The pariah5 who had been Dr. Daniel Feldman enjoyed no such luxury. He tossed fitfully on a bare cot, bringing his face into the dim light. It had been a handsome face, but now the black stubble of beard lay over gaunt features and sunken cheeks. He looked ten years older than his scant6 thirty-two, and there were the beginnings of a snarl7 at the corners of his mouth. Clothes that had once been expensive were wrinkled and covered with grime that no amount of cleaning could remove. His tall, thin body was awkwardly curled up in a vain effort to conserve8 heat and one of his hands instinctively9 clutched at his tiny bag of possessions.
He stirred again, and suddenly jerked upright with a protest already forming on his lips. The ugly surroundings registered on his eyes, and he stared suspiciously at the other cots. But there was no sign that anyone had been trying to rob him of his bindle or the precious bag of cheap tobacco.
He started to relax back onto the couch when a sound caught his attention, even over the snoring of the others.[Pg 6] It was a low wail10, the sound of a man who can no longer control himself.
Feldman swung to the cot on his left as the moan hacked11 off. The man there was well fed and clean-shaven, but his face was gray with sickness. He was writhing12 and clutching his stomach, arching his back against the misery13 inside him.
"Space-stomach?" Feldman diagnosed.
He had no need of the weak answering nod. He'd treated such cases several times in the past. The disease was usually caused by the absence of gravity out in space, but it could be brought on later from abuse of the weakened internal organs, such as the intake14 of too much bad liquor. The man must have been frequenting the wrong space-front bars.
Now he was obviously dying. Violent peristaltic contractions15 seemed to be tearing the intestines16 out of him, and the paroxysms were coming faster. His eyes darted17 to Feldman's tobacco sack and there was animal appeal in them.
Feldman hesitated, then reluctantly rolled a smoke. He held the cigarette while the spaceman took a long, gasping18 drag on it. He smoked the remainder himself, letting the harsh tobacco burn against his lungs and sicken his empty stomach. Then he shrugged19 and threaded his way through the narrow aisles20 toward the attendant.
"Better get a doctor," he said bitterly, when the young punk looked up at him. "You've got a man dying of space-stomach on 214."
The sneer21 on the kid's face deepened. "Yeah? We don't pay for doctors every time some wino wants to throw up. Forget it and get back where you belong, bo."
"You'll have a corpse22 on your hands in an hour,"[Pg 7] Feldman insisted. "I know space-stomach, damn it."
The kid turned back to his lottery23 sheet. "Go treat yourself if you wanta play doctor. Go on, scram—before I toss you out in the snow!"
One of Feldman's white-knuckled hands reached for the attendant. Then he caught himself. He started to turn back, hesitated, and finally faced the kid again. "I'm not fooling. And I was a doctor," he stated. "My name is Daniel Feldman."
The attendant nodded absently, until the words finally penetrated24. He looked up, studied Feldman with surprised curiosity and growing contempt, and reached for the phone. "Gimme Medical Directory," he muttered.
Feldman felt the kid's eyes on his back as he stumbled through the aisles to his cot again. He slumped25 down, rolling another cigarette in hands that shook. The sick man was approaching delirium26 now, and the moans were mixed with weak whining27 sounds of fear. Other men had wakened and were watching, but nobody made a move to help.
The retching and writhing of the sick man had begun to weaken, but it was still not too late to save him. Hot water and skillful massage28 could interrupt the paroxysms. In fifteen minutes, Feldman could have stopped the attack completely.
He found his feet on the floor and his hands already reaching out. Savagely29 he pulled himself back. Sure, he could save the man—and wind up in the gas chamber30! There'd be no mercy for his second offense31 against Lobby laws. If the spaceman lived, Feldman might get off with a flogging—that was standard punishment for a pariah who stepped out of line. But with his luck, there would be a heart arrest and another juicy story for the papers.[Pg 8]
Idealism! The Medical Lobby made a lot out of the word. But it wasn't for him. A pariah had no business thinking of others.
As Feldman sat there staring, the spaceman grew quieter. Sometimes, even at this stage, massage could help. It was harder without liberal supplies of hot water, but the massage was the really important treatment. It was the trembling of Feldman's hands that stopped him. He no longer had the strength or the certainty to make the massage effective.
He was glaring at his hands in self-disgust when the legal doctor arrived. The man was old and tired. Probably he had been another idealist who had wound up defeated, content to leave things up to the established procedures of the Medical Lobby. He looked it as he bent32 over the dying man.
The doctor turned back at last to the attendant. "Too late. The best I can do is ease his pain. The call should have been made half an hour earlier."
He had obviously never handled space-stomach before. He administered a hypo that probably held narconal. Feldman watched, his guts33 tightening34 sympathetically for the shock that would be to the sick man. But at least it would shorten his sufferings. The final seizure35 lasted only a minute or so.
"Hopeless," the doctor said. His eyes were clouded for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Well, I'll make out a death certificate. Anyone here know his name?"
His eyes swung about the cots until they came to rest on Feldman. He frowned, and a twisted smile curved his lips.
"Feldman, isn't it? You still look something like your pictures. Do you know the deceased?"
Feldman shook his head bitterly. "No. I don't know[Pg 9] his name. I don't even know why he wasn't cyanotic at the end, if it was space-stomach. Do you, doctor?"
The old man threw a startled glance at the corpse. Then he shrugged and nodded to the attendant. "Well, go through his things. If he still has a space ticket, I can get his name from that."
The kid began pawing through the bag that had fallen from the cot. He dragged out a pair of shoes, half a bottle of cheap rum, a wallet and a bronze space ticket. He wasn't quick enough with the wallet, and the doctor took it from him.
"Medical Lobby authorization36. If he has any money, it covers my fee and the rest goes to his own Lobby." There were several bills, all of large denominations37. He turned the ticket over and began filling in the death certificate. "Arthur Billings. Space Lobby. Crewman. Cause of death, idiopathic gastroenteritis and delirium tremens."
There had been no evidence of delirium tremens, but apparently38 the doctor felt he had scored a point. He tossed the space ticket toward the shoes, closed his bag, and prepared to leave.
"Hey, doc!" The attendant's voice was indignant. "Hey, what about my reporting fee?"
The doctor stopped. He glanced at the kid, then toward Feldman, his face a mixture of speculation39 and dislike. He took a dollar bill from the wallet. "That's right," he admitted. "The fee for reporting a solvent40 case. Medical Lobby rules apply—even to a man who breaks them."
The kid's hand was out, but the doctor dropped the dollar onto Feldman's cot. "There's your fee, pariah." He left, forcing the protesting attendant to precede him.
Feldman reached for the bill. It was blood money for[Pg 10] letting a man die—but it meant cigarettes and food—or shelter for another night, if he could get a mission meal. He no longer could afford pride. Grimly, he pocketed the bill, staring at the face of the dead man. It looked back sightlessly, now showing a faint speckling of tiny dots. They caught Feldman's eyes, and he bent closer. There should be no black dots on the skin of a man who died of space-stomach. And there should have been cyanosis....
He swore and bent down to find the wrecks41 of his shoes. He couldn't worry about anything now but getting away from here before the attendant made trouble. His eyes rested on the shoes of the dead man—sturdy boots that would last for another year. They could do the corpse no good; someone else would steal them if he didn't. But he hesitated, cursing himself.
The right boot fitted better than he could have expected, but something got in the way as he tried to put the left one on. His fingers found the bronze ticket. He turned it over, considering it. He wasn't ready to fraud his identity for what he'd heard of life on the spaceships, yet. But he shoved it into his pocket and finished lacing the boots.
Outside, the snow was still falling, but it had turned to slush, and the sidewalk was soggy underfoot. There was going to be no work shoveling snow, he realized. This would melt before the day was over. Feldman hunched42 the suitcoat up, shivering as the cold bit into him. The boots felt good, though; if he'd had socks, they would have been completely comfortable.
He passed a cheap restaurant, and the smell of the synthetics43 set his stomach churning. It had been two days since his last real meal, and the dollar burned in his pocket. But he had to wait. There was a fair chance[Pg 11] this early that he could scavenge something edible44.
He shuffled45 on. After a while, the cold bothered him less, and he passed through the hunger spell. He rolled another smoke and sucked at it, hardly thinking. It was better that way.
It was much later when the big caduceus set into the sidewalk snapped him back to awareness46 of where he'd traveled. His undirected feet had led him much too far uptown, following old habits. This was the Medical Lobby building, where he'd spent more than enough time, including three weeks in custody47 before they stripped him of all rank and status.
His eyes wandered to the ornate entrance where he'd first emerged as a pariah. He'd meant to walk down those steps as if he were still a man. But each step had drained his resolution, until he'd finally covered his face and slunk off, knowing himself for what the world had branded him.
He stood there now, staring at the smug young medical politicians and the tired old general practitioners48 filing in and out. One of the latter halted, fumbled49 in his pocket and drew out a quarter.
"Merry Christmas!" he said dully.
Feldman fingered the coin. Then he saw a gray Medical policeman watching him, and he knew it was time to move on. Sooner or later, someone would recognize him here.
He clutched the quarter and turned to look for a coffee shop that sold the synthetics to which his metabolism50 had been switched. No shop would serve him here, but he could buy coffee and a piece of cake to take out.
A flurry of motion registered from the corner of his eye, and he glanced back.[Pg 12]
"Taxi! Taxi!"
The girl rushing down the steps had a clear soprano voice, cultured and commanding. The gray Medical uniform seemed molded to her shapely figure and her red hair glistened51 in the lights of the street. Her snub nose and determined52 mouth weren't the current fashion, but nobody stopped to think of fashions when they saw her. She didn't have to be the daughter of the president of Medical Lobby to rule.
It was Chris—Chris Feldman once, and now Chris Ryan again.
Feldman swung toward a cab. For a moment, his attitude was automatic and assured, and the cab stopped before the driver noticed his clothes. He picked up the bag Chris dropped and swung it onto the front seat. She was fumbling53 in her change purse as he turned back to shut the door.
"Thank you, my good man," she said. She could be gracious, even to a pariah, when his homage54 suited her. She dropped two quarters into his hand, raising her eyes.
Recognition flowed into them, followed by icy shock. She yanked the cab door shut and shouted something to the driver. The cab took off with a rush that left Feldman in a backwash of slush and mud.
He glanced down at the coins in his hand. It was his lucky day, he thought bitterly.
He moved across the street and away, not bothering about the squeal55 of brakes and the honking56 horns. He looked back only once, toward the glowing sign that topped the building. Your health is our business! Then the great symbol of the health business faded behind him, and he stumbled on, sucking incessantly57 at the cigarettes he rolled. One hand clutched the bronze[Pg 13] badge belonging to the dead man and his stolen boots drove onward58 through the melting snow.
It was Christmas in the year 2100 on the protectorate of Earth.[Pg 14]
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1
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pariah
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| n.被社会抛弃者 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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7
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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conserve
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| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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contractions
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| n.收缩( contraction的名词复数 )；缩减；缩略词；（分娩时）子宫收缩 | |
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16
intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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18
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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22
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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24
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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25
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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28
massage
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| n.按摩，揉；vt.按摩，揉，美化，奉承，篡改数据 | |
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29
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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30
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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31
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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32
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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33
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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34
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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35
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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36
authorization
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| n.授权，委任状 | |
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37
denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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38
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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39
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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40
solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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41
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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42
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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43
synthetics
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| n.化学合成物 | |
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44
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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45
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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46
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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47
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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48
practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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49
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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50
metabolism
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| n.新陈代谢 | |
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51
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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53
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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54
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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55
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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56
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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57
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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58
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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