Then I held up my left hand and looked at the infection. This was the
finger that had been gummed to bits by the Mekstrom infant back in
Homestead. With a shrug of uncertainty, I lifted her hand to my mouth. I
felt with my tongue and dug with my perception until I had a tiny fold
of her skin between my front teeth. Then sharply, I bit down, drawing
blood. She jerked, stiffened, closed her eyes and took a deep breath but
she did not cry out.
"That, if anything, should do it," I said flatly. "Now go out and get
some iodine for the cut. Human-bite is likely to become infected with
something bad. And I don't think antiseptic will hurt the Mekstrom
Infection if it's taken place." They'd given me the antiseptic works in
Homestead, I recalled. "Now, Miss Nameless, you sit over there and tell
me how come this distressing tableau?"
"Oh--I can't," she cried. Then she left in a hurry sucking on her
bleeding finger.
I didn't need any explanation; I'd just wanted my suspicions confirmed.
Someone had a lever on her. Maybe someone she loved was a Mekstrom and
her loyalty was extracted because of it. The chances were also high that
she'd been given to understand that they'd accept her as a member if she
ever caught Mekstrom's; and they'd taken my arrival as a fine chance to
check me and get her at the same time.
I wondered about her; she was no big-brain. I couldn't quite see the
stratified society outlined by Scholar Phelps as holding a position open
for her in the top echelon. Except she was a woman, attractive if you
like your women beautiful and dull-minded, and she probably would be
happy to live in a little vacuum-type world bounded on all sides with
women's magazines, lace curtains, TV soap opera, and a corral full of
little Mekstrom kids. I grinned. Funny how the proponents of the
stratified society always have their comeuppance by the need of women
whose minds are bent on mundane things like homes and families.
Well, I hoped she caught it, if that's what she wanted. I was willing to
bet my life that she cared a lot more for being with her man than she
did for the cockeyed society he was supporting.
I finished my breakfast and went out to watch a couple of telepaths
playing chess until lunch time and then gave up. Telepathic chess was
too much like playing perceptive poker.
Then after lunch came the afternoon full of laboratory tests,
inspections, experiments, and so forth; they didn't do much that hadn't
been tried at Homestead, and I surprised them again by being able to
help in their never-ending blood counts and stuff of that sort.
They did not provide me with a new room mate, so I wandered around after
dinner hoping that I could avoid both Thorndyke and Phelps. I didn't
want to get into another fool social-structure argument with them and
the affair of the little scared receptionist was more than likely to
make me say a few words that might well get me cast into the Outer
Darkness for their mere semantic content.
Once more I hit the sack early.
And, once more, there came a tap on my door about eight o'clock. It was
not a tentative little frightened tap this time, it was more jovial and
eager sounding. My reaction was about the same. Since it was their show
and their property, I couldn't see any reason why they made this odd
lip-service to politeness.
It was the receptionist again. She came in with a big wistful smile and
dropped my tray on the bed table.
"Look," she cried. She held up her hand. The bleeding had stopped and
there was a thin film over the cut. I dug at it and nodded; it was the
first show of Mekstrom Flesh without a doubt.
"That's it, kid."
"I know," she said happily. "Golly, I could kiss you."
Then before I could think of all the various ways in which the word
"Golly" sounded out of character for her, she launched herself into my
arms and was busily erasing every attempt at logical thought with one of
the warmest, no-holds-barred smoocheroo that I'd enjoyed for what seemed
like years. Since I'd held Catherine in my arms in her apartment just
before we'd eloped, I'd spent my time in the company of Nurse Farrow who
held no emotional appeal to me, and the rest of my female company had
been Mekstroms whose handholding might twist off a wrist if they got a
thrill out of it. About the time I began to respond with enthusiasm and
vigor, she extricated herself from my clutch and slid back to the foot
of the bed out of reach.
A little breathlessly she said, "Harry will thank you for this." _This_
meant the infection in her finger.
Then she was gone and I was thinking, _Harry should drop dead_!
Then I grinned at myself like the Cheshire Cat because I realized that I
was so valuable a property that they couldn't afford to let me die. No
matter what, I'd be kept alive. And after having things go so sour for
so long a time, things were about to take a fast turn and go my way.
I discounted the baby-bite affair. Even if the baby were another
carrier, it would take a long time before the kid was old enough to be
trusted in his aim.
I discounted it even more because I hadn't been roaring around the
countryside biting innocent citizens. Mere contact was enough; if the
bite did anything, it may have hastened the process.
So here I was, a nice valuable property, with a will of my own. I could
either throw in with Phelps and bite only Phelps' Chosen Aristocrats, or
I could go back to the Highways and bite everybody in sight.
I laughed at my image in the mirror. I am a democratic sort of soul, but
when it comes to biting, there's some I'd rather bite than others.
I bared my teeth at my image, but it was more of a leering smile of the
tooth-paste ad than a fierce snarl.
My image looked pensive. It was thinking, _Steve, old carnivore, ere you
go biting anybody, you've first got to bite your way out of the Medical
Center._