Rebuttal
By BETSY CURTIS
Illustrated by GIUNTA
Immortality? Like anything else, it may be a
matter of definition, or just of the point of view....
"The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke was by all odds the most
popular story in the first issue of Infinity, and probably
one of the most popular science-fiction stories to be published
anywhere in 1955. It was also highly controversial, and in "Rebuttal"
Betsy Curtis presents the other side of the question—plus an idea that
seems to be totally new. The result, we think you'll agree, is one of
the outstanding science-fictional events of 1956.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity Science Fiction, June 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They brought Father Phillip Burt to St. Luke's as our "share" of theresearch project on the mysterious disease which afflicted most ofthe crew of the recently returned Phoenix Nebula expedition. News ofthe disease, of course, was not spread beyond the research teams, asthe public seems to fear a plague worse than damnation itself. And itdidn't seem to be a very serious disease: Father Phillip was easily theworst case of all; and although several members of the expedition haddied, their deaths could be evaluated as due to secondary infectionsof common enough earth origin. Very few of the crew members were inactual pain; but Father Phillip was in constant agony which no amountof sedation seemed to calm.
I ran the customary tissue cultures and biopsies, including those oninternal organs not customarily available. We were given an excusefor getting internal samples of tissue when Father Phillip's appendixflamed into infection. And although I did not find a general infectingorganism, what I did find was enough to send me trotting up to his roomon the double.
I suppose I should explain here that I, Father Niccolo Molina, am headresearch pathologist for St. Luke's and that I don't, therefore, meetthe patients personally very often. But Father Phillip I had to meet.
His day nurse, Sister Mary Felicia, met me at the door in her crispwhite teflon overall.
"Father is very uncomfortable today," she told me. "The incision is nothealing at all and he keeps trying to talk and then breaking off in themiddle of a sentence with the pain."
"Talking about anything in particular?" I asked suspiciously.
"The merest chit-chat. The weather ... pleasantries about thehospital ... jokes about doctors in particular. He doesn't have a veryhigh regard for doctors, it seems. Thinks they are notable atheists, Igather." She smiled.
"Many thanks for the diagnosis, Sister," I told her gravely. Then Iadded, "I suppose you are having to maintain a considerable quarantineand decontamination routine as Father's nurse?"
"Oh yes. In this wing, you know, we are all in solitary, approachingno persons other than our patient and the doctors ... sometimes for asmuch as three months after the end of a case. It provides excellenttime for a retreat, which is why most of us apply for such duty." Shepointed to the small prie-dieu in her tiny cubicle, which stood as abuffer between the contagion room and the hallway of the ward.
"If I am right about the nature of Father Burt's disease," I told her,"you will soon see the end of this case, and without any three months'decontamination, either."
She smiled again. "You couldn't