Alan E. Nourse Super Pack. Alan E. Nourse

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      “I never said otherwise.”

      “And yet you deny the ancient tradition that a physician’s duty is to help his patients help themselves,” Black Doctor Arnquist said.

      “I said no such thing!” Hugo Tanner cried, jumping to his feet. “But we must protect ourselves. We have no other power, nothing else to sell.”

      “And I say that if we must sell our medical skill for our own benefit first, then we are not worthy to be physicians to anyone,” Doctor Arnquist snapped. “You make a very convincing case, but if we examine it closely, we see that it amounts to nothing but fear and selfishness.”

      “Fear?” Doctor Tanner cried. “What do we have to fear if we can maintain our position? But if we must yield to a Garvian who has no business in medicine in the first place, what can we have left but fear?”

      “If I were really convinced that Earthmen were the best physicians in the galaxy,” Black Doctor Arnquist replied, “I don’t think I’d have to be afraid.”

      The Black Doctor at the end of the table stood up, shaking with rage. “Listen to him!” he cried to the others. “Once again he is defending this creature and turning his back on common sense. All I ask is that we keep our skills among our own people and avoid the contamination that will surely result—”

      Doctor Tanner broke off, his face suddenly white. He coughed, clutching at his chest, and sank down groping for his medicine box and the water glass. After a moment he caught his breath and shook his head. “There’s nothing more I can say,” he said weakly. “I have done what I could, and the decision is up to the rest of you.” He coughed again, and slowly the color came back into his face. The Blue Doctor had risen to help him, but Tanner waved him aside. “No, no, it’s nothing. I allowed myself to become angry.”

      Black Doctor Arnquist spread his hands. “Under the circumstances, I won’t belabor the point,” he said, “although I think it would be good if Doctor Tanner would pause in his activities long enough for the surgery that would make his anger less dangerous to his own life. But he represents a view, and his right to state it is beyond reproach.” Doctor Arnquist looked from face to face along the council table. “The decision is yours, gentlemen, I would ask only that you consider what our highest calling as physicians really is—a duty that overrides fear and selfishness. I believe Dal Timgar would be a good physician, and that this is more important than the planet of his origin. I think he would uphold the honor of Hospital Earth wherever he went, and give us his loyalty as well as his service. I will vote to accept his application, and thus cancel out my colleague’s negative vote. The deciding votes will be cast by the rest of you.”

      He sat down, and the White Doctor looked at Dal Timgar. “It would be good if you would wait outside,” he said. “We will call you as soon as a decision is reached.”

      *

      Dal waited in an anteroom, feeding Fuzzy and trying to put out of his mind for a moment the heated argument still raging in the council chamber. Fuzzy was quivering with fright; unable to speak, the tiny creature nevertheless clearly experienced emotions, even though Dal himself did not know how he received impressions, nor why.

      But Dal knew that there was a connection between the tiny pink creature’s emotions and the peculiar talent that Black Doctor Arnquist had spoken of the night before. It was not a telepathic power that Dal and his people possessed. Just what it was, was difficult to define, yet Dal knew that every Garvian depended upon it to some extent in dealing with people around him. He knew that when Fuzzy was sitting on his arm he could sense the emotions of those around him—the anger, the fear, the happiness, the suspicion—and he knew that under certain circumstances, in a way he did not clearly understand, he could wilfully change the feelings of others toward himself. Not a great deal, perhaps, nor in any specific way, but just enough to make them look upon him and his wishes more favorably than they otherwise might.

      Throughout his years on Hospital Earth he had vigilantly avoided using this strange talent. Already he was different enough from Earthmen in appearance, in ways of thinking, in likes and dislikes. But these differences were not advantages, and he had realized that if his classmates had ever dreamed of the advantage that he had, minor as it was, his hopes of becoming a physician would have been destroyed completely.

      And in the council room he had kept his word to Doctor Arnquist. He had felt Fuzzy quivering on his shoulder; he had sensed the bitter anger in Black Doctor Tanner’s mind, and the temptation deliberately to mellow that anger had been almost overwhelming, but he had turned it aside. He had answered questions that were asked him, and listened to the debate with a growing sense of hopelessness.

      And now the chance was gone. The decision was being made.

      He paced the floor, trying to remember the expressions of the other doctors, trying to remember what had been said, how many had seemed friendly and how many hostile, but he knew that only intensified the torture. There was nothing he could do now but wait.

      At last the door opened, and an orderly nodded to him. Dal felt his legs tremble as he walked into the room and faced the semi-circle of doctors. He tried to read the answer on their faces, but even Black Doctor Arnquist sat impassively, doodling on the pad before him, refusing to meet Dal’s eyes.

      The White Doctor took up a sheet of paper. “We have considered your application, and have reached a decision. You will be happy to know that your application for assignment has been tentatively accepted.”

      Dal heard the words, and it seemed as though the room were spinning around him. He wanted to shout for joy and throw his arms around Black Doctor Arnquist, but he stood perfectly still, and suddenly he noticed that Fuzzy was very quiet on his shoulder.

      “You will understand that this acceptance is not irrevocable,” the White Doctor went on. “We are not willing to guarantee your ultimate acceptance as a fully qualified Star Surgeon at this point. You will be allowed to wear a collar and cuff, uniform and insignia of a probationary physician, in the Red Service, and will be assigned aboard the General Practice Patrol ship Lancet, leaving from Hospital Seattle next Tuesday. If you prove your ability in that post, your performance will once again be reviewed by this board, but you alone will determine our decision then. Your final acceptance as a Star Surgeon will depend entirely upon your conduct as a member of the patrol ship’s crew.” He smiled at Dal, and set the paper down. “The council wishes you well. Do you have any questions?”

      “Just one,” Dal managed to say. “Who will my crewmates be?”

      “As is customary, a probationer from the Green Service of Medicine and one from the Blue Service of Diagnosis. Both have been specially selected by this council. Your Blue Doctor will be Jack Alvarez, who has shown great promise in his training in diagnostic medicine.”

      “And the Green Doctor?”

      “A young man named Frank Martin,” the White Doctor said. “Known to his friends, I believe, as ‘Tiger.’”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ