"My dear Sato—please don't press me any further," Kido said blandly. "I have it on your own authority that this Johannsen's disease is a comparatively mild virus infection which leaves its victims none the worse after a short period of discomfort. To launch a program such as you suggest would surely be giving the outbreak a greater measure of attention than it deserves. Apart from that, at this particular time such action would be decidedly unwise."
In other words, thought Sato, not politically expedient. Controlling his passion he spoke with deliberate care. "As I have explained to you already, Mr.
President, the main source of my concern is not the disease itself, but the alarming rise in the number of aborted and abnormal births, due to pregnant women becoming infected."
Kido assembled his round features into a smoothly sympathetic smile. "Kenji, don't you think that you may be allowing your own tragic experience to influence you in this? After all, the number of births is still comparatively small."
Sato was in his middle forties, about the same age as the President, but in contrast with the groomed plumpness of the other, his black hair was already flecked with gray and his bony face eroded by lines of strain. His thin body seemed to vibrate with tension as he leaned forward in his chair. "Small, but rising," he said. "As your Minister of Health you must at least accept my advice that the disease should be made a notifiable one."
"To what purpose?" Kido asked. "Until there is an effective vaccine, surely the only result of that would be to create unnecessary alarm in the minds of our people?"
"Perhaps there would be some concern," agreed Sato. "But the measure would at least produce reliable statistics. At the moment we know that the disease is on the increase, but we have no definite figures."
"And these figures—will they eradicate the disease?" Kido folded his plump hands together on the desk top. "No, Kenji. I appreciate your concern, but there are greater issues at stake. Do I need to remind you that we are approaching a supremely important phase in the history of our planet?
Venturer Twelve
will be landing within a few days, bringing the Explorations Division officer and his staff, who will investigate every aspect of our life here on Kepler III. In every other respect we are prepared for that investigation, and confident of its outcome. But if we were to take measures of the kind you advocate, indicating that there is a serious infectious disease endemic among our population, what effect do you imagine that might have on his decision?"
"Then you suggest that we deliberately conceal the facts from this investigator?"
"Conceal? My dear Sato, such a harsh word," Kido said. "We will cooperate with the investigator in every respect—but it will not be necessary to draw his attention to the existence of this minor outbreak."
"And if he finds out about it anyway?"
"Then it will be my task to explain to him the unimportance of it," Kido said. "But I do not think that this will arise. There will be a great number of other matters to occupy his energies. He will be accorded the full measure of our hospitality; all doors will be opened to him, but he will be under careful surveillance throughout his stay. For such an illustrious visitor could we offer anything less?"
"I still think you're wrong," protested Sato. "If we were completely frank with him from the outset, then there would be no need of concealment. There will be a team of Corps medics aboard the ship. With their help we could probably stamp out the outbreak in a few weeks."
"Probably," Kido said. "But we dare not take a chance on anything less than certainty. You have already told me that the normal antivirus measures are ineffectual against this strain of the disease. How can you be sure that the Corps medics would be any more successful than you have been?"
' "But they have all the latest Earth techniques at their fingertips," protested Sato. "Not to mention a comprehensive bank of serums and attenuated viruses."
"Do you really imagine that they would be allowed to use those resources?" President Kido's smile stopped short on the border of being patronizing; it was the indulgent, half-pitying expression of an uncle who views with disappointment rather than anger the stupidity of a willful, not very intelligent nephew. "Kenji, my dear fellow, can you reasonably suppose that this investigating officer would forego an opportunity to deny us independence? Under the circumstances he could place the entire planet in quarantine, and defer his decision indefinitely. As a result, the Excelsior Corporation would be able to maintain its hold on us for another ten, perhaps twenty years. Is that what you want for our people, Kenji?"
For Sato, whose great-grandfather had left the squalor of overcrowded Earth almost a hundred years before to play his part in the taming of the virgin planet of Kepler III, whose grandfather had been born on that planet and labored all his life in the mines of the northern province, and whose father had been one of the first graduates of the Kepler
in
University Medical School, there was only one possible answer. The people of Kepler III had long since discharged their debt to the Colonization Corporation which had provided their forefathers with transportation and basic equipment; but until independence was granted, the Corporation could legally maintain the monopoly that had allowed it to take the lion's share of the planet's productivity for so long.
Kenji Sato inclined his head in a ritualistic gesture of submission. "I shall do my best to prove worthy of your trust, Mr. President," he said quietly.
Commander Bruce was stationed in the duty chair of control with Lieutenant Hoffman standing to his right. Below the command dais, duty squad number two were at their stations; Han De Witt stood at the astrogation repeater, while Yvonne Maranne patrolled behind the duty men, monitoring each screen with practiced eyes. Slightly behind Bruce, to his left, conspicuous in his immaculate pale lavender civilian suit, Charles Magnus
stood watching the movements of Lieutenant Maranne with quiet appreciation.
"Estimated time of arrival thirty-six hours from now," Bruce read the figures from the bank of screens. "It'll do. We'll take up orbital station twenty-five thousand kilometers out until we're cleared for landing."
Magnus spoke. "Commander, I would prefer it if we were to take up our position over the capital city with a minimum of fuss."
Bruce swung in the chair, his lean face hardening as he did so. "What do you think you're dealing with, Mr. Magnus—a bunch of amateurs?"
Magnus was quite unmoved. "Dear me, no, commander. Had I thought that, the request would have been phrased quite differently. The point I had in mind was that, as down thiere on Kepler III they will have TV cameras trained and awaiting our arrival, it would be a graceful, commanding gesture if we could take no more than one shot at getting into the appropriate orbit. It would, so to speak, set the tone of the entire operation right from the outset."
Lieutenant Hoffman eyed the civilian with something close to horror. Nobody, but nobody, talked to Bruce that way on his own bridge, or anywhere else, for that matter.
Bruce said, with a fine cutting edge on his voice: "I don't know what Corps ships you've been associated with in the past,
Mister
Magnus, but in this one—" he articulated through lightly clenched teeth— "in this one, we do it right first time. Thirty-six hours from now,
Venturer Twelve
will be in a stationary orbit over the capital city of Kepler III,—and there will be, in your so nicely chosen words, 'a minimum of fuss.' "
The withering sarcasm was completely without effect on Magnus. He smiled, and let an eyebrow twitch fractionally. "My dear commander, I had expected nothing less. You won't forget my briefing meeting at eighteen hundred hours, will you?" He turned and walked away.
Bruce stared after the tall, scholarly figure, his green eyes still sparking fire. "Bloody civilian!" he growled, then swinging his chair round to its operative position he called down to Maranne. "Anything more from Earth Central on those Rim UFOs?"
Maranne's lithe body stiffened to attention as she looked upwards to the command dais. "No, sir."
Bruce grunted. "Well, keep me posted—whatever time it comes through, I want each message immediately, understand?"
"Sir," Maranne said.
Lieutenant Hoffman watched the hatchet features of her commanding officer and wondered how long it would be before the real explosion between himself and Magnus took place. Already, with the independence investigation not yet begun, Bruce was chafing at the bit, and this new rash of UFO reports wasn't helping matters. UFOs suggested Kilroys, and the past record of Tom Bruce made it pretty plain that he was determined to be in command of the ship that made that inevitable first encounter between Man and Alien.
Bruce had his problems; so had she. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other as she wondered yet again whether her latest move had been a wise one. With Surgeon Lieutenant Maseba on duty it could hardly fail to be an effective one.
In the medic section, they were busy. Maseba was in the middle of his duty period, which had already lasted one and a half times the normal span, and he showed no signs yet of taking ten, or even five. Maseba and Leela De Witt were busy with setting up and running tests on the blood analyzer, a piece of equipment that would feature prominently in the routine medical investigations on Kepler III, which would include a de
tailed checkup on a random sample of the planetary population.
The analyzer took a blood sample, removed the corpuscles, divided it into sixteen, and then proceeded to run a series of automatic tests which showed up on its screen a minute later. At that particular moment the laugh was on Maseba; the fifth column of the histogram dealing with a test run on his personal blood sample showed a significant alcohol reading.
"Must be my after-shave," Maseba said quietly. His smile spread like a cheerful plague across the features of his assistants.
Piet Huygens came in, wearing fresh whites. Maseba was glad to see him. "Piet, man, can you do the office for me?"
"Sick call?"
"Yeah. This thing—" he waved an ebony hand at the blood analyzer, around which medic and electronics techs clustered, "this thing seems to have bugs in it, like always, just at the time when we're going to need it most. Less than thirty-six hours to E.T.A., and we'd better have it working by then. Carvalho's in the office, with the list. There aren't many. The prospect of planet leave works wonders for those little ailments."
Piet walked into the duty M.O.'s room, where the sallow, white-jacketed Carvalho had already made all preparations. Sitting down at the desk, he opened the diary. He flicked over a few leaves. "Whom do we have?"
"Five four seven seven Budoglio, E. A., Crew-woman GD..."
"Forget the numbers, Carvalho—just tell me what?"
Carvalho became brisk. "One check on cornea— scrap of metal removed ten days ago; two healed wounds for stripping, bruised foot, suspected tonsillitis, one otitis media, and ..."
"And what?" Piet sensed the hesitation.
Carvalho handed him the list. 'This one, sir. Crew-woman ordered down for a checkup by a duty officer, twelve hours ago. Told to report on this call."
"Show me."
Carvalho handed him the chit Piet read the name, and became quite still. Inside him, his head began to pound, and a tight knot of rage welled in his stomach. He read: "493556 Leading Crewwoman (R) Mizuno, M. E., to report for full physical check after attack of dizziness. Ordered by Lt. W. Hoffman."
Trudi!
What was the bitch up to now? She had ordered Mia to report for a checkup. Well, what if Mia did have a fit of vertigo? It wasn't
likely.
She was nearly four months pregnant, but she was absolutely O.K., he had examined her himself only a couple of days before. She didn't show a scrap, although she had taken to wearing a girdle just to make sure. Could that have caused ...?
Piet had a stylus in his hand. As he saw just what Trudi was up to, the stylus cracked and broke. She knew. Somehow she had guessed that Mia was carrying a child. Her instinct, sharpened by frustration and hate, had told her what the truth was and, using her authority, she had sent Mia down to sick call—to a sick call which, but for the bother over the setting up and testing of the blood analyzer, would surely have been taken by Maseba himself. She knew that one look at Mia would have told the senior medical officer everything, and that he would have followed the book. And if he had done that, then Mia would suffer as no human being should ever be made to suffer, in strict accordance with Corps regulations.
"Sir?"
Piet started. "Yes?"
Carvalho was regarding him curiously. "Shall we begin, sir?"
Piet stifled his boiling rage with an effort "Oh, yes, yes of course."
Damn Trudi . . . damn her to hell. . .
.
"Same order as on the list, sir?"
Another problem. It seemed reasonable that, as Mia was supposed to have a full checkup, she should be last. On the other hand, if he was satisfied with the working of the blood analyzer in the meantime, Maseba could well take it into his head to come in and finish the sick call himself. And then there was Carvalho; the man was no fool, and it was not normal for the medical officer's orderly to leave the office when an examination was being conducted . . .