doesn't have any diseases," Jef said. "There's a veterinarian's certificate from Earth in my papers. The constable must have seen that."
"If he did, he didn't mention it to me. Now—" Chavel had been opening his attaché case as he talked. Abruptly he produced a small, green, pressure syringe. "There's no need to make a fuss about this. I'll just give your beast a prophylactic injection—"
"You're not giving Mikey anything," said Jef. "He doesn't need a prophylactic injection."
"I'd advise you not to stop me." Chavel turned toward Mikey.
"I'd advise you not to try it!" said Jef. "Mikey!"
The maolot was suddenly on his feet at the new sound in Jef's voice. His blind head swung to aim its muzzle at Chavel, and a drone began to issue from his throat. Chavel was pale.
"If—if I must use a tranquilizer gun—"
"Don't take it out of your case," said Jef. "I can get to you long before you could get it out and aimed. So can Mikey."
"This is—outrageous." Chavel backed away toward a nearby table on which a desk phone sat. Still keeping Mikey in view, he reached down and punched it on. "Constable Armage! Avery—"
The screen did not light up. But after a second Armage's voice came from it.
"Well?"
"I—there's someone here that won't let me do my job. The beast's owner, I think..."
"I'll be right up." The phone fell silent.
"Now you'll see," said Chavel thinly to Jef.
Jef's mind spun; but no helpful ideas were thrown up. He was bluffing about letting Mikey attack the veterinarian; that would be a sure way to get the maolot killed, eventually if not immediately. Chavel did not seem to see through him. But the back of Jef's head was cold with the feeling that Armage would.
He was still trying to think of something when the door to the room slid aside and the big Constable stepped in.
"What's the matter, Doctor?" he said almost gently, ignoring Jef.
"This gentleman refuses to let me give his maolot a prophylactic shot."
"Oh?" Armage turned at that, and smiled at Jef. "It's for your animal's own good, you know."
"I don't believe it," said Jef.
"Nor indeed," said the voice of Martin, "do I."
The door was opening once more; and this time it was Martin who stepped into the room.
"There you are, Jef," he said. "First you disappear and then our host here does likewise. I began to feel lost with not one familiar face about me. And now I hear that our Mikey must be given some medication for his own good. But you know, I wonder. How much do we really know about maolot metabolism? Mightn't this medication have some unwished for, even fatal side effects?"
"Sir!" said Chavel stiffly. "We're quite familiar with maolots here on Everon—on their native world."
"To be sure. But you see, this isn't an Everon maolot. He's grown up on Earth, and perhaps that makes a difference. Who can tell for sure? But, in any case my dear Doctor—it is Doctor, isn't it—you haven't answered my question. I asked if it wasn't possible that such a medication might not turn out to have some unforeseen, even fatal, side effects."
"Ah—" said Chavel, and stopped. He threw a glance at Armage; but Armage merely raised his eyebrows interestedly and said nothing. "Ah, naturally, in choosing a drug we don't anticipate—"
"Yes," said Martin softly, "or no, Doctor?"
"Who knows?" cried Chavel furiously. "We don't even understand all the differences in human beings. How can I give you a guarantee this maolot might not have some individual, farfetched, bad reaction—"
"Exactly," said Martin. "And, seeing that's so, and the maolot being important, as I've mentioned to the Constable here, perhaps it's best that no such thing be given Mikey. Wouldn't you say so, Constable?"
He looked at Armage.
"I quite agree," said Armage, and smiled a small cold smile at Chavel. "We don't want to take any risks with this valuable beast, Doctor."
"All—right!" Chavel was getting his attaché case closed again, but his fingers fumbled and made a clumsy job of it.
"If he did, he didn't mention it to me. Now—" Chavel had been opening his attaché case as he talked. Abruptly he produced a small, green, pressure syringe. "There's no need to make a fuss about this. I'll just give your beast a prophylactic injection—"
"You're not giving Mikey anything," said Jef. "He doesn't need a prophylactic injection."
"I'd advise you not to stop me." Chavel turned toward Mikey.
"I'd advise you not to try it!" said Jef. "Mikey!"
The maolot was suddenly on his feet at the new sound in Jef's voice. His blind head swung to aim its muzzle at Chavel, and a drone began to issue from his throat. Chavel was pale.
"If—if I must use a tranquilizer gun—"
"Don't take it out of your case," said Jef. "I can get to you long before you could get it out and aimed. So can Mikey."
"This is—outrageous." Chavel backed away toward a nearby table on which a desk phone sat. Still keeping Mikey in view, he reached down and punched it on. "Constable Armage! Avery—"
The screen did not light up. But after a second Armage's voice came from it.
"Well?"
"I—there's someone here that won't let me do my job. The beast's owner, I think..."
"I'll be right up." The phone fell silent.
"Now you'll see," said Chavel thinly to Jef.
Jef's mind spun; but no helpful ideas were thrown up. He was bluffing about letting Mikey attack the veterinarian; that would be a sure way to get the maolot killed, eventually if not immediately. Chavel did not seem to see through him. But the back of Jef's head was cold with the feeling that Armage would.
He was still trying to think of something when the door to the room slid aside and the big Constable stepped in.
"What's the matter, Doctor?" he said almost gently, ignoring Jef.
"This gentleman refuses to let me give his maolot a prophylactic shot."
"Oh?" Armage turned at that, and smiled at Jef. "It's for your animal's own good, you know."
"I don't believe it," said Jef.
"Nor indeed," said the voice of Martin, "do I."
The door was opening once more; and this time it was Martin who stepped into the room.
"There you are, Jef," he said. "First you disappear and then our host here does likewise. I began to feel lost with not one familiar face about me. And now I hear that our Mikey must be given some medication for his own good. But you know, I wonder. How much do we really know about maolot metabolism? Mightn't this medication have some unwished for, even fatal side effects?"
"Sir!" said Chavel stiffly. "We're quite familiar with maolots here on Everon—on their native world."
"To be sure. But you see, this isn't an Everon maolot. He's grown up on Earth, and perhaps that makes a difference. Who can tell for sure? But, in any case my dear Doctor—it is Doctor, isn't it—you haven't answered my question. I asked if it wasn't possible that such a medication might not turn out to have some unforeseen, even fatal, side effects."
"Ah—" said Chavel, and stopped. He threw a glance at Armage; but Armage merely raised his eyebrows interestedly and said nothing. "Ah, naturally, in choosing a drug we don't anticipate—"
"Yes," said Martin softly, "or no, Doctor?"
"Who knows?" cried Chavel furiously. "We don't even understand all the differences in human beings. How can I give you a guarantee this maolot might not have some individual, farfetched, bad reaction—"
"Exactly," said Martin. "And, seeing that's so, and the maolot being important, as I've mentioned to the Constable here, perhaps it's best that no such thing be given Mikey. Wouldn't you say so, Constable?"
He looked at Armage.
"I quite agree," said Armage, and smiled a small cold smile at Chavel. "We don't want to take any risks with this valuable beast, Doctor."
"All—right!" Chavel was getting his attaché case closed again, but his fingers fumbled and made a clumsy job of it.
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