Anthony, Piers Prostho Plus()

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"Wasn't fake. You are correct. I nursed that cavity for three months, using it to check out prospects. It is
a very good thing I won't need it any more, because you spoiled it utterly."
"I "
"You did such a competent job that I should have to have a new cavity cultured for my purpose. No
experienced practitioner would mistake it now for a long-neglected case even if I yanked out the gold
and re-impacted the cavity. That, Doctor, is the skill that impresses me the skill that remains after the
machinery has been incapacitated. Good intentions mean nothing unless backed by authoritative
discretion and ability. You were very slow, but you handled that deliberately obstructive patient very
well. Had it been otherwise "
"But why me? You could have selected anyone "
Oyster put a friendly smile into his voice. "Hardly, Doctor. I visited eleven dormitories that evening
before I came to yours with no success. All contained prospects whose record and fieldwork showed
that particular potential. You selected yourself from this number and carried it through honourably.
More correctly, you presented yourself as a candidate for the office; we took it from there."
"You certainly did!"
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"Portions of your prior record were hard to believe, I admit. It was incredible that a person who had as
little galactic background as you did should accomplish so much. But now we are satisfied that you do
have the touch, the ability to do the right thing in an awkward or unfamiliar situation. That, too, is
essential for the position."
Dillingham fastened on one incongruity. "I I selected myself?"
"Yes, Doctor. When you demonstrated your priorities."
"My priorities? I don't "
"When you sacrificed invaluable study time to offer assistance to a creature you believed was in pain."
Her heart sank when she saw Ra. There was no green on the surface of the planet; the entire landscape
seemed to consist of tailings from the mines, mounded into mountains and eroded into valleys.
Radium mines she had realized the significance of that too late. They were notorious throughout the
galaxy for the effect they had on living creatures. The local ore, called pitch-car, was extraordinarily
rich; thus it required only fifty tons of the stuff to produce a full ounce of radium. The non-commercial
byproducts such as uranium were discarded wherever convenient. There was no trash collection here.
If Dr. Dillingham had come to this planet...
The ship landed ungently. The front port burst open, admitting a foul cloud of native smog, and several
troll-like tripeds stomped in. One spoke, his voice like dry bones being run through an un-oiled grinder.
"Slaves of Ra," the central translator rasped, the words muffled by the babble of other renditions for the
dubious benefit of a score of miserable species. "Co-operate, and you may survive for years. Malinger,
and you will receive inclement assignments. Any questions?"
Judy felt sorry for the prisoners, but knew there was nothing at all she could do for them now.
"Sir," a lovely ladybug called melodiously. "We do not wish to seem ungrateful, but we are very
hungry "
True enough. There had been no food aboard, and the trip had lasted sixteen hours. Many galactic
species had much more active metabolisms than human beings did, and there was no telling how long
they had been hungry before she embarked.
"The others will be hauled to the force-feeding station after processing. You will wait for the following
shift for sustenance, with half-rations for the first two days of your inclement assignment. Any other
questions?"
There were none. The hapless prisoners had got the message.
"Now step out promptly as I call your names. Aardvark!"
A creature vaguely resembling its Earthly namesake emerged from its cramped compartment and
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shambled forward.
"Too slow!" the translator barked. A troll aimed a rod. A beam of energy stabbed out. A patch of fur on
Aardvark's rump burst into flame, and the odour of scorched flesh drifted back. He broke into a gallop.
Judy had not quite believed the pessimism of the prisoners as they travelled, though she had talked with
several. She had been na�ve. This was horrible!
"Bugbear!"
A beetle the size of a bear lumbered hastily out, as well it might: a touch of the laser would puncture its
thin shell and send its juices spewing.
"Cricketleg!" The next jumped down. Judy wondered how the rollcall came to be alphabetical in
English, since the translator assigned names purely by convenience of description. This was merely
another mystery of galactic technology.
"Dogface!" He yelped as the beam singed his tail.
"Earthgirl!"
Judy froze. It couldn't be! She was only here to
A troll tramped down the aisle, poking his beamer ahead aggressively. He braced his three knobbly legs,
reached out with a hairy arm, and grasped her hair in one hank. He yanked.
"No!" she cried, her eyes pulled round by the tension on her hair. "I'm only visiting! I'm not a prisoner!"
The troll hauled her up until she stood on tiptoes to ease the pain. "Visiting! Hee, hee, hee!" He aimed
the beamer at her face.
"Trach!" she screamed. "Trach of Trachos! I'm here to see him!"
"A malingerer," the troll said with satisfaction. "I shall make an example. First I shall vaporize her squat
snout." He flicked one of his four thumbs over a setting on the beamer and pressed the business end
against her nose.
"One moment, troll," the translator said. Such instruments were versatile, serving as telephones and
radios as well as language transposers. "I believe I heard my name."
The triped hesitated, grimacing. "Who are you, butting into private entertainment?"
"Trach, naturally. Be so kind as to deliver that creature to me, undamaged."
"I don't know no Trach!"
"Oh? Here is my identification." A phonetic blob sounded.
"Hm," the troll said, disgruntled. "That Trach. Well, send her on to the branding station when you're
through with her."
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Shoved roughly out, Judy pinned up her hurting hair temporarily and followed the translator's
instructions to reach Trach's office. "Turn right, prisoner," the unit outside the ship snapped. She turned
right; the other miserable aliens turned left, headed for the dismal rigours of processing. She felt guilty. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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