Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

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“Sure. It’s cheap and generates static electricity. Do you expect sable?”

Bill took the can of soup and sipped it without tasting or thinking, his hand going toward a fresh place that itched. His nose began running, but he disregarded it. He still felt lousy, but strength was flowing through him, and life was almost good again.

He tossed the bunk back into its slot, lifted the pilot’s stool, and motioned Ames forward. “You operate a key—hell, I am getting slow. You can contact Luna Base by phone, have them relay. There. Now tell ‘em I’m blasting off pronto for Earth, and I’ll be down in four hours with their plans.”

“You’re crazy.” The words were flat, but there was desperation on the little doctor’s face. He glanced about hastily, taking the microphone woodenly. “Adams, they’ll have an atomic bomb up to blast you out before you’re near Earth. They’ve got to protect themselves. You can’t....”

Bill scratched, but there was the beginning of a grin on his face. “Nope, I’m not delirious now, though I damn near cracked up. You figured out half the symptoms. Take a look at those brushes—cat’s fur brushes—and figure what they’ll do to a man who was breathing the air and who is allergic to cats! All I ever had was some jerk in Planning who didn’t check my medical record with trip logistics! I never had these symptoms until I unzipped the traps and turned ‘em on. It got better whenever I was in the suit, breathing canned air. We should have known a man can’t catch a disease from plants.”