"I don't want to do that."
"I don't, either," Beth said. "But what else can we do?" "We don't have to kill him," Norman said. "Just make him unconscious." He went to the first-aid cabinet, started going through the medicines.
"You think there might be something there?" Beth said.
"Maybe. An anesthetic, I don't know."
"Would that work?"
"I think anything that produces unconsciousness will work. I think."
"I hope you're right," Beth said, "because if he starts dreaming and then manifests the monsters from his dreams, that wouldn't be very good."
"No. But anesthesia produces a dreamless, total state of unconsciousness." Norman was looking at the labels on the bottles. "Do you know what these things are?"
"No," Beth said, "but it's all in the computer." She sat down at the console. "Read me the names and I'll look them up for you."
"Diphenyl paralene.
Beth pushed buttons, scanned a screen of dense text. "It's, uh ... looks like ... something for burns."
"Ephedrine hydrochloride."
Another screen. "It's ... I guess it's for motion sickness."
"Valdomet."
"It's for ulcers."
"Sintag."
"Synthetic opium analogue. It's very short-acting."
"Produces unconsciousness?" Norman asked.
"No. Not according to this. Anyway, it only lasts a few minutes."
"Tarazine."
"Tranquilizer. Causes drowsiness."
"Good." He set the bottle to one side.
" 'And may also cause bizarre ideation.' "
"No," he said, and put the bottle back. They didn't need to have any bizarre ideation. "Riordan?"
"Antihistamine. For bites."
"Oxalamine?"
"Antibiotic."
"Chloramphenicol?"
"Another antibiotic."
"Damn." They were running out of bottles. "Parasolutrine?"
"It's a soporific. ..."
"What's that?"
"Causes sleep."
"You mean it's a sleeping pill?"
"No, it's - it says you can give it in combination with paracin trichloride and use it as an anesthetic."
"Paracin trichloride ... Yes. I have it here," Norman said. Beth was reading from the screen. "Parasolutrine twenty cc's in combination with paracin six cc's given IM produces deep sleep suitable for emergency surgical procedures ... no cardiac side effects ... sleep from which the subject can be awakened only with difficulty ... REM activity is suppressed. ..."
"How long does it last?"
"Three to six hours."
"And how fast does it take effect?"
She frowned. "It doesn't say. 'After appropriate depth of anesthesia is induced, even extensive surgical procedures may be begun ...' But it doesn't say how long it takes."
"Hell," Norman said.
"It's probably fast," Beth said.
"But what if it isn't?" Norman said. "What if it takes twenty minutes? And can you fight it? Fight it off?"
She shook her head. "Nothing about that here."
In the end they decided on a mixture of parasolutrine, paracin, dulcinea, and sintag, the opiate. Norman filled a large syringe with the clear liquids. The syringe was so big it looked like something for horses.
"You think it might kill him?" Beth said.
"I don't know. Do we have a choice?"
"No," Beth said. "We've got to do it. Have you ever given an injection before?"
Norman shook his head. "You?"
"Only lab animals."
"Where do I stick it?"
"Do it in the shoulder," Beth said. "While he's asleep." Norman turned the syringe up to the light, and squirted a few drops from the needle into the air. "Okay," he said.
"I better come with you," Beth said, "and hold him down."
"No," Norman said. "If he's awake and sees both of us coming, he'll be suspicious. Remember, you don't sleep in the bunks any more."
"But what if he gets violent?"
"I think I can handle this."
"Okay, Norman. Whatever you say."
* * *
The lights in the corridor of C Cyl seemed unnaturally bright. Norman heard his feet padding on the carpet, heard the constant hum of the air handlers and the space heaters. He felt the weight of the syringe concealed in his palm. He came to the door to the sleeping quarters.
Two female Navy crewmen were standing outside the bulkhead door. They snapped to attention as he approached. "Dr. Johnson, sir!"
Norman paused. The women were handsome, black, and muscular-looking. "At ease, men," Norman said with a smile.
They did not relax. "Sorry, sir! We have our orders, sir!" "I see," Norman said. "Well, carry on, then." He started to move past them into the sleeping area.
"Beg your pardon, Dr. Johnson, sir!" They barred his way.
"What is it?" Norman asked, as innocently as he could manage.
"This area is off-limits to all personnel, sir!"
"But I want to go to sleep."
"Very sorry, Dr. Johnson, sir! No one may disturb Dr. Adams while he sleeps, sir!"
"I won't disturb Dr. Adams."
"Sorry, Dr. Johnson, sir! May we see what is in your hand, sir!"
"In my hand?"
"Yes, there is something in your hand, sir!"
Their snapping, machine-gun delivery, always punctuated by the "sir!" at the end, was getting on his nerves. He looked at them again. The starched uniforms covered powerful muscles. He didn't think he could force his way past them. Beyond the door he saw Harry, lying on his back, snoring. It was a perfect moment to inject him.