"Hello, Loo. Weak, I guess." Words came easier now. "Better get Doc
Keighley."
"You bet I will," and the steward was already hurrying out the door.
"You stay right there," he added firmly and unnecessarily.
Tim stayed right there. The bed stopped falling, but he didn't move. He
knew how to relax from years of practice in the hospital and years of
habit before that.
Keighley walked in, bag in hand, without knocking and came and sat on
the edge of the bunk. "Tim?"
"Hello, Doc. I feel done in. Air supply all right?"
"Air's OK," Doc's hand felt Tim's forehead, reached for his wrist, his
eye recording the sweep of the second hand on the desk chrono. A few
moments later his stethoscope pressed against Tim's chest.
* * * * *
In answer to Keighley's probing questions, Tim described his symptoms.
The doctor rummaged in his bag for a hypo-pak and ampule. After the
shot, he took out a bottle of capsules, closed his bag and drew up the
chair from the desk.
"You know, Tim," he began softly, "we're both _old_ men. We can keep
going indefinitely as long as the rate is slow and steady. Acceleration
is mighty dangerous. Now you're going to rest."
"... could stand a few days of taking it easy...."
"Not a few days--months. Flat in bed."
"But the ship ... the people...." The vision of Samuel Wyckoff rose
again.
"The crew and the Lord can take care of the ship; we people will have
to take care of ourselves. We'll need you more the last few months of
flight and after we land. If you've got to see anybody, I'll get them
right now before that sedative takes effect."
Tim's hand rose and fell. "All right, Doc," the thin, exhausted voice
fell too. "Even Moses didn't make the Promised Land."
"You'll make it, you fuddleheaded old Moses, if you obey Doc Keighley's
commandments. Even Moses had more sense than to try to be captain and
master of ceremonies and life of the party and general trouble shooter
all at once."
Daneshaw smiled wanly. "I'll be good. Better have El Avery come up
before I go to sleep. He'll have to take on some of my duties or figure
out somebody else. He knows as much about the ship as anybody. Don't
worry him, though, Frank. He's a nervous old dog.... By the way, can I
read?"
"You can't even hold a book for a couple of weeks at least. If you want
to hear something, I'll send you a reader or you can have a player
and a bunch of wires if we carry anything but treatises on farming. I
wouldn't be surprised if Avery'd make a good top man--more autocratic,
less tolerant than you, but there are more ways of killing a cat ...
and I'll assign you nurses in six hour shifts. It'll keep some of the
girls out of mischief."
"Frank ... have a heart!"
"You have one--and hang onto it." Doc Keighley gathered up his bag and
left the cabin.
Outside the door he almost bumped into Jack White, Second Astrogator,
and Steward Loomis. "Loo, get El Avery up here right away before the
hypo hits him. Jack, you go in and sit with him till Avery gets here.
He's all right, boys. Just worn out. Let everybody know he'll be back
on deck after turnover--_if_ you all stay out of his way till then.
Don't let anybody but Avery or the nurse in, Jack," and the little
doctor bustled off and out of sight around the curve of the corridor.
* * * * *
To Jack White, entering the tiny cabin lit only by the desk lamp, Tim
Daneshaw looked near gone. He went over and sat silent on the chair
the doctor had turned to the bunk. Tim's eyes were shut, but he spoke
weakly.
"El? El Avery?"
"No Captain, it's Jack White. Avery will be here as soon as he can."
A long silence.