Mr. Beck.
Not bad, Mr. Beck.
No harm done.
Just don't call me cracker.
Perk up, sport.
How can the guy die
from a skin rash in eight hours?
Put this on.
I want you to examine him.
- I'm not a doctor.
- For this, you don't need to be.
Oh, Lord.
Am I wearing this 'cause
you think it might be contagious?
I don't know if it is
or it isn't.
I don't know a damn thing.
Neither does anyone else.
I've been going back and forth
with Narragansett Naval all day...
consulting with the best people
in marine medicine...
the best people in virology.
They don't even believe
the symptoms I'm describing.
Their best guess,
and that's all it is...
is that before Sixpack died,
he was undergoing...
some form of genetic alteration.
Genetic alteration from what?
It could be a million things.
Something in the food, the air.
Sixpack went in that ship,
and so did Williams.
I want to examine
the rest of the crew.
But I don't want to create a panic,
so until I get some answers...
I don't think we should tell them
that Sixpack is dead.
Skin condition? Herpes? Measles?
What is it?
It's a little difficult
to describe.
Christ, it would be
a hell of a thing...
if I went back up to the roof
with a herpes thing.
My wife would never
understand that at all.
I don't think we have
to worry about that, do we?
She wouldn't understand that at all.
She'd think I was down here
screwing my head off or something.
Put on your shirt.
- It's all right?
- Yeah, you're fine.
This whole thing is unnecessary, Doc.
The only skin problem
I can see is white people.
How come you're wearin' those gloves?
It ain't bend-over time, is it?
- Anything wrong?
- No, I just wanted to see something.
That's all.
You think it has anything to do
with going on that ship?
Well, it's a possibility.
But if that was the case...
you'd be showing some symptoms,
wouldn't you?
- I'm okay?
- You're fine.
No, really, you're fine.
Great. Thanks, Doc.
What do you mean, a skin problem?
Your skin changes?
- Yeah, it blackens. It gets scaly.
- What, like a fish?
- Yeah, like a fish.
- I was just joking, Doc.
You can finish
gettin' dressed out there.
Oh, Bowman. I'm sorry.
I'll be right back.
- Generic alteration?
- Genetic.
Whatever. But you think it's
restricted to this one crew member?
- Well, so far, but...
- But what?
What if it turns out
to be nothing?
What are you talking about?
It's already killed one man!
But you have no proof that
this disease is contagious, do you?
And we've been wrong before,
haven't we, Dr. Thompson?
Look, Martin, I think
you're missing the point here.
My crew's in jeopardy.
I've seen this disease.
And it's no day at the beach.
So by way of paragraph 539
of the manual...
I'm ordering you to start
an emergency medical evacuation...
of all the personnel
on the shack.
It's your call,
but unfortunately...
we can't pick you up so soon.
There's a hurricane 600 miles
off the coast of Cuba...
possibly coming your way.
And if it does, the company does not
want to risk losing you folks.
Are you saying you're not gonna
pick us up at the scheduled time?
It shouldn't be a long delay.
Well, What's a long delay?
A day? A week? What?
Twelve hours. We should know something
first thing in the morning.
- I'll keep you posted.
- You better be there.
- Twelve hours.
- Twelve hours.
I promise.
Bow, are you okay?
Oh, my God. Come on.
Can you help us here?
- Let's put her here.
- Come on. Take it easy.
It's all right.
You're gonna be all right, okay?
I'm gonna go find Doc, all right?
Hey, Doc?
Maybe he's with Sixpack.
Doc? Hey, you in here?
Hey, man, how you doin'?
We made quota today, man, no thanks
to you, you dog, but we made it.
You won't believe this, man,
but Beck helped us out.
Yeah, we just brought Bowman in, man.
She don't look too good.
You know, I hope
what you got ain't catchin'.
Hey, look, I'm sorry, man.
You go on back to sleep, okay?
I'll talk