"Does your head ache?" Dane shook him.
"Head? No--" Rip's words came drowsily. "Jus' sleepy--so sleepy--"
He did not seem to be in pain. But Dane's hands were shaking as he
hoisted the other out of his seat and half carried-half led him to his
cabin, praying as he went that it was only fatigue and not the disease.
The ship was on auto now until Jellico as pilot set a course--
Dane got Rip down on the bunk and stripped off his tunic. The fine-drawn
face of the sleeper looked wan against the foam rest, and he snuggled
into the softness like a child as he turned over and curled up. But his
skin was clear--it was real sleep and not the plague which had claimed
him.
Impulse sent Dane back to the control cabin. He was not an experienced
pilot officer, but there might be some assistance he could offer the
Captain now that Rip was washed out, perhaps for hours.
Jellico hunched before the smaller computer, feeding pilot tape into its
slot. His face was a skull under a thin coating of skin, the bones
marking it sharply at jaw, nose and eye socket.
"Shannon down?" His voice was a mere whisper of its powerful self, he did
not turn his head.
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