Chapter 4: The Galactic Pill Peddlers

The ship stood tall and straight on her launching pad, with the afternoon sunlight glinting on her hull. Half a dozen crews of check-out men were swarming about her, inspecting her engine and fuel supplies, riding up the gantry crane to her entrance lock, and guiding the great cargo nets from the loading crane into her afterhold. High up on her hull Dal Timgar could see a golden caduceus emblazoned, the symbol of the General Practice Patrol, and beneath it the ship’s official name:

GPPS 238

LANCET

Dal shifted his day pack down from his shoulders, ridiculously pleased with the gleaming scarlet braid on the collar and cuff of his uniform, and lifted Fuzzy up on his shoulder to see. It seemed to Dal that everyone he had passed in the terminal had been looking at the colorful insignia; it was all he could do to keep from holding his arm up and waving it like a banner.

“You’ll get used to it,” Tiger Martin chuckled as they waited for the jitney to take them across to the launching pad. “At first you think everybody is impressed by the colors, until you see some guy go past with the braid all faded and frazzled at the edges, and then you realize that you’re just the latest greenhorn in a squad of two hundred thousand men.”

“It’s still good to be wearing it,” Dal said. “I couldn’t really believe it until Black Doctor Arnquist turned the collar and cuff over to me.” He looked suspiciously at Tiger. “You must have known a lot more about that interview than you let on. Or, was it just coincidence that we were assigned together?”

“Not coincidence, exactly.” Tiger grinned. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. I’d requested assignment with you on my application, and then when yours was held up, Doctor Arnquist asked me if I’d be willing to wait for assignment until the interview was over. So I said okay. He seemed to think you had a pretty good chance.”

“I’d never have made it without his backing,” Dal said.

“Well, anyway, he figured that if you were assigned, it would be a good idea to have a friend on the patrol ship team.”

“I won’t argue about that,” Dal said. “But who is the Blue Service man?”

Tiger’s face darkened. “I don’t know much about him,” he said. “He trained in California, and I met him just once, at a diagnosis and therapy conference. He’s supposed to be plenty smart, according to the grapevine. I guess he’d have to be, to pass Diagnostic Service finals.” Tiger chuckled. “Any dope can make it in the Medical or Surgical Services, but diagnosis is something else again.”

“Will he be in command?”

“On the Lancet? Why should he? We’ll share command, just like any patrol ship crew. If we run into problems we can’t agree on, we holler for help. But if he acts like most of the Blue Doctors I know, he’ll think he’s in command.”

A jitney stopped for them, and then zoomed out across the field toward the ship. The gantry platform was just clanging to the ground, unloading three technicians and a Four-bar Electronics Engineer. Tiger and Dal rode the platform up again and moments later stepped through the entrance lock of the ship that would be their home base for months and perhaps years.

They found the bunk room to the rear of the control and lab sections. A duffel bag was already lodged on one of the bunks; one of the foot lockers was already occupied, and a small but expensive camera and a huge pair of field glasses were hanging from one of the wall brackets.

“Looks like our man has already arrived,” Tiger said, tossing down his own duffel bag and looking around the cramped quarters. “Not exactly a luxury suite, I’d say. Wonder where he is?”

“Let’s look up forward,” Dal said. “We’ve plenty to do before we take off. Maybe he’s just getting an early start.”

They explored the ship, working their way up the central corridor past the communications and computer rooms and the laboratory into the main control and observation room. Here they found a thin, dark-haired young man in a bright blue collar and cuff, sitting engrossed with a tape-reader.

For a moment they thought he hadn’t heard them. Then, as though reluctant to tear himself away, the Blue Doctor sighed, snapped off the reader, and turned on the swivel stool.

“So!” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get here.”

“We ran into some delays,” Tiger said. He grinned and held out his hand. “Jack Alvarez? Tiger Martin. We met each other at that conference in Chicago last year.”

“Yes, I remember,” the Blue Doctor said. “You found some holes in a paper I gave. Matter of fact, I’ve plugged them up very nicely since then. You’d have trouble finding fault with the work now.” Jack Alvarez turned his eyes to Dal. “And I suppose this is the Garvian I’ve been hearing about, complete with his little pink stooge.”

The moment they had walked in the door, Dal had felt Fuzzy crouch down tight against his shoulder. Now a wave of hostility struck his mind like a shower of ice water. He had never seen this thin, dark-haired youth before, or even heard of him, but he recognized this sharp impression of hatred and anger unmistakably. He had felt it a thousand times among his medical school classmates during the past eight years, and just hours before he had felt it in the council room when Black Doctor Tanner had turned on him.

“It’s really a lucky break that we have Dal for a Red Doctor,” Tiger said. “We almost didn’t get him.”

“Yes, I heard all about how lucky we are,” Jack Alvarez said sourly. He looked Dal over from the gray fur on the top of his head to the spindly legs in the ill-fitting trousers. Then the Blue Doctor shrugged in disgust and turned back to the tape-reader. “A Garvian and his Fuzzy!” he muttered. “Let’s hope one or the other knows something about surgery.”

“I think we’ll do all right,” Dal said slowly.

“I think you’d better,” Jack Alvarez replied.

Dal and Tiger looked at each other, and Tiger shrugged. “It’s all right,” he said. “We know our jobs, and we’ll manage.”

Dal nodded, and started back for the bunk room. No doubt, he thought, they would manage.

But if he had thought before that the assignment on the Lancet was going to be easy, he knew now that he was wrong.

Tiger Martin may have been Doctor Arnquist’s selection as a crewmate for him, but there was no question in his mind that the Blue Doctor on the Lancet‘s crew was Black Doctor Hugo Tanner’s choice.

The first meeting with Jack Alvarez hardly seemed promising to either Dal or Tiger, but if there was trouble coming, it was postponed for the moment by common consent. In the few days before blast-off there was no time for conflict, or even for much talk. Each of the three crewmen had two full weeks of work to accomplish in two days; each knew his job and buried himself in it with a will.

The ship’s medical and surgical supplies had to be inventoried, and missing or required supplies ordered up. New supplies coming in had to be checked, tested, and stored in the ship’s limited hold space. It was like preparing for an extended pack trip into wilderness country; once the Lancet left its home base on Hospital Earth it was a world to itself, equipped to support its physician-crew and provide the necessary equipment and data they would need to deal with the problems they would face. Like all patrol ships, the Lancet was equipped with automatic launching, navigation and drive mechanisms; no crew other than the three doctors was required, and in the event of mechanical failures, maintenance ships were on continual call.

The ship was responsible for patrolling an enormous area, including hundreds of stars and their planetary systems--yet its territory was only a tiny segment of the galaxy. Landings were to be made at various specified planets maintaining permanent clinic outposts of Hospital Earth; certain staple supplies were carried for each of these check points. Aside from these lonely clinic contacts, the nearest port of call for the Lancet was one of the hospital ships that continuously worked slow orbits through the star systems of the confederation.

But a hospital ship, with its staff of Two-star and Three-star Physicians, was not to be called except in cases of extreme need. The probationers on the patrol ships were expected to be self-sufficient. Their job was to handle diagnosis and care of all but the most difficult problems that arose in their travels. They were the first to answer the medical calls from any planet with a medical service contract with Hospital Earth.

It was an enormous responsibility for doctors-in-training to assume, but over the years it had proven the best way to train and weed out new doctors for the greater responsibilities of hospital ship and Hospital Earth assignments. There was no set period of duty on the patrol ships; how long a young doctor remained in the General Practice Patrol depended to a large extent upon how well he handled the problems and responsibilities that faced him; and since the first years of Hospital Earth, the fledgling doctors in the General Practice Patrol--the self-styled “Galactic Pill Peddlers”--had lived up to their responsibilities. The reputation of Hospital Earth rested on their shoulders, and they never forgot it.

As he worked on his inventories, Dal Timgar thought of Doctor Arnquist’s words to him after the council had handed down its decision. “Remember that judgment and skill are two different things,” he had said. “Without skill in the basic principles of diagnosis and treatment, medical judgment isn’t much help, but skill without the judgment to know how and when to use it can be downright dangerous. You’ll be judged both on the judgment you use in deciding the right thing to do, and on the skill you use in doing it.” He had given Dal the box with the coveted collar and cuff. “The colors are pretty, but never forget what they stand for. Until you can convince the council that you have both the skill and the judgment of a good physician, you will never get your Star. And you will be watched closely; Black Doctor Tanner and certain others will be waiting for the slightest excuse to recall you from the Lancet. If you give them the opportunity, nothing I can do will stop it.”

And now, as they worked to prepare the ship for service, Dal was determined that the opportunity would not arise. When he was not working in the storerooms, he was in the computer room, reviewing the thousands of tapes that carried the basic information about the contract planets where they would be visiting, and the races that inhabited them. If errors and fumbles and mistakes were made by the crew of the Lancet, he thought grimly, it would not be Dal Timgar who made them.

The first night they met in the control room to divide the many extracurricular jobs involved in maintaining a patrol ship.

Tiger’s interest in electronics and communications made him the best man to handle the radio; he accepted the post without comment. “Jack, you should be in charge of the computer,” he said, “because you’ll be the one who’ll need the information first. The lab is probably your field too. Dal can be responsible for stores and supplies as well as his own surgical instruments.”

Jack shrugged. “I’d just as soon handle supplies, too,” he said.

“Well, there’s no need to overload one man,” Tiger said.

“I wouldn’t mind that. But when there’s something I need, I want to be sure it’s going to be there without any goof-ups,” Jack said.

“I can handle it all right,” Dal said.

Jack just scowled. “What about the contact man when we make landings?” he asked Tiger.

“Seems to me Dal would be the one for that, too,” Tiger said. “His people are traders and bargainers; right, Dal? And first contact with the people on unfamiliar planets can be important.”

“It sure can,” Jack said. “Too important to take chances with. Look, this is a ship from Hospital Earth. When somebody calls for help, they expect to see an Earthman turn up in response. What are they going to think when a patrol ship lands and he walks out?”

Tiger’s face darkened. “They’ll be able to see his collar and cuff, won’t they?”

“Maybe. But they may wonder what he’s doing wearing them.”

“Well, they’ll just have to learn,” Tiger snapped. “And you’ll have to learn, too, I guess.”

Dal had been sitting silently. Now he shook his head. “I think Jack is right on this one,” he said. “It would be better for one of you to be contact man.”

“Why?” Tiger said angrily. “You’re as much of a doctor from Hospital Earth as we are, and the sooner we get your position here straight, the better. We aren’t going to have any ugly ducklings on this ship, and we aren’t going to hide you in the hold every time we land on a planet. If we want to make anything but a mess of this cruise, we’ve got to work as a team, and that means everybody shares the important jobs.”

“That’s fine,” Dal said, “but I still think Jack is right on this point. If we are walking into a medical problem on a planet where the patrol isn’t too well known, the contact man by rights ought to be an Earthman.”

Tiger started to say something, and then spread his hands helplessly. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re satisfied with it, let’s get on to these other things.” But obviously he wasn’t satisfied, and when Jack disappeared toward the storeroom, Tiger turned to Dal. “You shouldn’t have given in,” he said. “If you give that guy as much as an inch, you’re just asking for trouble.”

“It isn’t a matter of giving in,” Dal insisted. “I think he was right, that’s all. Don’t let’s start a fight where we don’t have to.”