staring, the spaceman grew quieter. Sometimes, even
at this stage, massage could help. It was harder without liberal
supplies of hot water, but the massage was the really important
treatment. It was the trembling of Feldman's hands that stopped him. He
no longer had the strength or the certainty to make the massage
effective.

He was glaring at his hands in self-disgust when the legal doctor
arrived. The man was old and tired. Probably he had been another
idealist who had wound up defeated, content to leave things up to the
established procedures of the Medical Lobby. He looked it as he bent
over the dying man.

The doctor turned back at last to the attendant. "Too late. The best I
can do is ease his pain. The call should have been made half an hour
earlier."

He had obviously never handled space-stomach before. He administered a
hypo that probably held narconal. Feldman watched, his guts tightening
sympathetically for the shock that would be to the sick man. But at
least it would shorten his sufferings. The final seizure lasted only a
minute or so.

"Hopeless," the doctor said. His eyes were clouded for a moment, and
then he shrugged. "Well, I'll make out a death certificate. Anyone here
know his name?"

His eyes swung about the cots until they came to rest on Feldman. He
frowned, and a twisted smile curved his lips.

"Feldman, isn't it? You still look something like your pictures. Do you
know the deceased?"

Feldman shook his head bitterly. "No. I don't know his name. I don't
even know why he wasn't cyanotic at the end, _if_ it was space-stomach.
Do you, doctor?"

The old man threw a startled glance at the corpse. Then he shrugged and
nodded to the attendant. "Well, go through his things. If he still has a
space ticket, I can get his name from that."

The kid began pawing through the bag that had fallen from the cot. He
dragged out a pair of shoes, half a bottle of cheap rum, a wallet and a
bronze space ticket. He wasn't quick enough with the wallet, and the
doctor took it from him.

"Medical Lobby authorization. If he has any money, it covers my fee and
the rest goes to his own Lobby." There were several bills, all of large
denominations. He turned the ticket over and began filling in the death
certificate. "Arthur Billings. Space Lobby. Crewman. Cause of death,
idiopathic gastroenteritis _and_ delirium tremens."

There had been no evidence of delirium tremens, but apparently the
doctor felt he had s