"You'd advise me to forget it, then?" he had asked, disappointed.
Trach had agreed. How could an ignorant Earthman aspire to advanced training, when he couldn't even afford his own contract? Yet the dream wouldn't die. One of these planets he would make a bad mistake. If he wished to remain at large in the galaxy, he needed a galactic diploma.
Not that he wanted anything more than a prompt return to Earth. A secure practice at home. Certainly.
The Electrolytic teeth returned to focus. At least he could clean up the minor tarnish visible on the inlays. No risk there. The previous dentist must have been a trifle careless, for gold seldom tarnished unless there were impurities in the alloy. Apart from that, the work was expert.
He finished the polishing quickly. As for the language problem—there was nothing he could do about that. Under no circumstances would he drill into one of those fantastic teeth.
Thank you," the patient said. "That tastes much better. What recompense may I offer you?'.
The guide quivered. "Your gibber—I mean, your aphasia. It's gone!"
"What do you mean, gone? You were the one who gabbled gibberish, sweetcore."
The guide addressed "Dillingham. "O omniscient healer! You have cured my husband! How did you do it?"
Dillingham backed off. "I
didn't
do it. I merely removed a little tarnish from his reconstructions."
"You must have done something, Doctor," the patient said. "For weeks I've been trying to make my imperious wishes plain to this pebblehead, but she gave me increasingly unintelligible answers. My acquaintances have been even worse. It was as though they'd all blown their signal-coding teeth. But
you
understood readily enough, and somehow you brought them back to their senses. I really must reward you properly."
"I assure you, I did not—"
"You replied to my salutation, and you eliminated the bad taste in my mouth, just as requested. An excellent job, not to mention this other inconvenience you alleviated."
Discretion told him to let the matter ride, but something else overrode it. That little bit of polishing could not have affected the internal circuitry, and he could not accept credit for more than he had done. It was against professional ethics. The aphasia might return at any time, perhaps much worse than before, if the cause were neglected.
"You must stay for supper," the husband said. "It's such a relief to hear intelligible shunk again."
There was a gasp (courtesy of the transcoder) from the wife. Dillingham saw his worst fear realized, and forestalled her comment the only way he could think of at the moment. "Sir, may I check your teeth once more? While you were shunking I remembered a place I may have missed."
"Certainly." The great lid hinged up and the chunky teeth were exposed again.
Dillingham saw nothing new, but occupied time by re-polishing all the teeth carefully. He needed to think this out.
Had
he done something that might affect the speech mechanism? Could mere tarnish somehow influence signal modulation? Tarnish was caused, in gold inlays, by electrochemical interaction of the saliva with impurities, but—
Full-blown, he had the answer.
"What were you saying, a moment ago?" he asked the Electrolyte. "That it was a relief to—"
"A relief to hear intelligible speech again," the patient replied promptly. "After weeks of—"
The polishing
had
done it—and now he knew why. "Sit down, both of you, please," he said, knowing that the transcoder would provide the term for whatever they did in lieu of sitting. "I have some serious news for you."
Perplexed, they settled gently. "What I have accomplished is only a temporary cure," he continued in his more professional manner. "The aphasia will inevitably return, unless you take immediate action."
"Tell us what to do, Doctor," the wife said anxiously, while the husband ran complacent ripples over his surface.
"First, I must make plain what has happened. Sir, when did you have all that gold installed in your teeth?"
"About six months ago." Again, the transcoder was indulging in liberal paraphrase. "It's a new technique, and very expensive—but I was tired of old-fashioned stone fillings that kept chipping away and falling out."
"And your—problem—began several weeks ago. No—I know this is unpleasant, but I have to tell you that it was your speech that became unintelligible, not your wife's. Why else do you think she was able to communicate with other people, while you couldn't? Some of your words made sense, but others—well, you did say "shunk" instead of "speech" a moment ago, for example."
"I did?"
"You did, dear," the wife said firmly.
"And my handsome expensive prestigious restorations are the cause?" The Electrolyte wasn't stupid.
"Indirectly, yes. The work is very good—but all your metal inlays will have to be replaced with the old kind."
In the next few minutes he made his case and left them stricken. How much easier it would have been to avoid the truth! At times the dentist's duty, like the doctor's or tax-collector's was disturbing. But necessary.
Trach was waiting for him at the duplex. "What have you got into, you hot-blooded mammal?" the towering duckbill demanded. "I have a complaint that you cured one of the leading citizens of the planet of his madness, then turned around and told him he'd have to remove all his costly fillings."
"That's about it, I'm afraid." News travelled rapidly, when every individual was his own broadcaster.
Trach slapped his solid green tail against the floor in exasperation. The sound was like a pistol shot—but how better to vent pique, than by banging one's tail resoundingly! "Just when I had this planet's affairs sewed up!"
"I don't understand. Did my patient complain?"
"No. He's convinced you are a genius."
"I'm duly complimented. But—"
"So he recommended to the ruling council, of which he is a member—temporarily on health-leave—that an immediate directive be issued forbidding the employment or retention of metallic restorations in any teeth on the planet. He has influence. The directive has been published."
"Already? In the time it took me to walk back here?"
"Already. And the league of local dentists is up in arms. They have some pretty potent backing of their own."
"I see." He saw. He had unwittingly provoked a political crisis. He should have consulted the local practitioners before making his recommendation. Naturally the dental league objected to having an outsider appear and demand that the latest advance be abolished. He'd feel the same way.
That was another reason he needed further training. There were always ramifications that extended beyond the strictly practical. How could he anticipate them all?
Trach paced the floor, his glossy reptilian skin flexing under the incongruous little dinner-jacket he affected. "This means trouble. I don't like to say this, but it would be safer for both of us if you could see your way clear to retract your recommendation."
"But it's an honest prosthodontic opinion. I—"
This is no longer a prosthodontic matter." Trach pursed his lips. He had extremely fleshy labia, necessary to articulate clearly around his twenty hundred teeth, and this expression was startling. "I'm sure you know what you're doing, in your field—but diplomacy is
my
field, and I assure you that if we don't act soon, this will be a bad territory for tetrapods. This happens to be one of the few civilized planets where war is a recognized way to settle disputes."
"War! You mean they'd—"
"Both sides are already enlisting mercenaries."
Dillingham sat down, appalled. It was too late now to condemn himself for a meddler. He should have kept his opinions to himself until checking with Trach. "What can I do?"
"Other than retract, you mean? You could meet with the dental league and explain your position. They might listen, if you catch them before hostilities formally commence."
"I'll meet them! Is there much time?"
"Oh, yes. The first engagement isn't scheduled until this evening."
This evening! Let's not waste any time, then. I'd hate to have a war on my conscience."
"Come with me." Trach led the way with such assurance that Dillingham suspected this choice had been anticipated. The dinosaur didn't know much about dentistry, but he could manage people of any type.
"How do they do anything? Dillingham inquired as they traversed the prismatic outdoors. "These Electrolytes don't seem to have any hands, or any other way to manipulate objects. How can they feed themselves, let alone make war?"
"No problem. They employ remote-controlled devices for the manual tasks. Communication is the same as power, and it does economize on burdensome musculature."
"Then aphasia must be a very serious problem, when it occurs. It would resemble paralysis."
"Exactly. You can be a hero, if only you can pacify the league. But remember, you're dealing with conservatives."
"Sure." He reflected sombrely. It looked as though this were the brand of "conservatism" that placed business interest ahead of cultural welfare. "Can you offer any more advice, before I put my foot in it again?"
Trach could. This, too, had been anticipated. The next few minutes were an intensive briefing in diplomacy
vis-ŕ-vis
Electrolus.
The representatives of the dental league were grouped like so many stones in their auditorium, ringed by spider-legged devices that were evidently their remote-controlled hands. Dillingham began to see why war was still sanctioned here; the destruction of a mobile unit might be inconvenient, but not fatal to the owner. Not so long as the melee was distant.
"You'll have to do the talking," Trach said, handing him the transcoder. The machine had been turned off to ensure the privacy of their recent conversation. "They won't accept your sincerity if I prompt you. They may ask me a question or two, but
you'll
have to convince them that your way is best. Otherwise—"
"I know," Dillingham said unhappily. Outrage, war, the ruin of Trach's mission, and forced sale of Dillingham's contract for carfare home. He turned on the transcorder as he advanced to meet the dental league.
The spokesman wasted no time. "For what purpose have you started this war, alien?"
Dillingham paused before replying, remembering Trach's caution against impetuous remarks. "I think there has been a misunderstanding. I did not intend to start a war." That should be imprecise enough.
They
were the ones who intended to do battle rather than admit responsibility for the aphasia, but they could save face by blaming it on him.
"Did you not directly and publicly contravene published League policy and conspire to set the governing council against us?"
"I am a stranger to this planet. I thought I was privately advising a patient of his best interests. I would gladly have left his care to you, had he not insisted on my attention." And why
had
the patient sought an alien dentist, unless the local ones had already given up on him?
The pause that preceded the next question reassured him that his surmise had been correct. They were not going to challenge his right to minister to an awkward case—not when that line of investigation could turn so readily against them. "Then you do not question League policy or practice?"
That was better. "Of course not. I should hope the League has the best interests of the planet in mind."
"Then you will retract your demand that all gold be removed from the teeth of our citizens?"
That was the sticky point. "No."
There was an angry flurry of sounds from the transcoder. Trach bowed his head, disappointed.
"That is," Dillingham said carefully, "I will not make such a retraction without the full consent of the League." Trach's head popped up again hopefully, and the clamour faded. "Since it was my careless utterance that precipitated this crisis, I feel it is best to obtain competent advice before making any further statements on the matter."
Another pause. "The advice—of the League?"
"Nothing less will do."
The background discontent metamorphosed into background approval. Trach nodded unobtrusively. Dillingham was off the hook for the moment—if he didn't blunder again.
"A wise stipulation," the spokesman said. "What gave you the idea we might object?"
And so to the critical point. "On my planet, the teeth are use principally for the mechanical reduction of the food, and only secondarily in connection with speech. Our teeth have no internal mechanisms—none, at least, of an electronic nature. Therefore our dentists think largely in terms of a single function: mastication. When I looked into this patient's mouth, that was what concerned me."
"Astonishing," the spokesman agreed.
"Then I discovered that you generate an electronic signal in your teeth, which is your means of communication. Because this is natural for you, and biological, you may not be aware of the precision required to modulate your signal so effectively, just as few human beings are aware of the sophistication of their own bodily adaptations. The fact is, the tiniest electro-magnetic interference in the immediate vicinity of your teeth can play havoc with your control, both broadcasting and receiving. The electrolytic action of the trace impurities in your gold alloy with the fluids of the mouth generates just enough current to tarnish the metal—and to distort the adjacent fields within the tooth. Thus the signal sent by a person with such a situation differs from that he intends. When this becomes severe enough to be noticeable, you have aphasia."
He shook his head, glad they were listening (receiving) attentively. "Possibly the field generated by the normal teeth is enough to start the surface erosion. Because the interference is external to the tooth, you will find no internal malfunction, which I know can be baffling. At any rate, because of your particular mode of communication, you can't afford metallic fillings until much more is known about this effect. That is why I recommended the removal of all gold from the teeth. Since aphasia is hardly my field, I should not have spoken prematurely. You have helped me to understand that."