The ghost of a smile touched his lips, and his body became less tense. He said wearily, "Moran—yes. Or Ader. Or Cart—Oh, anything you choose. It hardly seems important any more. I've had so many, many names."
That wasn't exactly encouraging. But at least he was quieter now. And I had to know a few things about him to put in the ship's log. I asked, "How did you get on that asteroid, Moran? Were you space-wrecked? If so, what was the name of your craft? The authorities will want to know."
He answered, almost mockingly, "I was marooned."
"Marooned! But—but that's criminal! Who did it? We'll have them picked up and punished!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort. They marooned me on that asteroid because I deserved it and I respect and thank them for it!" His voice was rising again; higher, shriller. "I thank them, do you hear? I bless them, a hundred, thousand, million times. Though their effort was in vain. I was, and am, a Jonah. A Jonah, Jonah, Jonah!"
He sat bolt upright in bed, screaming the word defiantly. Doc Jurnegan raced in, glanced at me reproachfully and took his patient in hand. "You'd better go, Brait," he suggested.
So I left. The sweat on my forehead was damp and cold. I needed a drink.
When I told Cap McNeally of my experience, he nodded soberly.
"I know, Brait. I saw him before you did. And he acted just as loony toward me. Warned me he was a Jonah—"
"I'm not superstitious," I interrupted, "but there are such things as Jonahs. Men whose very presence aboard a spaceship seems to cause trouble, dissention, disaster. You remember that Venusian blaster on the Goddard III? The survivors always swore he caused the crack-up."