Fortune emerged from his quarters to look down at Ross. "Our fumigating didn't work, huh?"
"Maybe he caught the bug on the planet," Thompson said. He tried to put conviction into his voice. The effort failed. "Get sheets," he said.
There was no prayer. There was no burial ceremony. The body went through the ejection port and disappeared in the vast depths of space.
Thompson returned to his cabin, slumped down at his desk, Fortune and Neff following.
Buster meowed. "Okay, pal." The cat jumped into Thompson's lap.
"I guess there's not much point in trying to kid ourselves any longer," Fortune said. His voice was dull and flat, without tone and without spirit. A muscle in Neff's cheek was twitching.
"I don't understand you," Thompson said.
"Hell, you understand me well enough. The facts are obvious. We've either all got the virus, or it's here in the ship, and we will get it. All we're doing is waiting to see who goes next. What I want to know is—Who'll shove the last man through the ejection port?"
"I don't know," Thompson answered.