ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS
Once more the crew of the _Lancet_ settled down to routine, and the
incident on Morua VIII seemed almost forgotten.
But a change had come about in the relations between the three doctors,
and in every way the change was for the better. If Jack Alvarez was not
exactly cordial to Dal Timgar, at least he had dropped the open
antagonism that he had shown before. Apparently Tiger's angry outburst
had startled Jack, as though he had never really considered that the big
Earthman might honestly be attached to his friend from Garv II, and the
Blue Doctor seemed sincere in his agreement to work with Dal and Tiger
as a team.
But bit by bit Dal could sense that the change in Jack's attitude went
deeper than the surface. "You know, I really think he was _scared_ of
me," Dal said one night when he and Tiger were alone. "Sounds silly, but
I think it's true. He pretends to be so sure of himself, but I think
he's as worried about doing things wrong as we are, and just won't admit
it. And he really thought I was a threat when I came aboard."
"He probably had a good thorough briefing from Black Doctor Tanner
before he got the assignment," Tiger said grimly.
"Maybe--but somehow I don't think he cares for the Black Doctor much
more than we do."
But whatever the reason, much of the tension was gone when the _Lancet_
had left the Moruan system behind. A great weight seemed to have been
lifted, and if there was not quite peace on board, at least there was an
uneasy truce. Tiger and Jack were almost friendly, talking together more
often and getting to know each other better. Jack still avoided Dal and
seldom included him in conversations, but the open contempt of the first
few weeks on the ship now seemed tempered somewhat.
Once again the _Lancet_'s calls fell into a pattern. Landings on the
outpost planets became routine, bright spots in a lonely and wandering
existence. The calls that came in represented few real problems. The
ship stopped at one contract planet to organize a mass inoculation
program against a parasitic infestation resembling malaria. They paused
at another place to teach the native doctors the use of some new
surgical instruments that had been developed in Hospital Earth
laboratories just for them. Frantic emergency calls usually proved to
involve trivial problems, but once or twice potentially serious
situations were spotted early, before they could develop into real
trouble.
And as the three doctors got used to the responsibilities of a patrol
ship's rounds, and grew more confident of their ability to handle the
problems thrust upon them, they found themselves working more and more
efficiently as a team.
This was the way the General Practice Patrol was supposed to function.
Each doctor had unsuspected skills that came to light. There was no
questioning Jack Alvarez's skill as a diagnostician, but it seemed
uncanny to Dal the way the slender, dark-haired Earthman could listen
carefully to a medical problem of an alien race on a remote planet, and
then seem to know exactly which questions to ask to draw out the
significant information about the situation. Tiger was not nearly as
quick and clever as Jack; he needed more time to ponder a question of
medical treatment, and he would often spend long hours poring over the
data tapes before deciding what to do in a given case--but he always
seemed to come up with an answer, and his answers usually worked. Above
all, Tiger's relations with the odd life-forms they encountered were
invariably good; the creatures seemed to like him, and would follow his
instructions faithfully.
Dal, too, had opportunities to demonstrate that his surgical skill and
judgment was not universally faulty in spite of the trouble on Morua
VIII. More than once he succeeded in almost impossible surgical cases
where there was no time to call for help, and little by little he could
sense Jack's growing confidence in his abilities, grudging though it
might be.
Dal had ample time to mull over the thing that had happened on Morua
VIII and to think about the interview with Black Doctor Tanner
afterward. He knew he was glad that Tiger had intervened even on the
basis of a falsehood; until Tiger had spoken up Dal had been certain
that the Black Doctor fully intended to use the incident as an excuse to
discharge him from the General Practice Patrol. There was no question in
his mind that the Black Doctor's charges had been exaggerated into a
trumped-up case against him, and there was no question that Tiger's
insistence on taking the blame had saved him; he could not help being
thankful.
Yet there was something about it that disturbed Dal, nibbling away
persistently at his mind. He couldn't throw off the feeling that his own
acceptance of Tiger's help had been wrong.
Part of it, he knew, was his native, inbred loathing for falsehood. Fair
or unfair, Dal had always disliked lying. Among his people, the truth
might be bent occasionally, but frank lying was considered a deep
disgrace, and there was a Garvian saying that "a false tongue wins no
true friends." Garvian traders were known throughout the Galaxy as much
for their rigid adherence to their word as they were for the hard
bargains they could drive; Dal had been enormously confused during his
first months on Hospital Earth by the way Earthmen seemed to accept
lying as part of their daily life, unconcerned about it as long as the
falsehood could not be proven.
But something else about Tiger's defense of him bothered Dal far more
than the falsehood--something that had vaguely disturbed him ever since
he had known the big Earthman, and that now seemed to elude him every
time he tried to pinpoint it. Lying in his bunk during a sleep period,
Dal remembered vividly the first time he had met Tiger, early in the
second year of medical school. Dal had almost despaired by then of
making friends with his hostile and resentful classmates and had begun
more and more to avoid contact with them, building up a protective shell
and relying on Fuzzy for company or comfort. Then Tiger had found him
eating lunch by himself in the medical school lounge one day and flopped
down in the seat beside him and began talking as if Dal were just
another classmate. Tiger's open friendliness had been like a spring
breeze to Dal who was desperately lonely in this world of strangers;
their friendship had grown rapidly, and gradually others in the class
had begun to thaw enough at least to be civil when Dal was around. Dal
had sensed that this change of heart was largely because of Tiger and
not because of him, yet he had welcomed it as a change from the previous
intolerable coldness even though it left him feeling vaguely uneasy.
Tiger was well liked by the others in the class; Dal had been grateful
more than once when Tiger had risen in hot defense of the Garvian's
right to be studying medicine among Earthmen in the school on Hospital
Earth.
But that had been in medical school, among classmates. Somehow that had
been different from the incident that occurred on Morua VIII, and Dal's
uneasiness grew stronger than ever the more he thought of it. Talking to
Tiger about it was no help; Tiger just grinned and told him to forget
it, but even in the rush of shipboard activity it stubbornly refused to
be forgotten.
One minor matter also helped to ease the tension between the doctors as
they made their daily rounds. Tiger brought a pink dispatch sheet in to
Dal one day, grinning happily. "This is from the weekly news capsule,"
he said. "It ought to cheer you up."
It was a brief news note, listed under "incidental items." "The Black
Service of Pathology," it said, "has announced that Black Doctor Hugo
Tanner will enter Hospital Philadelphia within the next week for
prophylactic heart surgery. In keeping with usual Hospital Earth
administrative policy, the Four-star Black Doctor will undergo a total
cardiac transplant to halt the Medical education administrator's
progressively disabling heart disease." The note went on to name the
surgeons who would officiate at the procedure.
Dal smiled and handed back the dispatch. "Maybe it will improve his
temper," he said, "even if it does give him another fifty years of
active life."
"Well, at least it will take him out of _our_ hair for a while," Tiger
said. "He won't have time to keep us under too close scrutiny."
Which, Dal was forced to admit, did not make him too unhappy.
Shipboard rounds kept all three doctors busy. Often, with contact
landings, calls, and studying, it seemed only a brief time from sleep
period to sleep period, but still they had some time for minor luxuries.
Dal was almost continuously shivering, with the ship kept at a
temperature that was comfortable for Tiger and Jack; he missed the
tropical heat of his home planet, and sometimes it seemed that he was
chilled down to the marrow of his bones in spite of his coat of gray
fur. With a little home-made plumbing and ingenuity, he finally managed
to convert one of the ship's shower units into a steam bath. Once or
twice each day he would retire for a blissful half hour warming himself
up to Garv II normal temperatures.
Fuzzy also became a part of shipboard routine. Once he grew accustomed
to Tiger and Jack and the surroundings aboard the ship, the little
creature grew bored sitting on Dal's shoulder and wanted to be in the
middle of things. Since the early tension had eased, he was willing to
be apart from his master from time to time, so Dal and Tiger built him a
platform that hung from the ceiling of the control room. There Fuzzy
would sit and swing by the hour, blinking happily at the activity going
on all around him.
But for all the appearance of peace and agreement, there was still an
undercurrent of tension on board the _Lancet_ which flared up from time
to time when it was least expected, between Dal and Jack. It was on one
such occasion that a major crisis almost developed, and once again Fuzzy
was the center of the contention.
Dal Timgar knew that disaster had struck at the very moment it happened,
but he could not tell exactly what was wrong. All he knew was that
something fearful had happened to Fuzzy.
There was a small sound-proof cubicle in the computer room, with a
chair, desk and a tape-reader for the doctors when they had odd moments
to spend reading up on recent medical bulletins or reviewing their
textbooks. Dal spent more time here than the other two; the temperature
of the room could be turned up, and he had developed a certain fondness
for the place with its warm gray walls and its soft relaxing light. Here
on the tapes were things that he could grapple with, things that he
could understand. If a problem here eluded him, he could study it out
until he had mastered it. The hours he spent here were a welcome retreat
from the confusing complexities of getting along with Jack and Tiger.
These long study periods were boring for Fuzzy who wasn't much
interested in the oxygen-exchange mechanism of the intelligent beetles
of Aldebaran VI. Frequently Dal would leave him to swing on his platform
or explore about the control cabin while he spent an hour or two at
the tape-reader. Today Dal had been working for over an hour,
deeply immersed in a review of the intermediary metabolism of
chlorine-breathing mammals, when something abruptly wrenched his
attention from the tape.
It was as though a light had snapped off in his mind, or a door slammed
shut. There was no sound, no warning; yet, suddenly, he felt dreadfully,
frighteningly alone, as if in a split second something inside him had
been torn away. He sat bolt upright, staring, and he felt his skin crawl
and his fingers tremble as he listened, trying to spot the source of the
trouble.
And then, almost instinctively, he knew what was wrong. He leaped to
his feet, tore open the door to the cubicle and dashed down the hallway
toward the control room. "Fuzzy!" he shouted. "Fuzzy, _where are you?_"
Tiger and Jack were both at the control panel dictating records for
filing. They looked up in surprise as the Red Doctor burst into the
room. Fuzzy's platform was hanging empty, gently swaying back and forth.
Dal peered frantically around the room. There was no sign of the small
pink creature.
"Where is he?" he demanded. "What's happened to Fuzzy?"
Jack shrugged in disgust. "He's up on his perch. Where else?"
"He's not either! Where is he?"
Jack blinked at the empty perch. "He was there just a minute ago. I saw
him."
"Well, he's not there now, and something's wrong!" In a panic, Dal began
searching the room, knocking over stools, scattering piles of paper,
peering in every corner where Fuzzy might be concealed.
For a moment the others sat frozen, watching him. Then Tiger jumped to
his feet. "Hold it, hold it! He probably just wandered off for a minute.
He does that all the time."
"No, it's something worse than that." Dal was almost choking on the
words. "Something terrible has happened. I know it."
Jack Alvarez tossed the recorder down in disgust. "You and your
miserable pet!" he said. "I knew we shouldn't have kept him on board."
Dal stared at Jack. Suddenly all the anger and bitterness of the past
few weeks could no longer be held in. Without warning he hurled himself
at the Blue Doctor's throat. "Where is he?" he cried. "What have you
done with him? What have you done to Fuzzy? You've done something to
him! You've hated him every minute just like you hate me, only he's
easier to pick on. Now where is he? What have you done to him?"
Jack staggered back, trying to push the furious little Garvian away.
"Wait a minute! Get away from me! I didn't do anything!"
"You did too! Where is he?"
"I don't know." Jack struggled to break free, but there was powerful
strength in Dal's fingers for all his slight body build. "I tell you, he
was here just a minute ago."
Dal felt a hand grip his collar then, and Tiger was dragging them apart
like two dogs in a fight. "Now stop this!" he roared, holding them both
at arm's length. "I said _stop it_! Jack didn't do anything to Fuzzy,
he's been sitting here with me ever since you went back to the cubicle.
He hasn't even budged."
"But he's _gone_," Dal panted. "Something's happened to him. I _know_
it."
"How do you know?"
"I--I just know. I can feel it."
"All right, then let's find him," Tiger said. "He's got to be somewhere
on the ship. If he's in trouble, we're wasting time fighting."
Tiger let go, and Jack brushed off his shirt, his face very white. "I
saw him just a little while ago," he said. "He was sitting up on that
silly perch watching us, and then swinging back and forth and swinging
over to that cabinet and back."
"Well, let's get started looking," Tiger said.
They fanned out, with Jack still muttering to himself, and searched the
control room inch by inch. There was no sign of Fuzzy. Dal had control
of himself now, but he searched with a frantic intensity. "He's not in
here," he said at last, "he must have gone out somewhere."
"There was only one door open," Tiger said. "The one you just came
through, from the rear corridor. Dal, you search the computer room.
Jack, check the lab and I'll go back to the reactors."
They started searching the compartments off the rear corridor. For ten
minutes there was no sound in the ship but the occasional slamming of a
hatch, the grate of a desk drawer, the bang of a cabinet door. Dal
worked through the maze of cubby-holes in the computer room with growing
hopelessness. The frightening sense of loneliness and loss in his mind
was overwhelming; he was almost physically ill. The warm, comfortable
feeling of _contact_ that he had always had before with Fuzzy was gone.
As the minutes passed, hopelessness gave way to despair.
Then Jack gave a hoarse cry from the lab. Dal tripped and stumbled in
his haste to get down the corridor, and almost collided with Tiger at
the lab door.
"I think we're too late," Jack said. "He's gotten into the formalin."
He lifted one of the glass beakers down from the shelf to the work
bench. It was obvious what had happened. Fuzzy had gone exploring and
had found the laboratory a fascinating place. Several of the reagents
bottles had been knocked over as if he had been sampling them. The glass
lid to the beaker of formalin which was kept for tissue specimens had
been pushed aside just enough to admit the little creature's two-inch
girth. Now Fuzzy lay in the bottom of the beaker, immersed in formalin,
a formless, shapeless blob of sickly gray jelly.
"Are you sure it's formalin?" Dal asked.
Jack poured off the fluid, and the acrid smell of formaldehyde that
filled the room answered the question. "It's no good, Dal," he said,
almost gently. "The stuff destroys protein, and that's about all he was.
I'm sorry--I was beginning to like the little punk, even if he did get
on my nerves. But he picked the one thing to fall into that could kill
him. Unless he had some way to set up a protective barrier...."
Dal took the beaker. "Get me some saline," he said tightly. "And some
nutrient broth."
Jack pulled out two jugs and poured their contents into an empty beaker.
Dal popped the tiny limp form into the beaker and began massaging it.
Layers of damaged tissue peeled off in his hand, but he continued
massaging and changing the solutions, first saline, then nutrient broth.
"Get me some sponges and a blade."
Tiger brought them in. Carefully Dal began debriding the damaged outer
layers. Jack and Tiger watched; then Jack said, "Look, there's a tinge
of pink in the middle."
Slowly the faint pink in the center grew more ruddy. Dal changed
solutions again, and sank down on a stool. "I think he'll make it," he
said. "He has enormous regenerative powers as long as any fragment of
him is left." He looked up at Jack who was still watching the creature
in the beaker almost solicitously. "I guess I made a fool of myself back
there when I jumped you."
Jack's face hardened, as though he had been caught off guard. "I guess
you did, all right."
"Well, I'm sorry. I just couldn't think straight. It was the first time
I'd ever been--apart from him."
"I still say he doesn't belong aboard," Jack said. "This is a medical
ship, not a menagerie. And if you ever lay your hands on me again,
you'll wish you hadn't."
"I said I was sorry," Dal said.
"I heard you," Jack said. "I just don't believe you, that's all."
He gave Fuzzy a final glance, and then headed back to the control room.
* * * * *
Fuzzy recovered, a much abashed and subdued Fuzzy, clinging timorously
to Dal's shoulder and refusing to budge for three days, but apparently
basically unharmed by his inadvertent swim in the deadly formalin bath.
Presently he seemed to forget the experience altogether, and once again
took his perch on the platform in the control room.
But Dal did not forget. He said little to Tiger and Jack, but the
incident had shaken him severely. For as long as he could remember, he
had always had Fuzzy close at hand. He had never before in his life
experienced the dreadful feeling of emptiness and desertion, the almost
paralyzing fear and helplessness that he had felt when Fuzzy had lost
contact with him. It had seemed as though a vital part of him had
suddenly been torn away, and the memory of the panic that followed sent
chills down his back and woke him up trembling from his sleep. He was
ashamed of his unwarranted attack on Jack, yet even this seemed
insignificant in comparison to the powerful fear that had been driving
him.
Happily, the Blue Doctor chose to let the matter rest where it was, and
if anything, seemed more willing than before to be friendly. For the
first time he seemed to take an active interest in Fuzzy, "chatting"
with him when he thought no one was around, and bringing him occasional
tid-bits of food after meals were over.
Once more life on the _Lancet_ settled back to routine, only to have it
shattered by an incident of quite a different nature. It was just after
they had left a small planet in the Procyon system, one of the routine
check-in points, that they made contact with the Garvian trading ship.
Dal recognized the ship's design and insignia even before the signals
came in, and could hardly contain his excitement. He had not seen a
fellow countryman for years except for an occasional dull luncheon with
the Garvian ambassador to Hospital Earth during medical school days. The
thought of walking the corridors of a Garvian trading ship again brought
an overwhelming wave of homesickness. He was so excited he could hardly
wait for Jack to complete the radio-sighting formalities. "What ship is
she?" he wanted to know. "What house?"
Jack handed him the message transcript. "The ship is the _Teegar_," he
said. "Flagship of the SinSin trading fleet. They want permission to
approach us."
Dal let out a whoop. "Then it's a space trader, and a big one. You've
never seen ships like these before."
Tiger joined them, staring at the message transcript. "A SinSin ship!
Send them the word, Jack, and be quick, before they get disgusted and
move on."
Jack sent out the approach authorization, and they watched with growing
excitement as the great trading vessel began its close-approach
maneuvers.
The name of the house of SinSin was famous throughout the galaxy. It was
one of the oldest and largest of the great trading firms that had built
Garv II into its position of leadership in the Confederation, and the
SinSin ships had penetrated to every corner of the galaxy, to every
known planet harboring an intelligent life-form.
Tiger and Jack had seen the multitudes of exotic products in the
Hospital Earth stores that came from the great Garvian ships on their
frequent visits. But this was more than a planetary trader loaded with a
few items for a single planet. The space traders roamed from star system
to star system, their holds filled with treasures beyond number. Such
ships as these might be out from Garv II for decades at a time,
tempting any ship they met with the magnificent variety of wares they
carried.
Slowly the trader approached, and Dal took the speaker, addressing the
commander of the _Teegar_ in Garvian. "This is the General Practice
Patrol Ship _Lancet_," he said, "out from Hospital Earth with three
physicians aboard, including a countryman of yours."
"Is that Dal Timgar?" the reply came back. "By the Seven Moons! We'd
heard that there was now a Garvian physician, and couldn't believe our
ears. Come aboard, all of you, you'll be welcome. We'll send over a
lifeboat!"
The _Teegar_ was near now, a great gleaming ship with the sign of the
house of SinSin on her hull. A lifeboat sprang from a launching rack and
speared across to the _Lancet_. Moments later the three doctors were
climbing into the sleek little vessel and moving across the void of
space to the huge Garvian ship.
It was like stepping from a jungle outpost village into a magnificent,
glittering city. The Garvian ship was enormous; she carried a crew of
several hundred, and the wealth and luxury of the ship took the
Earthmen's breath away. The cabins and lounges were paneled with
expensive fabrics and rare woods, the furniture inlaid with precious
metals. Down the long corridors goods of the traders were laid out in
resplendent display, surpassing the richest show cases in the shops on
Hospital Earth.
They received a royal welcome from the commander of the _Teegar_, an
aged, smiling little Garvian with a pink fuzz-ball on his shoulder that
could have been Fuzzy's twin. He bowed low to Tiger and Jack, leading
them into the reception lounge where a great table was spread with foods
and pastries of all varieties. Then he turned to Dal and embraced him
like a long-lost brother. "Your father Jai Timgar has long been an
honored friend of the house of SinSin, and anyone of the house of Timgar
is the same as my own son and my son's son! But this collar! This cuff!
Is it really possible that a man of Garv has become a physician of
Hospital Earth?"
Dal touched Fuzzy to the commander's fuzz-ball in the ancient Garvian
greeting. "It's possible, and true," he said. "I studied there. I am the
Red Doctor on this patrol ship."
"Ah, but this is good," the commander said. "What better way to draw our
worlds together, eh? But come, you must look and see what we have in our
storerooms, feast your eyes on the splendors we carry. For all of you, a
thousand wonders are to be found here."
Jack hesitated as the commander led them back toward the display
corridors. "We'd be glad to see the ship, but you should know that
patrol ship physicians have little money to spend."
"Who speaks of money?" the commander cried. "Did I speak of it? Come and
look! Money is nothing. The Garvian traders are not mere money-changers.
Look and enjoy; if there is something that strikes your eye, something
that would fulfill the desires of your heart, it will be yours." He gave
Dal a smile and a sly wink. "Surely our brother here has told you many
times of the wonders to be seen in a space trader, and terms can be
arranged that will make any small purchase a painless pleasure."
He led them off, like a head of state conducting visiting dignitaries on
a tour, with a retinue of Garvian underlings trailing behind them. For
two delirious hours they wandered the corridors of the great ship,
staring hungrily at the dazzling displays. They had been away from
Hospital Earth and its shops and stores for months; now it seemed they
were walking through an incredible treasure-trove stocked with
everything that they could possibly have wanted.
For Jack there was a dress uniform, specially tailored for a physician
in the Blue Service of Diagnosis, the insignia woven into the cloth with
gold and platinum thread. Reluctantly he turned away from it, a luxury
he could never dream of affording. For Tiger, who had been muttering for
weeks about getting out of condition in the sedentary life of the ship,
there was a set of bar bells and gymnasium equipment ingeniously
designed to collapse into a unit no larger than one foot square, yet
opening out into a completely equipped gym. Dal's eyes glittered at the
new sets of surgical instruments, designed to the most rigid Hospital
Earth specifications, which appeared almost without his asking to see
them. There were clothes and games, precious stones and exotic rings,
watches set with Arcturian dream-stones, and boots inlaid with silver.
They made their way through the corridors, reluctant to leave one
display for the next. Whenever something caught their eyes, the
commander snapped his fingers excitedly, and the item was unobtrusively
noted down by one of the underlings. Finally, exhausted and glutted just
from looking, they turned back toward the reception room.
"The things are beautiful," Tiger said wistfully, "but impossible.
Still, you were very kind to take your time--"
"Time? I have nothing but time." The commander smiled again at Dal. "And
there is an old Garvian proverb that to the wise man 'impossible' has no
meaning. Wait, you will see!"
They came out into the lounge, and the doctors stopped short in
amazement. Spread out before them were all of the items that had
captured their interest earlier.
"But this is ridiculous," Jack said staring at the dress uniform. "We
couldn't possibly buy these things, it would take our salaries for
twenty years to pay for them."
"Have we mentioned price even once?" the commander protested. "You are
the crewmates of one of our own people! We would not dream of setting
prices that we would normally set for such trifles as these. And as for
terms, you have no worry. Take the goods aboard your ship, they are
already yours. We have drawn up contracts for you which require no
payment whatever for five years, and then payments of only a fiftieth of
the value for each successive year. And for each of you, with the
compliments of the house of SinSin, a special gift at no charge
whatever."
He placed in Jack's hands a small box with the lid tipped back. Against
a black velvet lining lay a silver star, and the official insignia of a
Star Physician in the Blue Service. "You cannot wear it yet, of course,"
the commander said. "But one day you will need it."
Jack blinked at the jewel-like star. "You are very kind," he said. "I--I
mean perhaps--" He looked at Tiger, and then at the display of goods on
the table. "Perhaps there are _some_ things--"
Already two of the Garvian crewmen were opening the lock to the
lifeboat, preparing to move the goods aboard. Then Dal Timgar spoke up
sharply. "I think you'd better wait a moment," he said.
"And for you," the commander continued, turning to Dal so smoothly that
there seemed no break in his voice at all, "as one of our own people,
and an honored son of Jai Timgar, who has been kind to the house of
SinSin for many years, I have something out of the ordinary. I'm sure
your crewmates would not object to a special gift at my personal
expense."
The commander lifted a scarf from the table and revealed the glittering
set of surgical instruments, neatly displayed in a velvet-lined carrying
case. The commander took it up from the table and thrust it into Dal's
hands. "It is yours, my friend. And for this, there will be no contract
whatever."
Dal stared down at the instruments. They were beautiful. He longed just
to touch them, to hold them in his hands, but he shook his head and set
the case back on the table. He looked up at Tiger and Jack. "You should
be warned that the prices on these goods are four times what they ought
to be, and the deferred-payment contracts he wants you to sign will
permit as much as 24 per cent interest on the unpaid balance, with no
closing-out clause. That means you would be paying many times the stated
price for the goods before the contract is closed. You can go ahead and
sign if you want but understand what you're signing."
The Garvian commander stared at him, and then shook his head, laughing.
"Of course your friend is not serious," he said. "These prices can be
compared on any planet and you will see their fairness. Here, read the
contracts, see what they say and decide for yourselves." He held out a
sheaf of papers.
"The contracts may sound well enough," Dal said, "but I'm telling you
what they actually say."
Jack looked stricken. "But surely just one or two things--"
Tiger shook his head. "Dal knows what he's talking about. I don't think
we'd better buy anything at all."
The Garvian commander turned to Dal angrily. "What are you telling them?
There is nothing false in these contracts!"
"I didn't say there was. I just can't see them taking a beating with
their eyes shut, that's all. Your contracts are legal enough, but the
prices and terms are piracy, and you know it."
The commander glared at him for a moment. Then he turned away
scornfully. "So what I have heard is true, after all," he said. "You
really have thrown in your lot with these pill-peddlers, these idiots
from Earth who can't even wipe their noses without losing in a trade."
He signaled the lifeboat pilot. "Take them back to their ship, we're
wasting our time. There are better things to do than to deal with
traitors."
The trip back to the _Lancet_ was made in silence. Dal could sense the
pilot's scorn as he dumped them off in their entrance lock, and dashed
back to the _Teegar_ with the lifeboat. Gloomily Jack and Tiger followed
Dal into the control room, a drab little cubby-hole compared to the
_Teegar_'s lounge.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted," Jack said finally, looking up at
Dal. "But the way that guy slammed you, I wish we'd never gone."
"I know," Dal said. "The commander just thought he saw a perfect setup.
He figured you'd never question the contracts if I backed him up."
"It would have been easy enough. Why didn't you?"
Dal looked at the Blue Doctor. "Maybe I just don't like people who give
away surgical sets," he said. "Remember, I'm not a Garvian trader any
more. I'm a doctor from Hospital Earth."
Moments later, the great Garvian ship was gone, and the red light was
blinking on the call board. Tiger started tracking down the call while
Jack went back to work on the daily log book and Dal set up food for
dinner. The pleasant dreams were over; they were back in the harness of
patrol ship doctors once again.
Jack and Dal were finishing dinner when Tiger came back with a puzzled
frown on his face. "Finally traced that call. At least I think I did.
Anybody ever hear of a star called 31 Brucker?"
"Brucker?" Jack said. "It isn't on the list of contracts. What's the
trouble?"
"I'm not sure," Tiger said. "I'm not even certain if it's a call or not.
Come on up front and see what you think."