too damn funny. There's a chance we've been -passing up a crime." - -"An extensive crime," said the man at the desk softly. He reached -for the folder. "Yes, a considerable quantity of murder." He leafed -through the folder and then thought a while, looking at the most recent -reports. Thinking was what he was paid for, and he earned his excellent -salary. - -"This thumbprint on the hotel register--the name is false, but the -thumbprint looks real. Could we persuade the Bureau of Records to give -their data on that print?" - -"Without a warrant? Against constitutional immunity. No, not a chance. -The public has been touchy about the right to secrecy ever since that -police state was attempted in Varga." - -"How about persuading an obliging judge to give a warrant on grounds of -reasonable suspicion?" - -"No. We'd have the humanist press down on our necks in a minute, and -any judge knows it. We'd have to prove a crime was committed. No crime, -no warrant." - -"It seems a pity we can't even find out who the gentleman is," the -Crimes Department head murmured, looking at the thumbprint wistfully. -"No crime, no records. No records, no evidence. No evidence, no proof -of crime. Therefore, we must manufacture a small crime. He was attacked -and he must have defended himself. Someone may have been hurt in the -process." He pushed a button. "Do you think if I send a man down there, -he could persuade one of the mob to swear out a complaint?" - -"That's a rhetorical question," said the psychologist, trying to work -out an uncertain correlation in his reports. "With that sort of mob -hysteria, the town would probably give you an affidavit of witchcraft." - - * * * * * - -"Phone for you, Doctor Alcala." The nurse was crisp but quiet, smiling -down at the little girl before vanishing again. - -Ricardo Alcala pushed the plunger in gently, then carefully withdrew -the hypodermic needle from the little girl's arm. "There you are, -Cosita," he said, smiling and rising from the chair beside the white -bed. - -"Will that make me better, Doctor?" she piped feebly. - -He patted her hand. "Be a good girl and you will be well tomorrow." He -walked out into the hospital corridor to where the desk nurse held out -a phone. - -"Alcala speaking." - -The voice was unfamiliar. "My deepest apologies for interrupting your -work, Doctor. At this late hour I'm afraid I assumed you would be at -home. The name is Camba, Federation Investigator on a health case. I -would like to consult you." - -Alcala was tired, but there was nothing to do at home. Nita was at the -health resort and Johnny had borrowed all his laboratory space for a -special synthesis of some sort, and probably would be too busy even -to talk. Interest stirred in him. This was a Federation investigator -calling; the man's work was probably important. "Tonight, if that's -convenient. I'll be off duty in five minutes." - -Thirty minutes later they were ordering in a small cantina down the -street from the hospital. - -Julio Camba, Federation Investigator, was a slender, dark man with -sharp, glinting eyes. He spoke with a happy theatrical flourish. - -"Order what you choose, Senor. We're on my expense account. The -resources of the Federated States of all The Americas stand behind your -menu." - -Alcala smiled. "I wouldn't want to add to the national debt." - -"Not at all, Senor. The Federated States are only too happy thus to -express a fraction of their gratitude by adding a touch of luxury to -the otherwise barren and self-sacrificing life of a scientist." - -"You shame me," Alcala said dryly. It was true that he needed -every spare penny for the health of Nita and the child, and for the -laboratory. A penny saved from being spent on nourishment was a penny -earned. He picked up the menu again and ordered steak. - -The investigator lit a cigar, asking casually: "Do you know John -Osborne Drake?" - - * * * * * - -Alcala searched his memory. "No. I'm sorry...." Then he felt for the -first time how closely he was being watched, and knew how carefully his -reaction and the tone of his voice had been analyzed. The interview was -dangerous. For some reason, he was suspected of something. - -Camba finished lighting the cigar and dropped the match into an -ash-tray. "Perhaps you know John Delgados?" He leaned back into the -shadowy corner of the booth. - -Johnny! Out of all the people in the world, how could the government be -interested in him? Alcala tried to sound casual. "An associate of mine. -A friend." - -"I would like to contact the gentleman." The request was completely -unforceful, undemanding. "I called, but he was not at home. Could you -tell me where he might be?" - -"I'm sorry, Senor Camba, but I cannot say. He could be on a business -trip." Alcala was feeling increasingly nervous. Actually, Johnny was -working at his laboratory. - -"What do you know of his activities?" Camba asked. - -"A biochemist." Alcala tried to see past the meditative mask of the -thin dark face. "He makes small job-lots of chemical compounds. Special -bug spray for sale to experimental plantations, hormone spray for -fruits, that sort of thing. Sometimes, when he collects some money -ahead, he does research." - -Camba waited, and his silence became a question. Alcala spoke -reluctantly, anger rising in him. "Oh, it's genuine research. He has -some patents and publications to his credit. You can confirm that if -you choose." He was unable to keep the hostility out of his voice. - -A waiter came and placed steaming platters of food on the table. Camba -waited until he was gone. "You know him well, I presume. Is he sane?" - -The question was another shock. Alcala thought carefully, for any man -might be insane in secret. "Yes, so far as I know." He turned his -attention to the steak, but first took three very large capsules from a -bottle in his pocket. - -"I would not expect that a doctor would need to take pills," Camba -remarked with friendly mockery. - -"I don't need them," Alcala explained. "Mixed silicones. I'm guinea -pigging." - -"Can't such things be left to the guinea pigs?" Camba asked, watching -with revulsion as Alcala uncapped the second bottle and sprinkled a -layer of gray powder over his steak. - -"Guinea pigs have no assimilation of silicones; only man has that." - -"Yes, of course. I should have remembered from your famous papers, _The -Need Of Trace Silicon In Human Diet_ and _Silicon Deficiency Diseases_." - - * * * * * - -Obviously Camba had done considerable investigating of Alcala before -approaching him. He had even given the titles of the research papers -correctly. Alcala's wariness increased. - -"What is the purpose of the experiment this time?" asked the small dark -Federation agent genially. - -"To determine the safe limits of silicon consumption and if there are -any dangers in an overdose." - -"How do you determine that? By dropping dead?" - -He could be right. Perhaps the test should be stopped. Every day, with -growing uneasiness, Alcala took his dose of silicon compound, and every -day, the chemical seemed to be absorbed completely--not released or -excreted--in a way that was unpleasantly reminiscent of the way arsenic -accumulated without evident damage, then killed abruptly without -warning. - -Already, this evening, he had noticed that there was something faulty -about his coordination and weight and surface sense. The restaurant -door had swung back with a curious lightness, and the hollow metal -handle had had a curious softness under his fingers. Something merely -going wrong with the sensitivity of his fingers--? - -He tapped his fingertips on the heavy indestructible silicone plastic -table top. There was a feeling of heaviness in his hands, and a feeling -of faint rubbery _give_ in the table. - -Tapping his fingers gently, his heavy fingers ... the answer was -dreamily fantastic. _I'm turning into silicon plastic myself_, he -thought. But how, why? He had not bothered to be curious before, but -the question had always been--what were supposedly insoluble silicons -doing assimilating into the human body at all? - -Several moments passed. He smoothed back his hair with his oddly heavy -hand before picking up his fork again. - -"I'm turning into plastic," he told Camba. - -"I beg your pardon?" - -"Nothing. A joke." - -Camba was turning into plastic, too. Everyone was. But the effect was -accumulating slowly, by generations. - - * * * * * - -Camba lay down his knife and started in again. "What connections have -you had with John Delgados?" - -_Concentrate on the immediate situation._ Alcala and Johnny were -obviously in danger of some sort of mistaken arrest and interrogation. - -As Alcala focused on the question, one errant whimsical thought -suddenly flitted through the back of his mind. In red advertising -letters: TRY OUR NEW MODEL RUST-PROOF, WATERPROOF, HEAT & SCALD -RESISTANT, STRONG--EXTRA-LONG-WEARING HUMAN BEING! - -He laughed inwardly and finally answered: "Friendship. Mutual interest -in high ion colloidal suspensions and complex synthesis." Impatience -suddenly mastered him. "Exactly what is it you wish to know, Senor? -Perhaps I could inform you if I knew the reasons for your interest." - -Camba chose a piece of salad with great care. "We have reason to -believe that he is Syndrome Johnny." - -Alcala waited for the words to clarify. After a moment, it ceased to -be childish babble and became increasingly shocking. He remembered the -first time he had met John Delgados, the smile, the strong handclasp. -"Call me Johnny," he had said. It had seemed no more than a nickname. - -The investigator was watching his expression with bright brown eyes. - -Johnny, yes ... but not Syndrome Johnny. He tried to think of some -quick refutation. "The whole thing is preposterous, Senor Camba. The -myth of Syndrome Plague Johnny started about a century ago." - -"Doctor Alcala"--the small man in the gray suit was tensely -sober--"John Delgados is very old, and John Delgados is not his proper -name. I have traced his life back and back, through older and older -records in Argentina, Panama, South Africa, the United States, China, -Canada. Everywhere he has paid his taxes properly, put his fingerprints -on file as a good citizen should. And he changed his name every twenty -years, applying to the courts for permission with good honest reasons -for changing his name. Everywhere he has been a laboratory worker, held -patents, sometimes made a good deal of money. He is one hundred and -forty years old. His first income tax was paid in 1970, exactly one -hundred and twenty years ago." - -"Other men are that old," said Alcala. - -"Other men are old, yes. Those who survived the two successive plagues, -were unusually durable." Camba finished and pushed back his plate. -"There is no crime in being long-lived, surely. But he has changed his -name five times!" - -"That proves nothing. Whatever his reasons for changing his name, it -doesn't prove that he is Syndrome Johnny any more than it proves he -is the cow that jumped over the moon. Syndrome Johnny is a myth, a -figment of mob delirium." - - * * * * * - -As he said it, he knew it was not true. A Federation investigator would -not be on a wild goose chase. - -The plates were taken away and cups of steaming black coffee put -between them. He would have to warn Johnny. It was strange how well you -could know a man as well as he knew Johnny, firmly enough to believe -that, despite evidence, everything the man did was right. - -"Why must it be a myth?" Camba asked softly. - -"It's ridiculous!" Alcala protested. "Why would any man--" His voice -cut off as unrelated facts fell into a pattern. He sat for a moment, -thinking intensely, seeing the century of plague as something he had -never dreamed.... - -A price. - -Not too high a price in the long run, considering what was purchased. -Of course, the great change over into silicon catalysis would be a -shock and require adjustment and, of course, the change must be made in -several easy stages--and those who could not adjust would die. - -"Go on, Doctor," Camba urged softly. "'_Why_ would any man--'" - -He tried to find a way of explaining which would not seem to have any -relationship to John Delgados. "It has been recently discovered"--but -he did not say _how_ recently--"that the disease of Syndrome Plague -was not a disease. It is an improvement." He had spoken clumsily. - -"An improvement on life?" Camba laughed and nodded, but there were -bitterness and anger burning behind the small man's smile. "People -can be improved to death by the millions. Yes, yes, go on, Senor. You -fascinate me." - -"We are stronger," Alcala told him. "We are changed chemically. The -race has been improved!" - -"Come, Doctor Alcala," Camba said with a sneering merriment, "the -Syndrome Plagues have come and they have gone. Where is this change?" - -Alcala tried to express it clearly. "We are stronger. Potentially, we -are tremendously stronger. But we of this generation are still weak -and ill, as our parents were, from the shock of the change. And we -need silicone feeding; we have not adjusted yet. Our illness masks our -strength." He thought of what that strength would be! - -Camba smiled and took out a small notebook. "The disease is connected -with silicones, you say? The original name of John Delgados was John -Osborne Drake. His father was Osborne Drake, a chemist at Dow Corning, -who was sentenced to the electric chair in 1967 for unauthorized -bacterial experiments which resulted in an accidental epidemic and -eight deaths. Dow Corning was the first major manufactury of silicones -in America, though not connected in any way with Osborne Drake's -criminal experiments. It links together, does it not?" - -"It is not a disease, it is strength!" Alcala insisted doggedly. - - * * * * * - -The small investigator looked up from his notebook and his smile was -an unnatural thing, a baring of teeth. "Half the world died of this -strength, Senor. If you will not think of the men and women, think of -the children. Millions of children died!" - -The waiter brought the bill, dropping it on the table between them. - -"Lives will be saved in the long run," Alcala said obstinately. -"Individual deaths are not important in the long run." - -"That is hardly the philosophy for a doctor, is it?" asked Camba with -open irony, taking the bill and rising. - -They went out of the restaurant in silence. Camba's 'copter stood at -the curb. - -"Would you care for a lift home, Doctor Alcala?" The offer was made -with the utmost suavity. - -Alcala hesitated fractionally. "Why, yes, thank you." It would not do -to give the investigator any reason for suspicion by refusing. - -As the 'copter lifted into the air, Camba spoke with a more friendly -note in his voice, as if he humored a child. "Come, Alcala, you're a -doctor dedicated to saving lives. How can you find sympathy for a -murderer?" - -Alcala sat in the dark, looking through the windshield down at the -bright street falling away below. "I'm not a practicing medico; only -one night a week do I come to the hospital. I'm a research man. I don't -try to save individual lives. I'm dedicated to improving the average -life, the average health. Can you understand that? Individuals may be -sick and individuals may die, but the average lives on. And if the -average is better, then I'm satisfied." - -The 'copter flew on. There was no answer. - -"I'm not good with words," said Alcala. Then, taking out his pen-knife -and unfolding it, he said, "Watch!" He put his index finger on the -altimeter dial, where there was light, and pressed the blade against -the flesh between his finger and his thumb. He increased the pressure -until the flesh stood out white on either side of the blade, bending, -but not cut. - -"Three generations back, this pressure would have gone right through -the hand." He took away the blade and there was only a very tiny cut. -Putting the knife away, he brought out his lighter. The blue flame -was steady and hot. Alcala held it close to the dashboard and put his -finger directly over it, counting patiently, "One, two, three, four, -five--" He pulled the lighter back, snapping it shut. - -"Three generations ago, a man couldn't have held a finger over that -flame for more than a tenth part of that count. Doesn't all this prove -something to you?" - -The 'copter was hovering above Alcala's house. Camba lowered it to -the ground and opened the door before answering. "It proves only that -a good and worthy man will cut and burn his hand for an unworthy -friendship. Good night." - -Disconcerted, Alcala watched the 'copter lift away into the night, -then, turning, saw that the lights were still on in the laboratory. -Camba might have deduced something from that, if he knew that Nita and -the girl were not supposed to be home. - -Alcala hurried in. - -Johnny hadn't left yet. He was sitting at Alcala's desk with his feet -on the wastebasket, the way Alcala often liked to sit, reading a -technical journal. He looked up, smiling. For a moment Alcala saw him -with the new clarity of a stranger. The lean, weathered face; brown -eyes with smile deltas at the corners; wide shoulders; steady, big -hands holding the magazine--solid, able, and ruthless enough to see -what had to be done, and do it. - -"I was waiting for you, Ric." - -"The Feds are after you." Ricardo Alcala had been running. He found he -was panting and his heart was pounding. - -Delgados' smile did not change. "It's all right, Ric. Everything's -done. I can leave any time now." He indicated a square metal box -standing in a corner. "There's the stuff." - -What stuff? The product Johnny had been working on? "You haven't time -for that now, Johnny. You can't sell it. They'd watch for anyone of -your description selling chemicals. Let me loan you some money." - -"Thanks." Johnny was smiling oddly. "Everything's set. I won't need it. -How close are they to finding me?" - -"They don't know where you're staying." Alcala leaned on the desk edge -and put out his hand. "They tell me you're Syndrome Johnny." - -"I thought you'd figured that one out." Johnny shook his hand formally. -"The name is John Osborne Drake. You aren't horrified?" - -"No." Alcala knew that he was shaking hands with a man who would be -thanked down all the successive generations of mankind. He noticed -again the odd white web-work of scars on the back of Johnny's hand. He -indicated them as casually as he could. "Where did you pick those up?" - - * * * * * - -John Drake glanced at his hand. "I don't know, Ric. Truthfully. -I've had my brains beaten in too often to remember much any more. -Unimportant. There are instructions outlining plans and methods filed -in safety deposit boxes in almost every big city in the world. Always -the same typing, always the same instructions. I can't remember who -typed them, myself or my father, but I must have been expected to -forget or they wouldn't be there. Up to eleven, my memory is all right, -but after Dad started to remake me, everything gets fuzzy." - -"After he did _what_?" - -Johnny smiled tiredly and rested his head on one hand. "He had to -remake me chemically, you know. How could I spread change without -being changed myself? I couldn't have two generations to adapt to -it naturally like you, Ric. It had to be done artificially. It took -years. You understand? I'm a community, a construction. The cells that -carry on the silicon metabolism in me are not human. Dad adapted them -for the purpose. I helped, but I can't remember any longer how it was -done. I think when I've been badly damaged, organization scatters to -the separate cells in my body. They can survive better that way, and -they have powers of regrouping and healing. But memory can't be pasted -together again or regrown." - -John Drake rose and looked around the laboratory with something like -triumph. "They're too late. I made it, Ric. There's the catalyst -cooling over there. This is the last step. I don't think I'll survive -this plague, but I'll last long enough to set it going for the finish. -The police won't stop me until it's too late." - - * * * * * - -Another plague! - -The last one had been before Alcala was born. He had not thought that -Johnny would start another. It was a shock. - -Alcala walked over to the cage where he kept his white mice and looked -in, trying to sort out his feelings. The white mice looked back -with beady bright eyes, caged, not knowing they were waiting to be -experimented upon. - -A timer clicked and John Delgados-Drake became all rapid efficient -activity, moving from valve to valve. It lasted a half minute or less, -then Drake had finished stripping off the lab whites to his street -clothes. He picked up the square metal box containing the stuff he had -made, tucked it under his arm and held out a solid hand again to Alcala. - -"Good-by, Ric. Wish me luck. Close up the lab for me, will you?" - -Alcala took the hand numbly and mumbled something, turned back to the -cages and stared blindly at the mice. Drake's brisk footsteps clattered -down the stairs. - - * * * * * - -Another step forward for the human race. - -God knew what wonders for the race were in that box. Perhaps something -for nerve construction, something for the mind--the last and most -important step. He should have asked. - -There came at last a pressure that was a thought emerging from the -depth of intuition. _Doctor Ricardo Alcala will die in the next plague, -he and his ill wife Nita and his ill little girl.... And the name of -Alcala will die forever as a weak strain blotted from the bloodstream -of the race...._ - -He'd find out what was in the box by dying of it! - -He tried to reason it out, but only could remember that Nita, already -sickly, would have no chance. And Alcala's family genes, in attempting -to adapt to the previous steps, had become almost sterile. It had been -difficult having children. The next step would mean complete sterility. -The name of Alcala would die. The future might be wonderful, but it -would not be _his_ future! - -"Johnny!" he called suddenly, something like an icy lump hardening in -his chest. How long had it been since Johnny had left? - -Running, Alcala went down the long half-lit stairs, out the back door -and along the dark path toward the place where Johnny's 'copter had -been parked. - -A light shone through the leaves. It was still there. - -"Johnny!" - -John Osborne Drake was putting his suitcase into the rear of the -'copter. - -"What is it, Ric?" he asked in a friendly voice without turning. - -_It would be impossible to ask him to change his mind._ Alcala found -a rock, raised it behind Syndrome Johnny's back. "I know I'm being -anti-social," he said regretfully, and then threw the rock away. - -His fist was enough like stone to crush a skull. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Syndrome Johnny, by Charles Dye - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYNDROME JOHNNY *** - -***** This file should be named 51231.txt or 51231.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/2/3/51231/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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