June shrugged, unwilling to say what she knew.
Others came out of all rooms into the corridor, thickening the line. They could hear each room lock as the last person left it, and then, faintly, the hiss of disinfectant spray. Behind them, on the heels of the last person in line, segments of the ship slammed off and began to hiss.
They wound down the spiral corridor until they reached the medical treatment section again, and there they waited in line.
"It won't scar my arms, will it?" asked Shelia apprehensively, glancing at her smooth, lovely arms.
The mechanical voice said, "Next. Step inside, please, and stand clear of the door."
"Not a bit," June reassured Shelia, and stepped into the cubicle.
Inside, she was directed from cubicle to cubicle and given the usual buffeting by sprays and radiation, had blood samples taken and was injected with Nucleocat and a series of other protectives. At last she was directed through another door into a tiny cubicle with a chair.
"You are to wait here," commanded the recorded voice metallically. "In twenty minutes the door will unlock and you may then leave. All people now treated may visit all parts of the ship which have been protected. It is forbidden to visit any quarantined or unsterile part of the ship without permission from the medical officers."
Presently the door unlocked and she emerged into bright lights again, feeling slightly battered.
She was in the clinic. A few men sat on the edge of beds and looked sick. One was lying down. Brant and Bess St. Clair sat near each other, not speaking.