The Sudden Star Read Online Free

Perhaps Mahoney knew about his ventures. Then he relaxed. Cliff couldn't know; he was only jibing at Simon's past. "They ought to quit treating anyone who can't pay," Mahoney went on.
    "Quite right," Steinman said. "Besides, who knows what genetic faults many of them might be carrying? We can't screen them, and not everything will turn up as a disease, so many traits are recessive. We can't afford to have the species as a whole weakened by these genetic traits."
    Simon thought of Jeanne. He stared at Steinman's spectacles. "I wonder what keeps myopia off the list," he said quietly.
    Mahoney laughed. "The ophthalmologists and oculists, of course. Can you imagine what would happen to the dentists if soft teeth or pyorrhea got put on it?" He chuckled and rose to his feet. "I've got to head back to my office. See you." Mahoney picked up his tray and left. Steinman turned back to Simon and grinned.
    "Jeanne was a bit upset when she got home last night," he said. "Really, Simon, if you're going to see her, don't get her so annoyed that she takes it out on me."
    Simon felt his muscles tighten. Don't you know she has Mura's Syndrome? he wanted to shout. But Marvin must know. It was probably why he didn't care what his wife did. He wondered if Steinman had a hold on him, if the fat man knew anything about his activities, about his illegal patients. Simon wished he had never started seeing Jeanne. He had lost control of her; he could not even prove she was a murderer, because he had helped destroy the evidence. He watched Marvin Steinman's spectacled, gray eyes and could read nothing in them.
    "She just doesn't seem happy with your relationship," Steinman was saying. "She hasn't been well. You know that, of course."
    Simon rose. "I understand," he replied, hating the fat man's complacency, disgusted with someone who would pander for his wife, yet realizing that he too was catering to Jeanne's needs in a deadlier fashion. "I'd better get back to work."
    Steinman smiled, and let him go.
     
    Late that afternoon, Simon went over to the heavily guarded bank where he kept his safety-deposit box. He picked up some of the money Sam Karenga had left, checked the small number of medical supplies he kept there, and replaced the bottle of Dilantin that Karenga had taken.
    When he left the bank, the spring breezes had grown cooler. The bridge linking the bank's building with the office complex next door swayed as he crossed; his feet clattered against the planks. He clutched the ropes at his sides and hurried as much as he could. Two young men in dark suits scampered easily over the bridge next to him. It was easy to tell, when you were on the bridges, who had grown up rich; such people moved over the bridges easily, while Simon crept along, trying not to look down. He would never get used to it.
    The office building and the medical center, fortunately, were connected by an enclosed bridge with glass windows. Simon hurried through it and noticed in passing that one of the windows was broken. The wind whistled through it. He crossed the roof of the center and stood, holding his bag, waiting for the helicopter that would take him home.
    He heard footsteps behind him and turned to face Yola Kozlowski. "You're going home late."
    She smiled. "When a patient's in the middle of handling an emotional crisis, I can't just leave." She glanced down at his hands. "You're taking your bag home."
    "Sometimes a patient calls after hours. General practitioners get almost as many off-duty calls as obstetricians."
    "It's nice of you to be so helpful to them."
    "Well, you specialists can make your money on duty. We have to make it when we can."
    She lowered her eyelids. He said, "How about helping me use up some rations tonight? I've got a couple of steaks, if you're not choosy about the cut. At least they're meat. I pick up more rations here tomorrow, so I don't need to keep them." He stopped. He had extended the invitation impulsively while staring at Yola