CV

15

The new patient was Julie Prescott, twenty-eight. Her parents were all over McNulty with anxious questions. With them was a young man named Stevens; he and Ms. Prescott had been on the Promenade Deck when she was stricken.

“Did you notice any dizziness at the time?” McNulty asked.

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact. It was just for a moment. That’s odd, isn’t it, because the same thing happened to Julie yesterday.”

“Where was that? What time?”

“In the Liberty Restaurant, about seven o’clock.”

McNulty made a note. “Did a man collapse, near your table?”

“Yes. Really, Doctor, this is amazing.”

McNulty felt a breath of cold air on his skin. He drew a cross and put a square around it. “Mr. Stevens, I’m going to see if I can have you assigned to another stateroom temporarily. It’ll be in an isolation corridor here on the Upper Deck.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“There’s a chance that you’re infected. I don’t want to alarm you, but I think the best thing is to put you where we can keep an eye on you. You’re traveling alone?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you did come down with it, you wouldn’t want to be by yourself.” McNulty pressed a button on his desk. “Jan, will you call Bliss’s office and see if you can get Mr. Stevens into an isolation room as soon as possible?”

“Yes, Doctor. What room is he in now?”

McNulty asked, and passed the information along. “In the meantime,” he said, “it would be better if you wouldn’t go back to your room. If you’ll wait in the outer office, as soon as we’re ready to move you, we’ll give you a buzz.”

“This is very alarming, Doctor.”

“I know it is, but you look to me like a young man who can do whatever has to be done.”

“Thank you,” said Stevens with a charming smile, and stood up. “Until later, then.”

The man did not wait. As he left the office, the watcher inside him was interested to note that his agitation was not expressed in the muscles of his face. His movements were natural and unhurried as he crossed the lobby to the elevator and stood aside to allow two elderly women to enter: As the elevator rose, he was thinking simultaneously of two things. One was that if, as seemed likely, he had been infected with Julie’s disease, he had only a short time to work in. He could not take the risk of waiting until tonight to carry out his attack. Elegance would have to go; this would have to be quick and dirty. In his mind was the image of a sleek gray-steel gun, small enough to be concealed in the palm of his hand; he was visualizing its location in a locked traveling case in his closet.

Under this, rigidly suppressed, was the image of a man, himself, lying on a hospital bed with a tube up his nose, and the thought that of all possible things, he detested illness most. He was recalling that he had decided years ago that he would prefer death to being a helpless vegetable; but he put this thought aside. At the surface of his mind there were other images: the door opens, a large young man appears— Harold Winter, Newland’s companion. He raises the gun. . . .

With regret, the observer realized that it was time to go. For him, too, there were unacceptable risks. He slipped out into that fuzzy black space of floating snowflake patterns, and drifted toward the nearest one.

Mr. and Mrs. Eulan Neffield had just finished dressing for dinner when there was a tap at the door. “Yes?” said Mr. Neffield.

“Security.”

Mr. Neffield opened the door: there stood a woman in uniform, with a steward and a stewardess behind her. “Mr. Neffield, we’re sorry to disturb you and your wife, but there’s a medical emergency, and we're going to have to move you to another stateroom.”

“What’s this?” said Mrs. Neffield, coming forward alertly. “You’ve got to move us? What for?”

“We’re clearing out this corridor to make a hospital annex, Mrs. Neffield.”

“Well, I never heard of such a thing! I am certainly not going to move.”

“That’s perfectly all right, ma’am, but in that case you realize that you will be surrounded by people with an infectious disease.”

“Oh, my God!” said Mrs. Neffield. “Eulan, what are you waiting for?”