byThe little party came through the air lock bearing a limp figure on an improvised litter.
“Who was it this time?” Fenner asked.
Gorsline pulled off the transparent hood that covered his head and face, and unzipped his suit. He dug his fingers wearily into his eyes.
“Bodkin,” he said. “Same as the others.” He turned back to the group. “Get him right to the infirmary. Not that it’ll do much good,” he added, in an undertone, to Fenner.
Fenner sighed, glancing at Bodkin on the litter. Behind the plastic protection of his mask the man’s face was a dark purple; his chest rose and fell spasmodically and there was a faint line of foam on his lips.
Gorsline slipped off his suit, and put it over his arm. Then he and Fenner walked together up the ramp to the Common Room.
“I need a drink,” he
