Life on other planets -- Fiction; Quarantine -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space medicine -- Fiction
He took his own temperature. He brought out the folios which were his
orders, covering each of the planets he should give a standard Medical
Service inspection. Weald was there. Dara wasn't. But a Med Service man
has much freedom of action, even when only keeping up the routine of
normal Med Service. When catching up on badly neglected operations, he
necessarily has much more. Calhoun went over the folios.
Two hours later he took his temperature again. He looked pleased. He
made an entry in the ship's log. Two hours later yet he found himself
drinking thirstily and looked more pleased still. He made another entry
in the log and matter-of-factly drew a small quantity of blood from his
own vein and called to Murgatroyd. Murgatroyd submitted amiably to the
very trivial operation Calhoun carried out. Calhoun put away the
equipment and saw Maril staring at him with a certain look of shock.
"It doesn't hurt him," Calhoun explained. "Right after he's born there's
a tiny spot on his flank that has the pain-nerves desensitized.
Murgatroyd's all right. That's what he's for!"
"But he's--your friend!"
"He's my assistant. I don't ask anything of him that I can do myself.
But we're both Med Service. And I do things for him that he can't do for
himself. For example, I make coffee for him."
Murgatroyd heard the familiar word. He said;
"_Chee!_"
"Very well," agreed Calhoun. "We'll all have some."
He made coffee. Murgatroyd sipped at the cup especially made for his
little paws. Once he scratched at the place on his flank which had no
pain-nerves. It itched. But he was perfectly content. Murgatroyd would
always be contented when he was somewhere near Calhoun.
Another hour went by. Murgatroyd climbed up into Calhoun's lap and with
a determined air went to sleep there. Calhoun disturbed him long enough
to get an instrument out of his pocket. He listened to Murgatroyd's
heartbeat with it while Murgatroyd dozed.
"Maril," he said. "Write down something for me. The time, and
ninety-six, and one-twenty over ninety-four."
She obeyed, not comprehending. Half an hour later--still not stirring to
disturb Murgatroyd--he had her write down another time and sequence of
figures, only slightly different from the first. Half an hour later
still, a third set. But then he put Murgatroyd down, well satisfied.
He took his own temperature. He nodded.
"Murgatroyd and I have one more chore to do," he told her. "Would you go
in the other cabin for a moment?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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