"That must be terrible," Ferris said. "All your fine reputation and
lavish salary can't be much consolation when that ripping, tearing
agony begins, can it?"
"No, Harold, it isn't," Macklin admitted. "What does your project have
to do with my headaches?"
"Doctor," Mitchell said, "what would you say the most common complaint
of man is?"
"I would have said the common cold," Macklin replied, "but I suppose
from what you have said you mean headaches."
* * * * *
"Headaches," Mitchell agreed. "Everybody has them at some time in his
life. Some people have them every day. Some are driven to suicide by
their headaches."
"Yes," Macklin said.
"But think," Ferris interjected, "what a boon it would be if everyone
could be cured of headaches _forever_ by one simple injection."
"I don't suppose the manufacturers of aspirin would like you. But it
would please about everybody else."
"Aspirins would still be used to reduce fever and relieve muscular
pains," Mitchell said.
"I see. Are you two saying you _have_ such a shot? Can you cure
headaches?"
"We think we can," Ferris said.
"How can you have a specific for a number of different causes?" Macklin
asked. "I know that much about the subject."
"There _are_ a number of different causes for headaches--nervous
strain, fatigue, physical diseases from kidney complaints to tumors,
over-indulgence--but there is one _effect_ of all of this, the one real
cause of headaches," Mitchell announced.
"We have definitely established this for this first time," Ferris added.
"That's fine," Macklin said, sucking on his pipe. "And this effect that
produces headaches is?"
"The pressure effect caused by pituitrin in the brain," Mitchell
said eagerly. "That is, the constriction of blood vessels in the
telencephalon section of the frontal lobes. It's caused by an
over-production of the pituitary gland. We have artificially bred a
virus that feeds on pituitrin."
"That may mean the end of headaches, but I would think it would mean
the end of the race as well," Macklin said. "In certain areas it is
valuable to have a constriction of blood vessels."
"The virus," Ferris explained, "can easily be localized and stabilized.
A colony of virus in the brain cells will relax the cerebral
vessels--and only the cerebral vessels--so that the cerebrospinal fluid
doesn't create pressure in the cavities of the brain."
The mathematician took the pipe out of his mouth. "If this really
works, I could stop using that damned gynergen, couldn't I? The stuff
makes me violently sick to my stomach. But it's better than the
migraine. How should I go about removing my curse?" He reinserted the
pipe.
"I assure you, you can forget ergotamine tartrate," Ferris said. "Our
discovery will work."
* * * * *
"Will work," Macklin said thoughtfully. "The operative word. It
_hasn't_ worked then?"
"Certainly it has," Ferris said. "On rats, on chimps...."
"But not on humans?" Macklin asked.
"Not yet," Mitchell admitted.
"Well," Macklin said. "Well." He thumped pipe ashes out into his palm.
"Certainly you can get volunteers. Convicts. Conscientious objectors
from the Army."
"We want you," Ferris told him.
Macklin coughed. "I don't want to overestimate my value but the
government wouldn't like it very well if I died in the middle of this
project. My wife would like it even less."
Ferris turned his back on the mathematician. Mitchell could see him
mouthing the word _yellow_.
"Doctor," Mitchell said quickly, "I know it's a tremendous favor to
ask of a man of your position. But you can understand our problem.
Unless we can produce quick, conclusive and dramatic proof of our
studies we can get no more financial backing. We _should_ run a
large-scale field test. But we haven't the time or money for that.
We can cure the headaches of one person and that's the limit of our
resources."
"I'm tempted," Macklin said hesitantly, "but the answer is go. I mean
'_no_'. I'd like to help you out, but I'm afraid I owe too much to
others to take the rest--the risk, I mean."
Macklin ran the back of his knuckles across his forehead. "I really
would like to take you up on it. When I start making slips like that it
means another attack of migraine. The drilling, grinding pain through
my temples and around my eyeballs. The flashes of light, the rioting
pools of color playing on the back of my lids. Ugh."
Ferris smiled. "Gynergen makes you sick, does it, doctor? Produces
nausea, eh? The pain of that turns you almost wrong side out, doesn't
it? You aren't much better off with it than without, are you? I've
heard some say they preferred the migraine."
Macklin carefully arranged his pipe along with the tools he used to
tend it in a worn leather case. "Tell me," he said, "what is the worst
that could happen to me?"
"Low blood pressure," Ferris said.
"That's not so bad," Macklin said. "How low can it get?"
"When your heart stops, your blood pressure goes to its lowest point,"
Mitchell said.
A dew of perspiration had bloomed on Macklin's forehead. "Is there much
risk of that?"
"Practically none," Mitchell said. "We have to give you the worst
possibilities. _All_ our test animals survived and seem perfectly happy
and contented. As I said, the virus is self-stabilizing. Ferris and I
are confident that there is no danger.... But we may be wrong."