“The Old Man? You mean the Chief of Section?”
“Who else?”
“He’s not on the sick list, at least not here.” She shivered and made a face. “I wouldn’t want him as a patient.”
I was inclined to agree with her.
X
For two or three more days I was kept wrapped in swaddling clothing and treated like a child. I did not care; it was the first real rest I had had in years. Probably they were slipping me sedatives; I noticed that I was always ready to sleep each time after they fed me. The sores got much better and presently I was encouraged—”required” I should say—by Doris to take light exercise around the room.
The Old Man called on me. “Well,” he said, “still malingering, I see.”
I flushed. “Damn your black, flabby heart,” I told him. “Get me a pair of pants and I’ll show you who is malingering.”
“Slow down, slow down.” He took my chart from the foot of my bed and looked it over. “Nurse,” he said, “get this man a pair of shorts. I’m restoring him to duty.”
Doris faced up to him like a banty hen. “Now see here,” she said, “you may be the big boss, but you can’t give orders here. The doctor will—”
“Stow it!” he said, “and get those drawers. When the doctor comes in, send him to me.”
“But—”
He picked her up, swung her around, paddled her behind, and said, “Git!”
She went out, squawking and sputtering, and came back shortly, not with clothes for me, but with the doctor. The Old Man looked around and said mildly, “Doc, I sent for pants, not for you.”
The medico said stiffly, “I’ll thank you not to interfere with my patients.”
“He’s not your patient. I need him, so I am restoring him to duty.”
“Yes? Sir, if you do not like the way I run my department, you may have my resignation at once.”
The Old Man is stubborn but not bull-headed. He answered, “I beg your pardon, sir. Sometimes I become too preoccupied with other problems to remember to follow correct procedure. Will you do me the favor of examining this patient? I need him; if he can possibly be restored to duty, it would help me to have his services at once.”
The doctor’s jaw muscles were jumping, but all he said was, “Certainly, sir!” He went through a show of studying my chart, then had me sit on the bed while he tested my reflexes. Personally, I thought they were mushy. He peeled back my eyelids, flashed a light in my eye, and said, “He needs more recuperation time—but you may have him. Nurse—fetch clothing for this man.”
Clothing consisted of shorts and shoes; I had been better dressed in a hospital gown. But everybody else was dressed the same way, and it was downright comforting to see all those bare shoulders with no masters clinging to them. I told the Old Man so. “Best defense we’ve got,” he growled, “even if it does make the joint look like a ruddy summer colony. If we don’t win this set-to before winter weather, we’re licked.”
The Old Man stopped at a door with a freshly lettered sign: BIOLOGICAL LABORATORY—STAY OUT! He dilated the door.
I hung back. “Where are we going?”
“Going to take a look at your twin brother, the ape with your parasite.”
“That’s what I thought. Not for me—no point in it. No, thanks!” I could feel myself begin to tremble.
The Old Man paused. “Now, look, son,” he said patiently, “you’ve got to get over your panic. The best way is to face up to it. I know it’s hard—I’ve spent a good many hours in here myself, just staring at the thing, getting used to it.”
“You don’t know—you can’t know!” I had the shakes so badly now that I had to steady myself by the doorframe.
He looked at me. “I suppose it’s different,” he said slowly, “when you’ve actually had it. Jarvis—” He broke off.
“You’re darn right it’s different! You’re not going to get me in there!”
“No, I guess not. Well, the doctor was right. Go on back, son, and turn yourself in at the infirmary.” His tones were regretful rather than angry. He turned and started into the laboratory.