e
said. "In certain maladies the carrier is himself immune. In some we
observe that the carrier results from a low-level, incomplete infection
with the disease which immunizes him but does not kill the bugs. In
others, we've seen the carrier become normal after he has finally
contracted the disease. What we must know now is: Is Steve Cornell, the
Mekstrom Carrier, now a non-carrier because he has contracted the
disease?"

"How are you going to find out?" I asked him.

"That's a problem," he said thoughtfully. "One school feels that we
should not treat you, since the treatment itself may destroy whatever
unknown factor makes you a carrier. The other claims that if we don't
treat you, you'll hardly live long enough to permit comprehensive
research anyway. A third school believes that there is time to find out
whether you are still a carrier, make some tests, and then treat you,
after which these tests are to be repeated."

Rather bitterly, I said, "I suppose I have absolutely no vote."

"Hardly," his face was pragmatic.

"And to which school do you belong?" I asked sourly. "Do you want me to
get the cure? Or am I to die miserably while you take tabs on my blood
pressure, or do I merely lose an arm while you're sitting with folded
hands waiting for the laboratory report?"

"In any case, we'll learn a lot about Mekstrom's from you," he said.
"Even if you die."

As caustically as I could, I said, "It's nice to know that I am not
going to die in vain."

He eyed me with contempt. "You're not afraid to die, are you, Mr.
Cornell?"

That's a dirty question to ask any man. Sure, I'm afraid to die. I just
don't like the idea of being not-alive. As bad as life is, it's better
than nothing. But the way he put the question he was implying that I
should be happy to die for the benefit of Humanity in general, and
that's a question that is unfairly loaded. After all, everybody is
slated to kick off. There is no other way of resigning from the
universe. So if I have to die, it might as well be for the Benefit of
Something, and if it happens to be Humanity, so much the better. But
when the case is proffered on a silver tray, I feel, "Somebody else, not
me!"

The next argument Phelps would be tossing out would be the one that
goes, "Two thousand years ago, a Man died for Humanity--" which always
makes me sick. No matter how you look at us, there is no resemblance
between Him and me.

I cut him short before he could say it: "