_PANDEMIC_ _BY J. F. BONE_ _Generally, human beings don't do totally useless things consistently and widely. So--maybe there is something to it--_ "We call it Thurston's Disease for two perfectly good reasons, " Dr. Walter Kramer said. "He discovered it--and he was the first to die ofit. " The doctor fumbled fruitlessly through the pockets of his lab coat. "Now where the devil did I put those matches?" "Are these what you're looking for?" the trim blonde in the grayseersucker uniform asked. She picked a small box of wooden safetymatches from the littered lab table beside her and handed them to him. "Ah, " Kramer said. "Thanks. Things have a habit of getting lost aroundhere. " "I can believe that, " she said as she eyed the frenzied disorder aroundher. Her boss wasn't much better than his laboratory, she decided as shewatched him strike a match against the side of the box and apply theflame to the charred bowl of his pipe. His long dark face became halfobscured behind a cloud of bluish smoke as he puffed furiously. Helooked like a lean untidy devil recently escaped from hell with histhick brows, green eyes and lank black hair highlighted intermittentlyby the leaping flame of the match. He certainly didn't look like apathologist. She wondered if she was going to like working with him, andshook her head imperceptibly. Possibly, but not probably. It might bedifficult being cooped up here with him day after day. Well, she couldalways quit if things got too tough. At least there was thatconsolation. He draped his lean body across a lab stool and leaned his elbows onits back. There was a faint smile on his face as he eyed herquizzically. "You're new, " he said. "Not just to this lab but to theInstitute. " [Illustration: ILLUSTRATED BY BARBERIS] She nodded. "I am, but how did you know?" "Thurston's Disease. Everyone in the Institute knows that name for theplague, but few outsiders do. " He smiled sardonically. "Virus pneumonicplague--that's a better term for public use. After all, what good doesit do to advertise a doctor's stupidity?" She eyed him curiously. "_De mortuis?_" she asked. He nodded. "That's about it. We may condemn our own, but we don't likelaymen doing it. And besides, Thurston had good intentions. He neverdreamed this would happen. " "The road to hell, so I hear, is paved with good intentions. " "Undoubtedly, " Kramer said dryly. "Incidentally, did you apply for thisjob or were you assigned?" "I applied. " "Someone should have warned you I dislike clichés, " he said. He paused amoment and eyed her curiously. "Just why did you apply?" he asked. "Whyare you imprisoning yourself in a sealed laboratory which you won'tleave as long as you work here. You know, of course, what the conditionsare. Unless you resign or are carried out feet first you will remainhere . .. Have you considered what such an imprisonment means?" "I considered it, " she said, "and it doesn't make any difference. Ihave no ties outside and I thought I could help. I've had training. Iwas a nurse before I was married. " "Divorced?" "Widowed. " Kramer nodded. There were plenty of widows and widowers outside. Toomany. But it wasn't much worse than in the Institute where, despiteprecautions, Thurston's disease took its toll of life. "Did they tell you this place is called the suicide section?" he asked. She nodded. "Weren't you frightened?" "Of dying? Hardly. Too many people are doing it nowadays. " He grimaced, looking more satanic than ever. "You have a point, " headmitted, "but it isn't a good one. Young people should be afraid ofdying. " "You're not. " "I'm not young. I'm thirty-five, and besides, this is my business. I'vebeen looking at death for eleven years. I'm immune. " "I haven't your experience, " she admitted, "but I have your attitude. " "What's your name?" Kramer said. "Barton, Mary Barton. " "Hm-m-m. Well, Mary--I can't turn you down. I need you. But I could wishyou had taken some other job. " "I'll survive. " He looked at her with faint admiration in his greenish eyes. "Perhapsyou will, " he said. "All right. As to your duties--you will be myassistant, which means you'll be a dishwasher, laboratory technician, secretary, junior pathologist, and coffee maker. I'll help you with allthe jobs except the last one. I make lousy coffee. " Kramer grinned, histeeth a white flash across the darkness of his face. "You'll be on calltwenty-four hours a day, underpaid, overworked, and in constant dangeruntil we lick Thurston's virus. You'll be expected to handle the jobs ofthree people unless I can get more help--and I doubt that I can. Peoplestay away from here in droves. There's no future in it. " Mary smiled wryly. "Literally or figuratively?" she asked. He chuckled. "You have a nice sense of graveyard humor, " he said. "It'llhelp. But don't get careless. Assistants are hard to find. " She shook her head. "I won't. While I'm not afraid of dying I don't wantto do it. And I have no illusions about the danger. I was briefed quitethoroughly. " "They wanted you to work upstairs?" She nodded. * * * * * "I suppose they need help, too. Thurston's Disease has riddled themedical profession. Just don't forget that this place can be a deathtrap. One mistake and you've had it. Naturally, we take everyprecaution, but with a virus no protection is absolute. If you'recareless and make errors in procedure, sooner or later one of thosesubmicroscopic protein molecules will get into your system. " "You're still alive. " "So I am, " Kramer said, "but I don't take chances. My predecessor, mysecretary, my lab technician, my junior pathologist, and my dishwasherall died of Thurston's Disease. " He eyed her grimly. "Still want thejob?" he asked. "I lost a husband and a three-year old son, " Mary said with equalgrimness. "That's why I'm here. I want to destroy the thing that killedmy family. I want to do something. I want to be useful. " He nodded. "I think you can be, " he said quietly. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked. "I need some defense against that pipe ofyours. " "No--go ahead. Out here it's all right, but not in the securitysection. " Mary took a package of cigarettes from her pocket, lit one and blew acloud of gray smoke to mingle with the blue haze from Kramer's pipe. "Comfortable?" Kramer asked. She nodded. He looked at his wrist watch. "We have half an hour before the roll tubecultures are ready for examination. That should be enough to tell youabout the modern Pasteur and his mutant virus. Since your duties willprimarily involve Thurston's Disease, you'd better know something aboutit. " He settled himself more comfortably across the lab bench and wenton talking in a dry schoolmasterish voice. "Alan Thurston was animmunologist at Midwestern University Medical School. Like most men inthe teaching trade, he also had a research project. If it worked out, he'd be one of the great names in medicine; like Jenner, Pasteur, andSalk. The result was that he pushed it and wasn't too careful. He wantedto be famous. " "He's well known now, " Mary said, "at least within the profession. " "Quite, " Kramer said dryly. "He was working with gamma radiations onmicroorganisms, trying to produce a mutated strain of _Micrococcuspyogenes_ that would have enhanced antigenic properties. " "Wait a minute, doctor. It's been four years since I was active innursing. Translation, please. " Kramer chuckled. "He was trying to make a vaccine out of a commoninfectious organism. You may know it better as _Staphylococcus_. As youknow, it's a pus former that's made hospital life more dangerous than itshould be because it develops resistance to antibiotics. What Thurstonwanted to do was to produce a strain that would stimulate resistance inthe patient without causing disease--something that would help patientsprotect themselves rather than rely upon doubtfully effectiveantibiotics. " "That wasn't a bad idea. " "There was nothing wrong with it. The only trouble was that he wound upwith something else entirely. He was like the man who wanted to make aplastic suitable for children's toys and ended up with a new explosive. You see, what Thurston didn't realize was that his cultures werecontaminated. He'd secured them from the University Clinic and had, sohe thought, isolated them. But somehow he'd brought a virusalong--probably one of the orphan group or possibly a phage. " "Orphan?" "Yes--one that was not a normal inhabitant of human tissues. At any ratethere was a virus--and he mutated it rather than the bacteria. Actually, it was simple enough, relatively speaking, since a virus is infinitelysimpler in structure than a bacterium, and hence much easier to modifywith ionizing radiation. So he didn't produce an antigen--he produced adisease instead. Naturally, he contracted it, and during the periodbetween his infection and death he managed to infect the entirehospital. Before anyone realized what they were dealing with, thedisease jumped from the hospital to the college, and from the college tothe city, and from the city to--" "Yes, I know that part of it. It's all over the world now--killingpeople by the millions. " * * * * * "Well, " Kramer said, "at least it's solved the population explosion. " Heblew a cloud of blue smoke in Mary's direction. "And it did makeThurston famous. His name won't be quickly forgotten. " She coughed. "I doubt if it ever will be, " she said, "but it won't beremembered the way he intended. " He looked at her suspiciously. "That cough--" "No, it's not Thurston's Disease. It's that pipe. It's rancid. " "It helps me think, " Kramer said. "You could try cigarettes--or candy, " she suggested. "I'd rather smoke a pipe. " "There's cancer of the lip and tongue, " she said helpfully. "Don't quote Ochsner. I don't agree with him. And besides, you smokecigarettes, which are infinitely worse. " "Only four or five a day. I don't saturate my system with nicotine. " "In another generation, " Kramer observed, "you'd have run through thestreets of the city brandishing an ax smashing saloons. You're a linealdescendent of Carrie Nation. " He puffed quietly until his head wassurrounded by a nimbus of smoke. "Stop trying to reform me, " he added. "You haven't been here long enough. " "Not even God could do that, according to the reports I've heard, " shesaid. He laughed. "I suppose my reputation gets around. " "It does. You're an opinionated slave driver, a bully, an intellectualtyrant, and the best pathologist in this center. " "The last part of that sentence makes up for unflattering honesty of thefirst, " Kramer said. "At any rate, once we realized the situation wewent to work to correct it. Institutes like this were establishedeverywhere the disease appeared for the sole purpose of examining, treating, and experimenting with the hope of finding a cure. Thissection exists for the evaluation of treatment. We check the humancases, and the primates in the experimental laboratories. It is ourduty to find out if anything the boys upstairs try shows any promise. Wewere a pretty big section once, but Thurston's virus has whittled usdown. Right now there is just you and me. But there's still enough workto keep us busy. The experiments are still going on, and there are stillhuman cases, even though the virus has killed off most of thesusceptibles. We've evaluated over a thousand different drugs andtreatments in this Institute alone. " "And none of them have worked?" "No--but that doesn't mean the work's been useless. The research hassaved others thousands of man hours chasing false leads. In thisbusiness negative results are almost as important as positive ones. Wemay never discover the solution, but our work will keep others frommaking the same mistakes. " "I never thought of it that way. " "People seldom do. But if you realize that this is international, thatevery worker on Thurston's Disease has a niche to fill, the picture willbe clearer. We're doing our part inside the plan. Others are, too. Andthere are thousands of labs involved. Somewhere, someone will find theanswer. It probably won't be us, but we'll help get the problem solvedas quickly as possible. That's the important thing. It's the biggestchallenge the race has ever faced--and the most important. It's aquestion of survival. " Kramer's voice was sober. "We have to solve this. If Thurston's Disease isn't checked, the human race will becomeextinct. As a result, for the first time in history all mankind isworking together. " "All? You mean the Communists are, too?" "Of course. What's an ideology if there are no people to follow it?"Kramer knocked the ashes out of his pipe, looked at the laboratory clockand shrugged. "Ten minutes more, " he said, "and these tubes will beready. Keep an eye on that clock and let me know. Meantime you canstraighten up this lab and find out where things are. I'll be in theoffice checking the progress reports. " He turned abruptly away, leavingher standing in the middle of the cluttered laboratory. "Now what am I supposed to do here?" Mary wondered aloud. "Clean up, hesays. Find out where things are, he says. Get acquainted with the place, he says. I could spend a month doing that. " She looked at the litteredbench, the wall cabinets with sliding doors half open, the jars ofreagents sitting on the sink, the drainboard, on top of the refrigeratorand on the floor. The disorder was appalling. "How he ever manages towork in here is beyond me. I suppose that I'd better startsomewhere--perhaps I can get these bottles in some sort of order first. "She sighed and moved toward the wall cabinets. "Oh well, " she mused, "Iasked for this. " * * * * * "Didn't you hear that buzzer?" Kramer asked. "Was that for me?" Mary said, looking up from a pile of bottles andglassware she was sorting. "Partly. It means they've sent us another post-mortem from upstairs. " "What is it?" "I don't know--man or monkey, it makes no difference. Whatever it is, it's Thurston's Disease. Come along. You might as well see what goes onin our ultra modern necropsy suite. " "I'd like to. " She put down the bottle she was holding and followed himto a green door at the rear of the laboratory. "Inside, " Kramer said, "you will find a small anteroom, a shower, and adressing room. Strip, shower, and put on a clean set of lab coverallsand slippers which you will find in the dressing room. You'll findsurgical masks in the wall cabinet beside the lockers. Go through thedoor beyond the dressing room and wait for me there. I'll give you tenminutes. " * * * * * "We do this both ways, " Kramer said as he joined her in the narrow hallbeyond the dressing room. "We'll reverse the process going out. " "You certainly carry security to a maximum, " she said through the maskthat covered the lower part of her face. "You haven't seen anything yet, " he said as he opened a door in thehall. "Note the positive air pressure, " he said. "Theoretically nothingcan get in here except what we bring with us. And we try not to bringanything. " He stood aside to show her the glassed-in cubicle overhanginga bare room dominated by a polished steel post-mortem table thatglittered in the harsh fluorescent lighting. Above the table a number ofjointed rods and clamps hung from the ceiling. A low metal door andseries of racks containing instruments and glassware were set into theopposite wall together with the gaping circular orifice of an openautoclave. "We work by remote control, just like they do at the AEC. See thosehandlers?" He pointed to the control console set into a small stainlesssteel table standing beside the sheet of glass at the far end of thecubicle. "They're connected to those gadgets up there. " He indicated thejointed arms hanging over the autopsy table in the room beyond. "I couldperform a major operation from here and never touch the patient. Usingthese I can do anything I could in person with the difference thatthere's a quarter inch of glass between me and my work. I have controlsthat let me use magnifiers, and even do microdissection, if necessary. " "Where's the cadaver?" Mary asked. "Across the room, behind that door, " he said, waving at the low, slidingmetal partition behind the table. "It's been prepped, decontaminated andready to go. " "What happens when you're through?" "Watch. " Dr. Kramer pressed a button on the console in front of him. Asection of flooring slid aside and the table tipped. "The cadaver slidesoff that table and through that hole. Down below is a highly efficientcrematorium. " Mary shivered. "Neat and effective, " she said shakily. "After that the whole room is sprayed with germicide and sterilized withlive steam. The instruments go into the autoclave, and thirty minuteslater we're ready for another post-mortem. " "We use the handlers to put specimens into those jars, " he said, pointing to a row of capped glass jars of assorted sizes on a wall rackbehind the table. "After they're capped, the jars go onto that carrierbeside the table. From here they pass through a decontamination chamberand into the remote-control laboratory across the hall where we can runbiochemical and histological techniques. Finished slides and mountedspecimens then go through another decontamination process to the outsidelab. Theoretically, this place is proof against anything. " "It seems to be, " Mary said, obviously impressed. "I've never seenanything so elegant. " "Neither did I until Thurston's Disease became a problem. " Kramershrugged and sat down behind the controls. "Watch, now, " he said as hepressed a button. "Let's see what's on deck--man or monkey. Want to makea bet? I'll give you two to one it's a monkey. " She shook her head. * * * * * The low door slid aside and a steel carriage emerged into the necropsyroom bearing the nude body of a man. The corpse gleamed pallidly underthe harsh shadowless glare of the fluorescents in the ceiling as Kramer, using the handlers, rolled it onto the post-mortem table and clamped itin place on its back. He pushed another button and the carriage movedback into the wall and the steel door slid shut. "That'll bedecontaminated, " he said, "and sent back upstairs for another body. I'dhave lost, " he remarked idly. "Lately the posts have been running threeto one in favor of monkeys. " [Illustration] He moved a handler and picked up a heavy scalpel from the instrumentrack. "There's a certain advantage to this, " he said as he moved thehandler delicately. "These gadgets give a tremendous mechanicaladvantage. I can cut right through small bones and cartilage withoutusing a saw. " "How nice, " Mary said. "I expect you enjoy yourself. " "I couldn't ask for better equipment, " he replied noncommittally. Withdeft motion of the handler he drew the scalpel down across the chestand along the costal margins in the classic inverted "Y" incision. "We'll take a look at the thorax first, " he said, as he used thehandlers to pry open the rib cage and expose the thoracic viscera. "Ah!Thought so! See that?" He pointed with a small handler that carried aprobe. "Look at those lungs. " He swung a viewer into place so Mary couldsee better. "Look at those abscesses and necrosis. It's Thurston'sDisease, all right, with secondary bacterial invasion. " The grayish solidified masses of tissue looked nothing like the normalpink appearance of healthy lungs. Studded with yellowish sphericalabscesses they lay swollen and engorged within the gaping cavity of thechest. "You know the pathogenesis of Thurston's Disease?" Kramer asked. Mary shook her head, her face yellowish-white in the glare of thefluorescents. "It begins with a bronchial cough, " Kramer said. "The virus attacks thebronchioles first, destroys them, and passes into the deeper tissues ofthe lungs. As with most virus diseases there is a transitoryleukopenia--a drop in the total number of white blood cells--and a risein temperature of about two or three degrees. As the virus attacks thealveolar structures, the temperature rises and the white blood cellcount becomes elevated. The lungs become inflamed and painful. There isa considerable quantity of lymphoid exudate and pleural effusion. Secondary invaders and pus-forming bacteria follow the viral destructionof the lung tissue and form abscesses. Breathing becomes progressivelymore difficult as more lung tissue is destroyed. Hepatization andnecrosis inactivate more lung tissue as the bacteria get in their dirtywork, and finally the patient suffocates. " "But what if the bacteria are controlled by antibiotics?" "Then the virus does the job. It produces atelectasis followed byprogressive necrosis of lung tissue with gradual liquefaction of theparenchyma. It's slower, but just as fatal. This fellow was lucky. Heapparently stayed out of here until he was almost dead. Probably he'shad the disease for about a week. If he'd have come in early, we couldhave kept him alive for maybe a month. The end, however, would have beenthe same. " "It's a terrible thing, " Mary said faintly. "You'll get used to it. We get one or two every day. " He shrugged. "There's nothing here that's interesting, " he said as he released theclamps and tilted the table. For what seemed to Mary an interminabletime, the cadaver clung to the polished steel. Then abruptly it slid offthe shining surface and disappeared through the square hole in thefloor. "We'll clean up now, " Kramer said as he placed the instruments inthe autoclave, closed the door and locked it, and pressed three buttonson the console. From jets embedded in the walls a fine spray filled the room with fog. "Germicide, " Kramer said. "Later there'll be steam. That's all fornow. Do you want to go?" Mary nodded. "If you feel a little rocky there's a bottle of Scotch in my desk. I'llsplit a drink with you when we get out of here. " "Thanks, " Mary said. "I think I could use one. " * * * * * "Barton! Where is the MacNeal stain!" Kramer's voice came from the lab. "I left it on the sink and it's gone!" "It's with the other blood stains and reagents. Second drawer from theright in the big cabinet. There's a label on the drawer, " Mary calledfrom the office. "If you can wait until I finish filing these papers, I'll come in and help you. " "I wish you would, " Kramer's voice was faintly exasperated. "Ever sinceyou've organized my lab I can't find anything. " "You just have a disorderly mind, " Mary said, as she slipped the lastpaper into its proper folder and closed the file. "I'll be with you in aminute. " "I don't dare lose you, " Kramer said as Mary came into the lab. "You'vemade yourself indispensable. It'd take me six months to undo what you'vedone in one. Not that I mind, " he amended, "but I was used to things theway they were. " He looked around the orderly laboratory with a mixtureof pride and annoyance. "Things are so neat they're almost painful. " "You look more like a pathologist should, " Mary said as she deftlyremoved the tray of blood slides from in front of him and began to runthe stains. "It's my job to keep you free to think. " "Whose brilliant idea is that? Yours?" "No--the Director's. He told me what my duties were when I came here. And I think he's right. You should be using your brain rather thanfooling around with blood stains and sectioning tissues. " "But I like to do things like that, " Kramer protested. "It's relaxing. " "What right have you to relax, " Mary said. "Outside, people are dying bythe thousands and you want to relax. Have you looked at the latestmortality reports?" "No--" "You should. The WHO estimates that nearly two billion people have diedsince Thurston's Disease first appeared in epidemic proportions. That'stwo out of three. And more are dying every day. Yet you want to relax. " "I know, " Kramer said, "but what can we do about it. We're working butwe're getting no results. " "You might use that brain of yours, " Mary said bitterly. "You'resupposed to be a scientist. You have facts. Can't you put themtogether?" "I don't know. " He shrugged, "I've been working on this problem longerthan you think. I come down here at night--" "I know. I clean up after you. " "I haven't gotten anywhere. Sure, we can isolate the virus. It growsnicely on monkey lung cells. But that doesn't help. The thing has noapparent antigenicity. It parasitizes, but it doesn't trigger any immunereaction. We can kill it, but the strength of the germicide is too greatfor living tissue to tolerate. " "Some people seem to be immune. " "Sure they do--but why?" "Don't ask me. I'm not the scientist. " "Play like one, " Kramer growled. "Here are the facts. The diseaseattacks people of all races and ages. So far every one who is attackeddies. Adult Europeans and Americans appear to be somewhat more resistantthan others on a population basis. Somewhere around sixty per cent ofthem are still alive, but it's wiped out better than eighty per cent ofsome groups. Children get it worse. Right now I doubt if one per cent ofthe children born during the past ten years are still alive. " "It's awful!" Mary said. "It's worse than that. It's extinction. Without kids the race will dieout. " Kramer rubbed his forehead. "Have you any ideas?" "Children have less resistance, " Kramer replied. "An adult gets exposedto a number of diseases to which he builds an immunity. Possibly one ofthese has a cross immunity against Thurston's virus. " "Then why don't you work on that line?" Mary asked. "Just what do you think I've been doing? That idea was put out monthsago, and everyone has been taking a crack at it. There are twenty-fourlaboratories working full time on that facet and God knows how many moreworking part time like we are. I've screened a dozen common diseases, including the six varieties of the common cold virus. All, incidentally, were negative. " "Well--are you going to keep on with it?" "I have to. " Kramer rubbed his eyes. "It won't let me sleep. I'm surewe're on the right track. Something an adult gets gives him resistanceor immunity. " He shrugged. "Tell you what. You run those bloods out andI'll go take another look at the data. " He reached into his lab coat andproduced a pipe. "I'll give it another try. " "Sometimes I wish you'd read without puffing on that thing, " Mary said. "Your delicate nose will be the death of me yet--" Kramer said. "It's my lungs I'm worried about, " Mary said. "They'll probably looklike two pieces of well-tanned leather if I associate with you foranother year. " "Stop complaining. You've gotten me to wear clean lab coats. Besatisfied with a limited victory, " Kramer said absently, his eyesstaring unseeingly at a row of reagent bottles on the bench. Abruptly henodded. "Fantastic, " he muttered, "but it's worth a check. " He left theroom, slamming the door behind him in his hurry. * * * * * "That man!" Mary murmured. "He'd drive a saint out of his mind. If Iwasn't so fond of him I'd quit. If anyone told me I'd fall in lovewith a pathologist, I'd have said they were crazy. I wish--" Whateverthe wish was, it wasn't uttered. Mary gasped and coughed rackingly. Carefully she moved back from the bench, opened a drawer and found athermometer. She put it in her mouth. Then she drew a drop of blood fromher forefinger and filled a red and white cell pipette, and made a smearof the remainder. She was interrupted by another spasm of coughing, but she waited untilthe paroxysm passed and went methodically back to her self-appointedtask. She had done this many times before. It was routine procedure tocheck on anything that might be Thurston's Disease. A cold, a sorethroat, a slight difficulty in breathing--all demanded the diagnosticcheck. It was as much a habit as breathing. This was probably the resultof that cold she'd gotten last week, but there was nothing like beingsure. Now let's see--temperature 99. 5 degrees, red cell count 4-1/2million. White cell count . .. Oh! 2500 . .. Leukopenia! The differentialshowed a virtual absence of polymorphs, lymphocytes and monocytes. Thewhole slide didn't have two hundred. Eosinophils and basophils wayup--twenty and fifteen per cent respectively--a relative rise ratherthan an absolute one--leukopenia, no doubt about it. She shrugged. There wasn't much question. She had Thurston's Disease. Itwas the beginning stages, the harsh cough, the slight temperature, theleukopenia. Pretty soon her white cell count would begin to rise, butit would rise too late. In fact, it was already too late. It's funny, she thought. I'm going to die, but it doesn't frighten me. In fact, theonly thing that bothers me is that poor Walter is going to have aterrible time finding things. But I can't put this place the way it was. I couldn't hope to. She shook her head, slid gingerly off the lab stool and went to the halldoor. She'd better check in at the clinic, she thought. There was bedspace in the hospital now. Plenty of it. That hadn't been true a fewmonths ago but the only ones who were dying now were the newborn and anoccasional adult like herself. The epidemic had died out not because oflack of virulence but because of lack of victims. The city outside, oneof the first affected, now had less than forty per cent of its peopleleft alive. It was a hollow shell of its former self. People walked itsstreets and went through the motions of life. But they were not reallyalive. The vital criteria were as necessary for a race as for anindividual. Growth, reproduction, irritability, metabolism--Mary smiledwryly. Whoever had authored that hackneyed mnemonic that life was a"grim" proposition never knew how right he was, particularly when one ofthe criteria was missing. The race couldn't reproduce. That was the true horror of Thurston'sDisease--not how it killed, but who it killed. No children played in theparks and playgrounds. The schools were empty. No babies were pushed incarriages or taken on tours through the supermarkets in shoppingcarts. No advertisements of motherhood, or children, or children'sthings were in the newspapers or magazines. They were forbiddensubjects--too dangerously emotional to touch. Laughter and shrill youngvoices had vanished from the earth to be replaced by the drab graynessof silence and waiting. Death had laid cold hands upon the hearts ofmankind and the survivors were frozen to numbness. * * * * * It was odd, she thought, how wrong the prophets were. When Thurston'sDisease broke into the news there were frightened predictions of the endof civilization. But they had not materialized. There were no massinsurrections, no rioting, no organized violence. Individual excesses, yes--but nothing of a group nature. What little panic there was at thebeginning disappeared once people realized that there was no place togo. And a grim passivity had settled upon the survivors. Civilizationdid not break down. It endured. The mechanics remained intact. Peoplehad to do something even if it was only routine counterfeit of normallife--the stiff upper lip in the face of disaster. It would have been far more odd, Mary decided, if mankind had given wayto panic. Humanity had survived other plagues nearly as terrible asthis--and racial memory is long. The same grim patience of the past washere in the present. Man would somehow survive, and civilization goon. It was inconceivable that mankind would become extinct. The whole vastresources and pooled intelligence of surviving humanity were focusedupon Thurston's Disease. And the disease would yield. Humanity waitedwith childlike confidence for the miracle that would save it. And themiracle would happen, Mary knew it with a calm certainty as she stood inthe cross corridor at the end of the hall, looking down the thirty yardsof tile that separated her from the elevator that would carry her up tothe clinic and oblivion. It might be too late for her, but not for therace. Nature had tried unaided to destroy man before--and had failed. And her unholy alliance with man's genius would also fail. She wondered as she walked down the corridor if the others who hadsickened and died felt as she did. She speculated with grim amusementwhether Walter Kramer would be as impersonal as he was with the others, when he performed the post-mortem on her body. She shivered at thethought of that bare sterile room and the shining table. Death was not apretty thing. But she could meet it with resignation if not withcourage. She had already seen too much for it to have any meaning. Shedid not falter as she placed a finger on the elevator button. Poor Walter--she sighed. Sometimes it was harder to be among the living. It was good that she didn't let him know how she felt. She had sensed achange in him recently. His friendly impersonality had become merelyfriendly. It could, with a little encouragement, have developed intosomething else. But it wouldn't now. She sighed again. His hardness hadbeen a tower of strength. And his bitter gallows humor had furnished awry relief to grim reality. It had been nice to work with him. Shewondered if he would miss her. Her lips curled in a faint smile. Hewould, if only for the trouble he would have in making chaos out of theorder she had created. Why couldn't that elevator hurry? * * * * * "Mary! Where are you going?" Kramer's voice was in her ears, and hishand was on her shoulder. "Don't touch me!" "Why not?" His voice was curiously different. Younger, excited. "I have Thurston's Disease, " she said. He didn't let go. "Are you sure?" "The presumptive tests were positive. " "Initial stages?" She nodded. "I had the first coughing attack a few minutes ago. " He pulled her away from the elevator door that suddenly slid open. "Youwere going to that death trap upstairs, " he said. "Where else can I go?" "With me, " he said. "I think I can help you. " "How? Have you found a cure for the virus?" "I think so. At least it's a better possibility than the things they'reusing up there. " His voice was urgent. "And to think I might neverhave seen it if you hadn't put me on the track. " "Are you sure you're right?" "Not absolutely, but the facts fit. The theory's good. " "Then I'm going to the clinic. I can't risk infecting you. I'm a carriernow. I can kill you, and you're too important to die. " "You don't know how wrong you are, " Kramer said. "Let go of me!" "No--you're coming back!" She twisted in his grasp. "Let me go!" she sobbed and broke into a fitof coughing worse than before. "What I was trying to say, " Dr. Kramer said into the silence thatfollowed, "is that if you have Thurston's Disease, you've been a carrierfor at least two weeks. If I am going to get it, your going away can'thelp. And if I'm not, I'm not. " "Do you come willingly or shall I knock you unconscious and drag youback?" Kramer asked. She looked at his face. It was grimmer than she had ever seen it before. Numbly she let him lead her back to the laboratory. * * * * * "But, Walter--I can't. That's sixty in the past ten hours!" sheprotested. "Take it, " he said grimly, "then take another. And inhale. Deeply. " "But they make me dizzy. " "Better dizzy than dead. And, by the way--how's your chest?" "Better. There's no pain now. But the cough is worse. " "It should be. " "Why?" "You've never smoked enough to get a cigarette cough, " he said. She shook her head dizzily. "You're so right, " she said. "And that's what nearly killed you, " he finished triumphantly. "Are you sure?" "I'm certain. Naturally, I can't prove it--yet. But that's just a matterof time. Your response just about clinches it. Take a look at therecords. Who gets this disease? Youngsters--with nearly one hundred percent morbidity and one hundred per cent mortality. Adults--less thanfifty per cent morbidity--and again one hundred per cent mortality. Whatmakes the other fifty per cent immune? Your crack about leather lungsstarted me thinking--so I fed the data cards into the computer and keyedthem for smoking versus incidence. And I found that not one heavy smokerhad died of Thurston's Disease. Light smokers and nonsmokers--plenty ofthem--but not one single nicotine addict. And there were over tenthousand randomized cards in that spot check. And there's the exactreverse of that classic experiment the lung cancer boys used to selltheir case. Among certain religious groups which prohibit smoking therewas nearly one hundred per cent mortality of all ages! "And so I thought since the disease was just starting in you, perhaps Icould stop it if I loaded you with tobacco smoke. And it works!" "You're not certain yet, " Mary said. "I might not have had thedisease. " "You had the symptoms. And there's virus in your sputum. " "Yes, but--" "But, nothing! I've passed the word--and the boys in the other labsfigure that there's merit in it. We're going to call it Barton's Therapyin your honor. It's going to cause a minor social revolution. A lot oflaws are going to have to be rewritten. I can see where it's going to beillegal for children not to smoke. Funny, isn't it? "I've contacted the maternity ward. They have three babies still aliveupstairs. We get all the newborn in this town, or didn't you know. Funny, isn't it, how we still try to reproduce. They're rigging a smokechamber for the kids. The head nurse is screaming like a wounded tiger, but she'll feel better with live babies to care for. The only bad thingI can see is that it may cut down on her chain smoking. She's beenworried a lot about infant mortality. "And speaking of nurseries--that reminds me. I wanted to ask yousomething. " "Yes?" "Will you marry me? I've wanted to ask you before, but I didn't dare. Now I think you owe me something--your life. And I'd like to take careof it from now on. " "Of course I will, " Mary said. "And I have reasons, too. If I marry you, you can't possibly do that silly thing you plan. " "What thing?" "Naming the treatment Barton's. It'll have to be Kramer's. " Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Analog Science Fact and Science Fiction_ February 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.