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.”
Tiger yielded the point, but when Jack returned, Tiger avoided him, keeping to himself the rest of the evening. And later, as he tried to get to sleep, Dal wondered for a moment. Maybe Tiger was right. Maybe he was just dodging a head-on clash with the Blue Doctor now and setting the stage for a real collision later.
Next day the argument was forgotten in the air of rising excitement as embarkation orders for the Lancet came through. Preparations were completed, and only last-minute double-checks were required before blast-off.
But an hour before count-down began, a jitney buzzed across the field, and a Two-star Pathologist climbed aboard with his three black-cloaked orderlies. “Shakedown inspection,” he said curtly. “Just a matter of routine.” And with that he stalked slowly through the ship, checking the storage holds, the inventories, the lab, the computer with its information banks, and the control room. As he went along he kept firing medical questions at Dal and Tiger, hardly pausing long enough for the answers, and ignoring Jack Alvarez completely. “What’s the normal range of serum cholesterol in a vegetarian race with Terran environment? How would you run a Wenberg electrophoresis? How do you determine individual radiation tolerance? How would you prepare a heart culture for cardiac transplant on board this ship?” The questions went on until Tiger and Dal were breathless, as count-down time grew closer and closer. Finally the Black Doctor turned back toward the entrance lock. He seemed vaguely disappointed as he checked the record sheets the orderlies had been keeping. With an odd look at Dal, he shrugged. “All right, here are your clearance papers,” he said to Jack. “Your supply of serum globulin fractions is up to black-book requirements, but you’ll run short if you happen to hit a virus epidemic; better take on a couple of more cases. And check central information just before leaving. We’ve signed two new contracts in the past week, and the co-ordinator’s office has some advance information on both of them.”
When the inspector had gone, Tiger wiped his forehead and sighed. “That was no routine shakedown!” he said. “What is a Wenberg electrophoresis?”
“A method of separating serum proteins,”
