Chernobyl by Frederik Pohl

Author:Frederik Pohl [Pohl, Frederik]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical fiction
Published: 2011-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

The first indication Smin had that the GehBehs were coming to visit him was when the nurse came hurriedly in to surround his bed with the heavy screens that were usually put around a patient who was terminally ill. "So I have company?" Smin asked, and was not surprised when the woman did not answer.

He sighed and propped himself up as best he could. He -was quite sure he knew what was coming. The screens could not be to shield him from the gaze of his roommate, because his roommate had been taken away to surgery the night before and had not returned. But it was a nuisance to have the interrogators come to question him now. The doctor taking his blood samples just an hour before had told him that his Comrade Plumber, Sheranchuk, had just been admitted to Hospital No. 6. Smin had been planning to put on his slippers and go out to plead with the head nurse to allow Sheranchuk to occupy the now vacant bed. Smin had been quite looking forward to having his Comrade Plumber in the room to talk to, especially because he was feeling, really, quite good. Those confounded blisters were still there, and his arms were sore from the dozens of needles that had been thrust into them for samples of blood and to pour other things into his veins; but he was in no particular pain.

Of course, that was only a temporary state, the result of the first transfusions of blood. The doctor had warned that his condition was critical. Smin didn't need to be told that. Although he had tried to refuse hospitalization, he knew quite well that those early blisters indicated something very wrong inside him. He was aware that this period of well-being might cjuite probably be the last such feeling he would ever have. He was determined to enjoy it while he had it.

And what a nuisance that the Chekists should turn up to spoil it!

There were two of them, of course. Smin saw immediately that these were the variety of GehBeh that advertised what it was. They could not wear the traditional slouch hats and trench coats in the hospital. They looked far less worrying in the white hospital gowns and caps all visitors were made to

wear. "So, Simyon Mikhailovitch," said the younger of the two agreeably, "they tell us you are feeling much better today."

"Temporarily," nodded Smin. Indeed, apart from the sores in his mouth and the weak dizziness and the diarrhea, he had been feeling fairly fit.

"Oh, I hope more than temporarily," beamed the other. "But those scars? Surely they are not from this disaster?"

Smin's sheet had fallen away, and the full extent of the wartime burn scars was visible. "Only an old memory," he said. "This, however"—he touched the little bandage where the doctors had pulled bone marrow out of his chest—"this is new, but unimportant. Surely you did not come here to discuss my health."

"In general, no," conceded the younger one. "But we are, of course, concerned.

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