The boy jumped back. “No soap, Doc! Palmer can’t be located — and that post-mortem misconception at the board won’t listen.”
Doc studied his hands in silence, wondering, then gave it up; there’d be no hope of his lasting while he sent out the boy. “O.K., Jenkins, you’ll have to take over here, then. Steady does it, come on in slowly, get your fingers over mine. Now, catch the motion? Easy, don’t rush things. You’ll hold out — you’ll have to! You’ve done better than I had any right to ask for so far, and you don’t need to distrust yourself. There, got it?
“Got it, Doc. I’ll try, but for Pete’s sake, whatever you’re planning, get back here quick! I’m not lying about cracking! You’d better let Meyers replace Dodd and have Sue called back in here; she’s the best nerve tonic I know.”
“Call her in then, Dodd.” Doc picked up a hypodermic syringe, filled it quickly with water to which a drop of another liquid added a brownish-yellow color, and forced his tired old legs into a reasonably rapid trot out of the side door and toward Communications. Maybe the switchboard operator was stubborn, but there were ways of handling people.
He hadn’t counted on the guard outside the Communications Building, though. “Halt!”
“Life or death; I’m a physician.”
“Not in here — I got orders.” The bayonet’s menace apparently wasn’t enough; the rifle went up to the man’s shoulder, and his chin jutted out with the stubbornness of petty authority and reliance on orders.” Nobody sick here. There’s plenty of phones elsewhere. You get back — and fast!”
Doc started forward and there was a faint click from the rifle as the safety went off; the darned fool meant what he said. Shrugging, Ferrel stepped back — and brought the hypodermic needle up inconspicuously in line with the guard’s face. “Ever see one of these things squirt curare? It can reach before your bullet hits!”
“Curare?” The guard’s eyes flicked to the needle, and doubt came into them. The man frowned. “That’s the stuff that kills people on arrows, ain’t it?”
“It is — cobra venom, you know. One drop on the outside of your skin and you’re dead in ten seconds.” Both statements were out-and-out lies, but Doc was counting on the superstitious ignorance of the average man in connection with poisons. “This little needle can spray you with it very nicely, and it may be a fast death, but not a pleasant one. Want to put down the rifle?”
A regular might have shot; but the militiaman was taking no chances. He lowered the rifle gingerly, his eyes on the needle, then kicked the weapon aside at Doc’s motion. Ferrel approached, holding the needle out, and the man shrank backward and away, letting him pick up the rifle as he went past to avoid being shot in the back. Lost time! But he knew his way around this little building, at least, and went straight toward the girl at the board.
“Get up!” His voice came from behind her shoulder and she turned to see the rifle in one of his hands; the needle in the other, almost touching her throat. “This is loaded with curare, deadly poison, and too much hangs on getting a call through to bother with physician’s oaths right now, young lady. Up! No plugs! That’s right; now get over there, out of the cell — there, on your face, cross your hands behind your back, and grab your ankles — right! Now if you move, you won’t move long!”
Those gangster picture he’d seen were handy, at that. She was throughly frightened and docile. But, perhaps, not so much so she might not have bungled his call deliberately. He had to do that himself. Darn it, the red lights were trunk lines, but which plug — try the inside one, it looked more logical; he’d seen it done, but couldn’t remember. Now, you flip back one of these switches — uh-uh, the other way. The tone came in assuring him he had it right, and he dialed operator rapidly, his eyes flickering toward the girl lying on the floor, his thoughts on Jenkins and the wasted time running on.
“Operator, this is an emergency. I’m Walnut, 7654; I want to put in a long-distance call to Dr. Kubelik, Mayo’s Hospital, Rochester, Minnesota. If Kubelik isn’t there, I’ll take anyone else who answers from his department. Speed is urgent.”
“Very good, sir.” Long-distance operators, mercifully, were usually efficient. There were the repeated signals and clicks of relays as she put it through, the answer from the hospital board, more wasted time, and then a face appeared on the screen; but not that of Kubelik. It was a much younger man.
Ferrel wasted no time in introduction. “I’ve got an emergency case here where all Hades depends on saving a man, and it can’t be done without that machine of Dr. Kubelik’s; he knows me, if he’s there — I’m Ferrel, met him at the convention, got him to show me how the thing worked.”
“Kubelik hasn’t come in yet, Dr. Ferrel; I’m his assistant. But, if you mean the heart and lung exciter, it’s already boxed and supposed to leave for Harvard this morning. They’ve got a rush case out there, and may need it—”
“Not as much as I do.”
“I’ll have to call— Wait a minute, Dr. Ferrel, seems I remember your name now. Aren’t you the chap with National Atomic?”
Doc nodded. “The same. Now, about that machine, if you’ll stop the formalities—”
The face on the screen nodded, instant determination showing, with an underlying expression of something else. “We’ll ship it down to you instantly, Ferrel. Got a field for a plane?”
“Not within three miles, but I’ll have a truck sent out for it. How long?”
“Take too long by truck if you need it down there, Ferrel; I’ll arrange to transship in air from our special speedster to a helicopter, have it delivered wherever you want. About — um, loading plane, flying a couple hundred miles, transshipping — about half an hour’s the best we can do.”
“Make it the square of land south of the infirmary, which is crossed visibly from the air. Thanks!”
“Wait, Dr. Ferrel!” The younger man checked Doc’s cut-off. “Can you use it when you get it? It’s tricky work.”
“Kubelik gave quite a demonstration and I’m used to tricky work. I’ll chance it — have to. Too long to rouse Kubelik himself, isn’t it?”
“Probably. O.K., I’ve got the telescript reply from the shipping office, it’s starting for the plane. I wish you luck!”
Ferrel nodded his thanks, wondering. Service like that was welcome, but it wasn’t the most comforting thing, mentally, to know that the mere mention of National Atomic would cause such an about-face. Rumors, it seemed, were spreading, and in a hurry, in spite of Palmer’s best attempts. Good Lord, what was going on here? He’d been too busy for any serious worrying or to realize, but — well, it had gotten him the exciter, and for that he should be thankful.
The guard was starting uncertainly off for reinforcements when Doc came out, and he realized that the seemingly endless call must have been over in short order. He tossed the rifle well out of the man’s reach and headed back toward the infirmary at a run, wondering how Jenkins had made out — it had to be all right!
Jenkins wasn’t standing over the body of Jorgenson; Brown was there instead, her eyes moist and her face pinched in and white around the nostrils that stood out at full width. She looked up, shook her head at him as he started forward, and went on working at Jorgenson’s heart.
“Jenkins cracked?”
“Nonsense! This is woman’s work, Dr. Ferrel, and I took over for him, that’s all. You men try to use brute force all your life and then wonder why a woman can do twice as much delicate work where strong muscles are a nuisance. I chased him out and took over, that’s all.” But there was a catch in her voice as she said it, and Meyers was looking down entirely too intently at the work of artificial respiration.