_"As soon as I'm well we'll go to Mars for a vacation
again," Alice would say. But now she was dead, and the
surgeons said she was not even human. In his misery,
Hastings knew two things: he loved his wife; but they
had never been off Earth!_
A reporter should be objective even about a hospital. It's his business
to stir others' emotions and not let his own be stirred. But that was no
good, Mel Hastings told himself. No good at all when it was Alice who
was here somewhere, balanced uncertainly between life and death.
Alice had been in Surgery far too long. Something had gone wrong. He was
sure of it. He glanced at his watch. It would soon be dawn outside. To
Mel Hastings this marked a significant and irrevocable passage of time.
If Alice were to emerge safe and whole from the white cavern of Surgery
she would have done so now.
Mel sank deeper in the heavy chair, feeling a quietness within himself
as if the slow creep of death were touching him also. There was a sudden
far distant roar and through the window he saw a streak of brightness in
the sky. That would be the tourist ship, the Martian Princess, he
remembered.
That was the last thing Alice had said before they took her away from
him. "As soon as I'm well again we'll go to Mars for a vacation again,
and then you'll remember. It's so beautiful there. We had so much fun--"
Funny, wonderful little Alice--and her strange delusion that she still
clung to, that they had taken a Martian vacation in the first year of
their marriage. It had started about a year ago, and nothing he could
say would shake it. Neither of them had ever been to space.
He wished now he had taken her. It would have been worth it, no matter
what its personal cost. He had never told her about the phobia that had
plagued him all his life, the fear of outer space that made him break
out in a cold sweat just to think of it--nor of the nightmare that came
again and again, ever since he was a little boy.
There must have been some way to lick this thing--to give her that
vacation on Mars that she had wanted so much.
Now it was too late. He knew it was too late.
* * * * *
The white doors opened, and Dr. Winters emerged slowly. He looked at Mel
Hastings a long time as if trying to remember who the reporter was. "I
must see you--in my office," he said finally.
Mel stared back in numb recognition. "She's dead," he said.
Dr. Winters nodded slowly as if in surprise and wonder that Mel had
divined this fact. "I must see you in my office," he repeated.
Mel watched his retreating figure. There seemed no point in following.
Dr. Winters had said all that need be said. Far down the corridor the
Doctor turned and stood patiently as if understanding why Mel had not
followed, but determined to wait until he did. The reporter stirred and
rose from the chair, his legs withering beneath him. The figure of Dr.
Winters grew larger as he approached. The morning clatter of the
hospital seemed an ear-torturing shrillness. The door of the office
closed and shut it out.
"She is dead." Dr. Winters sat behind the desk and folded and unfolded
his hands. He did not look at Mel. "We did everything we could, Mr.
Hastings. Her injuries from the accident were comparatively minor--" He
hesitated, then went on. "In normal circumstances there would have been
no question--her injuries could have been repaired."
"What do you mean, 'In normal circumstances--'?"
Dr. Winters turned his face away from Mel for a moment as if to avoid
some pain beyond endurance. He passed a weary hand across his forehead
and eyes and held it there a moment before speaking. Then he faced Mel
again. "The woman you brought in here last night--your wife--is
completely un-normal in her internal structure. Her internal organs
cannot even be identified. She is like a being of some other species.
She is not--she is simply not human, Mr. Hastings."
Mel stared at him, trying to grasp the meaning of the words. Meaning
would not come. He uttered a short, hysterical laugh that was like a
bark. "You're crazy, Doc. You've completely flipped your lid!"
Dr. Winters nodded. "For hours during the night I was in agreement with
that opinion. When I first observed your wife's condition I was
convinced I was utterly insane. I called in six other men to verify my
observation. All of them were as stupefied as I by what we saw. Organs
that had no place in a human structure. Evidence of a chemistry that
existed in no living being we had ever seen before--"
The Doctor's words rolled over him like a roaring surf, burying,
smothering, destroying--
"I want to see." Mel's voice was like a hollow cough from far away. "I
think you're crazy. I think you're hiding some mistake you made
yourself. You killed Alice in a simple little operation, and now you're
trying to get out of it with some crazy story that nobody on earth would
ever believe!"
"I want you to see," said Dr. Winters, rising slowly. "That's why I
called you in here, Mr. Hastings."
* * * * *
Mel trailed him down the long corridor again. No words were spoken
between them. Mel felt as if nothing were real anymore.
They went through the white doors of Surgery and through the inner
doors. Then they entered a white, silent--cold--room beyond.
In the glare of icy white lights a single sheeted figure rested on a
table. Mel suddenly didn't want to see. But Dr. Winters was drawing back
the cover. He exposed the face, the beloved features of Alice Hastings.
Mel cried out her name and moved toward the table. There was nothing in
her face to suggest she was not simply sleeping, her hair disarrayed,
her face composed and relaxed as he had seen her hundreds of times.
"Can you stand to witness this?" asked Dr. Winters anxiously. "Shall I
get you a sedative?"