The doctor's eyes went around the four of them. "You've done what you
were driving at there at that meeting in Timbuktu. You're trying to
unite these people in spite of themselves and then drag them,
willy-nilly, into the twentieth century."
Homer still nodded.
Smythe shook an indignant finger at him. "I told you then, Crawford,
and I tell you now. These natives are not suited for such sudden
change. Already they are subject to mass neurosis because they cannot
adjust to a world that changes too quickly."
"I wonder if that doesn't apply to the rest of us as well," Cliff said
unhappily. "But the changes go on, if we like them or not. Can you
think of any way to turn them off?"
The doctor snorted.
Homer Crawford said, "Dr. Smythe, the die is already cast. The
question now becomes, will you join us?"
"Join you! Certainly not!"
Crawford said evenly, "Then I might suggest that, first, you will not
be allowed to operate in my territory." He considered for a moment,
grinning inwardly, but on the surface his expression serene. He added,
"And second, that you will probably have difficulties procuring an
exit visa from my domains."
"Exit visa! Are you jesting? See here, my good man, you realize I am a
citizen of the United States of the Americas and--"
"A country," Homer yawned, "with which I have not as yet opened
diplomatic relations, and hence has little representation in North
Africa."
The doctor was bug-eying him. He began sputtering again. "This isn't
funny. You're an American citizen yourself. And you, Miss Cunningham
and--"
Isobel said sadly, "As a matter of fact, the last we heard, the State
Department representative told us our passports were invalid."
Crawford leaned forward. "Look here, Doctor. You don't see eye to eye
with us on matters socio-economic. However, as a medical man, I submit
that joining my group ... ah, that is, until you can secure an exit
visa from my authorities ... will give you an excellent opportunity to
practice your science here in the Sahara under the wing of El Hassan.
I'll assign a place for your trucks and tents. Please consider the
question and let me have your answer at your leisure. Meanwhile, we
will prepare a desert feast suitable to the high esteem in which we
hold you."
* * * * *
They looked after the doctor, as he left, and Moroka chuckled.
However, Isobel was watching Homer Crawford quizzically.
She said finally, "We rode over him a little in the roughshod manner,
didn't we?"
Homer Crawford growled uncomfortably, "Particularly when we finally
have our showdown with the Arab Legion, a medic will be priceless."