BY CORDWAINER SMITH
Space sailors need friends—
and good design will always
find a way to provide them!
Fever had given him a boyish look. The nurse, standing behind the doctor, watched him attentively. Her half-smile blended tenderness with an appreciation of his manly attraction.
"When can I go, doc?"
"In a few weeks, perhaps. You have to get well first."
"I don't mean home, doc. When can I go back into space? I'm captain, doc. I'm a good one. You know that, don't you?"
The doctor nodded gravely.
"I want to go back, doc. I want to go back right away. I want to be well, doc. I want to be well now. I want to get back in my ship and take off again. I don't even know why I'm here. What are you doing with me, doc?"
"We're trying to make you well," said the doctor, friendly, serious, authoritative.
"I'm not sick, doc. You've got the wrong man. We brought the ship in, didn't we? Everything was all right, wasn't it? Then we started to get out and everything went black. Now I'm here in a hospital. Something's pretty fishy, doc. Did I get hurt in the port?"
"No," said the doctor, "you weren't hurt at the port."
"Then why'd I faint? Why am I sick in a bed? Something must have happened to me, doc. It stands to reason. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. Some stupid awful thing must have happened, doc. After such a nice trip. Where did it happen?" A wild light came into the patient's eyes. "Did somebody do something to me, doc? I'm not hurt, am I? I'm not ruined, am I? I'll be able to go back into space, won't I?"
"Perhaps," said the doctor.
The nurse drew in her breath as though she were going to say something. The doctor looked around at her and gave her an authoritative frown, meaning keep quiet.
The patient saw it.
Desperation came into his voice, almost a whine? "What's the matter, doc? Why won't you talk to me? What's wrong? Something has happened to me. Where's Ralph? Where's Pete? Where's Jock? The last time I saw him he was having a beer. Where's Larry? Where's Went? Where's Betty? Where's my gang, doc? They're not killed, are they? I'm not the only one, am I? Talk to me, doc. Tell me the truth. I'm a space captain, doc. I've faced queer hells in my time, doc. You can tell me anything, doc. I'm not that sick. I can take it. Where's my gang, doc—my pals from the ship? What a cruise that was! Won't you talk, doc?"
"I'll talk," said the doctor, gravely.
"Okay," said the patient. "Tell me."
"What in particular?"
"Don't be a fool, doc! Tell me the straight stuff. Tell me about my friends first, and then tell me what has happened to me."
"Concerning your friends," said the doctor, measuring his words carefully, "I am in a position to tell you there has been no adverse change in the status of any of the persons you mentioned."
"All right, then, doc, if it wasn't them, it's me. Tell me. What's happened to me, doc? Something stinking awful must have happened or you wouldn't be standing there with a face like a constipated horse!"
The doctor smiled wryly, bleakly, briefly at the weird compliment. "I won't try to explain my own face, young fellow. I was born with it. But you are in a serious condition and we are trying to get you well. I will tell you the whole truth."
"Then do it, doc! Right away. Did somebody jump me at the port? Was I hurt badly? Was it an accident? Start talking, man!"
The nurse stirred behind the doctor. He looked around at her. She looked in the direction of the hypodermic on the tray. The doctor gave her a brief negative shake of his head. The patient saw the whole interplay and understood it correctly.
"That's right, doc. Don't let her dope me. I don't need sleep. I need the truth. If my gang's all right, why aren't they here? Is Milly out in the corridor? Milly, that was her name, the little curlyhead. Where's Jock? Why isn't Ralph here?"
"I'm going to tell you everything, young man. It may be tough but I'm counting on you to take it like a man. But it would help if you told me first."
"Told you what? Don't you know who I am? Didn't you read about my gang and me? Didn't you hear about Larry? What a navigator! We wouldn't be here except for Larry."
The late-morning light poured in through the open window; a soft spring breeze touched the young ravaged face of the patient. There was mercy and more in the doctor's voice.
"I'm just a medical doctor. I don't keep up with the news. I know your name, age and medical history. But I don't know the details of your cruise. Tell me about it."
"Doc, you're kidding. It'd take a book. We're famous. I bet Went's out there right now, making a fortune out of the pictures he took."
"Don't tell me the whole thing, young man. Suppose you just tell me about the last couple of days before you landed, and how you got into port."
The young man smiled guiltily; there was pleasure and fond memory in his face. "I guess I can tell you, because you're a doctor and keep things confidential."
The doctor nodded, very earnest and still kind. "Do you want," said he softly, "the nurse to leave?"
"Oh, no," cried the patient. "She's a good scout. It's not as though you were going to turn it loose on the tapes."
The doctor nodded. The nurse nodded and smiled, too. She was afraid that there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes, but she dared not wipe them away. This was an extraordinarily observant patient. He might notice it. It would ruin his story.
The patient almost babbled in his eagerness to tell the story. "You know, the ship, doc. It's a big one: Twelve cabins, a common room, simulated gravity, lockers, plenty of room."
The doctor's eyes flickered at this but he did nothing, except to watch the patient in an attentive sympathetic way.
"When we knew we just had two days to earth, doc, and we knew everything was all right, we had a ball. Jock found the beer in one of the lockers. Ralph helped him get it out. Betty was an old pal of mine, but I started trying to make time with Milly. Boy, did I make it! Yum." He looked at the nurse and blushed all the way down to his neck. "I'll skip the details. We had a party, doc. We were high. Drunk. Happy. Boy, did we have fun! I don't think anybody ever had more fun than we did, me and that old gang of mine. We docked all right. That Larry, he's a navigator. He was drunk as an owl and he had Betty on his lap but he put that ship in like the old lady putting a coin in the collection plate. Everything came out exactly right. I guess I should have been ashamed of landing a ship with the whole crew drunk and happy, but it was the best trip and the best gang and the best fun that anybody ever had. And we had succeeded in our mission, doc. We wouldn't have cut loose at the end of the mission if we hadn't known everything was hunky-dory. So we came in and landed, doc. And then everything went black, and here I am. Now you tell me your side of it, but be sure to tell me when Larry and Jock and Went are going to come in and see me. They're characters, doc. That little nurse of yours, she's going to have to watch them. They might bring me a bottle that I shouldn't have. Okay, doc. Shoot."
"Do you trust me?" said the doctor.
"Sure. I guess so. Why not?"
"Do you think I would tell you the truth?"
"It's something mean, doc. Real mean. Okay, shoot anyhow."
"I want you to have the shot first," said the doctor, straining to keep kindness and authority in his voice.
The patient looked bewildered. He glanced at the nurse, the tray, the hypodermic. Then he smiled at the doctor, but it was a smile in which fright lurked.
"All right, doctor. You're the boss."
The nurse helped him roll back his sleeve. She started to reach for the needle.
The doctor stopped her. He looked her straight in the face, his eyes focused right on hers. "No, intravenous. I'll do it. Do you understand?"
She was a quick girl.
From the tray she took a short length of rubber tubing, twisted it quickly around the upper arm, just below the elbow.
The doctor watched, very quiet.
He took the arm, ran his thumb up and down the skin as he felt the vein.
"Now," said he.
She handed him the needle.
Patient, nurse and doctor all watched as the hypodermic emptied itself directly into the little ridge of the vein on the inside of the elbow.
The doctor took out the needle. He himself seemed relieved. Said he: "Feel anything?"
"Not yet, doc. Can you tell me now, doc? I can't make trouble with this stuff in me. Where's Larry? Where's Jock?"
"You weren't on a ship, young man. You were alone in a one-man craft. You didn't have a party for two days. You had it for twenty years. Larry didn't bring your ship in. The Earth authorities brought it in with telemetry. You were starved, dehydrated and nine-tenths dead. The boat had a freeze unit and you were fed by the emergency kit. You had the narrowest escape in the whole history of space travel. The boat had one of the new hypo kits. You must have had a second or two to slap it to your face before the boat took over. You didn't have any friends with you. They came out of your own mind."
"That's all right, doc. I'll be all right. Don't worry about me."
"There wasn't any Jock or Larry or Ralph or Milly. That was just the hypo kit."
"I get you, doc. It's all right. This dope you gave me, it's good stuff. I feel happy and dreamy. You can go away now and let me sleep. You can explain it all to me in the morning. But be sure to let Ralph and Jock in, when visiting hours open up." He turned on his side away from them.
The nurse pulled the cover up over his shoulders.
Then she and the doctor started to leave the room. At the last moment, she ran past the doctor and out of the room ahead of him. She did not want him to see her cry.
END