“And for you,” the commander continued, turning to Dal so smoothly that there seemed no break in his voice at all, “as one of our own people, and an honored son of Jai Timgar, who has been kind to the house of SinSin for many years, I have something out of the ordinary. I’m sure your crewmates would not object to a special gift at my personal expense.”
The commander lifted a scarf from the table and revealed the glittering set of surgical instruments, neatly displayed in a velvet-lined carrying case. The commander took it up from the table and thrust it into Dal’s hands. “It is yours, my friend. And for this, there will be no contract whatever.”
Dal stared down at the instruments. They were beautiful. He longed just to touch them, to hold them in his hands, but he shook his head and set the case back on the table. He looked up at Tiger and Jack. “You should be warned that the prices on these goods are four times what they ought to be, and the deferred-payment contracts he wants you to sign will permit as much as 24 per cent interest on the unpaid balance, with no closing-out clause. That means you would be paying many times the stated price for the goods before the contract is closed. You can go ahead and sign if you want but understand what you’re signing.”
The Garvian commander stared at him, and then shook his head, laughing. “Of course your friend is not serious,” he said. “These prices can be compared on any planet and you will see their fairness. Here, read the contracts, see what they say and decide for yourselves.” He held out a sheaf of papers.
“The contracts may sound well enough,” Dal said, “but I’m telling you what they actually say.”
Jack looked stricken. “But surely just one or two things—”
Tiger shook his head. “Dal knows what he’s talking about. I don’t think we’d better buy anything at all.”
The Garvian commander turned to Dal angrily. “What are you telling them? There is nothing false in these contracts!”
“I didn’t say there was. I just can’t see them taking a beating with their eyes shut, that’s all. Your contracts are legal enough, but the prices and terms are piracy, and you know it.”
The commander glared at him for a moment. Then he turned away scornfully. “So what I have heard is true, after all,” he said. “You really have thrown in your lot with these pill-peddlers, these idiots from Earth who can’t even wipe their noses without losing in a trade.” He signaled the lifeboat pilot. “Take them back to their ship, we’re wasting our time. There are better things to do than to deal with traitors.”
The trip back to the Lancet was made in silence. Dal could sense the pilot’s scorn as he dumped them off in their entrance lock, and dashed back to the Teegar with the lifeboat. Gloomily Jack and Tiger followed Dal into the control room, a drab little cubby-hole compared to the Teegar’s lounge.
“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Jack said finally, looking up at Dal. “But the way that guy slammed you, I wish we’d never gone.”
“I know,” Dal said. “The commander just thought he saw a perfect setup. He figured you’d never question the contracts if I backed him up.”
“It would have been easy enough. Why didn’t you?”
Dal looked at the Blue Doctor. “Maybe I just don’t like people who give away surgical sets,” he said. “Remember, I’m not a Garvian trader any more. I’m a doctor from Hospital Earth.”
Moments later, the great Garvian ship was gone, and the red light was blinking on the call board. Tiger started tracking down the call while Jack went back to work on the daily log book and Dal set up food for dinner. The pleasant dreams were over; they were back in the harness of patrol ship doctors once again.
Jack and Dal were finishing dinner when Tiger came back with a puzzled frown on his face. “Finally traced that call. At least I think I did. Anybody ever hear of a star called 31 Brucker?”
“Brucker?” Jack said. “It isn’t on the list of contracts. What’s the trouble?”
“I’m not sure,” Tiger said. “I’m not even certain if it’s a call or not. Come on up front and see what you think.”
Chapter 8
Plague!
In the control room the interstellar radio and teletype-translator were silent. The red light on the call board was still blinking; Tiger turned it off with a snap. “Here’s the message that just came in, as near as I can make out,” he said, “and if you can make sense of it, you’re way ahead of me.”
The message was a single word, teletyped in the center of a blue dispatch sheet:
GREETINGS
“This is all?” Jack said.
“That’s every bit of it. They repeated it half a dozen times, just like that.”
“Who repeated it?” Dal asked. “Where are the identification symbols?”
“There weren’t any,” said Tiger. “Our own computer designated 31 Brucker from the direction and intensity of the signal. The question is, what do we do?”
The message stared up at them cryptically. Dal shook his head. “Doesn’t give us much to go on, that’s certain. Even the location could be wrong if the signal came in on an odd frequency or from a long distance. Let’s beam back at the same direction and intensity and see what happens.”
Tiger took the earphones and speaker, and turned the signal beam to coincide with the direction of the incoming message.
“We have your contact. Can you hear me? Who are you and what do you want?”
There was a long delay and they thought the contact was lost. Then a voice came whispering through the static. “Where is your ship now? Are you near to us?”
“We need your co-ordinates in order to tell,” Tiger said. “Who are you?”
Again a long pause and a howl of static. Then: “If you are far away it will be too late. We have no time left, we are dying . . . .”
Abruptly the voice message broke off and co-ordinates began coming through between bursts of static. Tiger scribbled them down, piecing them together through several repetitions. “Check these out fast,” he told Jack. “This sounds like real trouble.” He tossed Dal another pair of earphones and turned back to the speaker. “Are you a contract planet?” he signaled. “Do we have a survey on you?”
There was a much longer pause. Then the voice came back, “No, we have no contract. We are all dying, but if you must have a contract to come . . . .”
“Not at all,” Tiger sent back. “We’re coming. Keep your frequency open. We will contact again when we are closer.”
He tossed down the earphones and looked excitedly at Dal. “Did you hear that? A planet calling for help, with no Hospital Earth contract!”
“They sound desperate,” Dal said. “We’d better go there, contract or no contract.”
“Of course we’ll go there, you idiot. See if Jack has those co-ordinates charted, and start digging up information on them, everything you can find. We need all of the dope we can get and we need it fast. This is our golden chance to seal a contract with a new planet.”
All three of the doctors fell to work trying to identify the mysterious caller. Dal began searching the information file for data on 31 Brucker, punching all the reference tags he could think of, as well as the galactic co-ordinates of the planet. He could hardly control his fingers as the tapes with possible references began plopping down into the slots. Tiger was right; this was almost too good to be true. When a planet without a medical service contract called a GPP Ship for help, there was always hope that a brand new contract might be signed if the call was successful. And no greater honor could come to a patrol craft crew than to be the originators of a new contract for Hospital Earth.