Someone unscrewed his face-port for him. He drew a long, deep breath of the pure Antigone air. His wan eyes lighted dimly and he spoke in a voice that was a thin husk of sound.
"Thank you, gentlemen. I had hoped that at last I might—But you meant well, I suppose."
Which was, I thought at the time, a damned strange speech of gratitude. But I had no time to answer. For his knees suddenly buckled beneath him, his eyes closed. Had it not been for the friendly hands that supported him, he would have pitched forward on his face.
Cap McNeally snapped, "Sick-bay! Snap it up, you lubbers! The man's in bad shape. Out on his feet, cold!"
Sparks whispered, "Gosh, he looks like a corpus!" as the sailors bore our unexpected passenger away. I stared at him disgustedly.
"Corpse." I said.
"Huh?" said Sparks.
"Corpse!" I repeated. "Corpse!"
"You," suggested Sparks, "oughta take somethin' for that indigestion, Lootenant. My sister had it. It made her a physical reek."
It's against the rules for a Second Mate to punch a radioman. So I kicked him. There are limits.