Rx

The tenth son of a tenth son was very sick, but it was written that he would never die. Of course, it was up to the Earth doctor to see that he didn't!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

They didn't realize they were in trouble until it was too late to stop it. The call from Morua II came in quite innocently, relayed to the ship from HQ in Standard GPP Contract code for crash priority, which meant Top Grade Planetary Emergency, and don't argue about it, fellows, just get there, fast. Red Doctor Sam Jenkins took one look at the flashing blinker and slammed the controls into automatic; gyros hummed, bearings were computed and checked, and the General Practice Patrol ship Lancet spun in its tracks, so to speak, and began homing on the call-source like a hound on a fox. The fact that Morua II was a Class VI planet didn't quite register with anybody, just then.

Ten minutes later the Red Doctor reached for the results of the Initial Information Survey on Morua II, and let out a howl of alarm. A single card sat in the slot with a wide black stripe across it.

Jenkins snapped on the intercom. "Wally," he yelped. "Better get up here fast."

"Trouble?" said the squawk-box, sleepily.

"Oh, brother," said Jenkins. "Somebody's cracked the Contract Code or something."

A moment later a tall sleepy man in green undershorts appeared at the control room, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?" he said. "We've changed course."

"Yeah. Ever hear of Morua II?"

Green Doctor Wally Stone frowned and scratched his whiskered chin. "Sounds familiar, but I can't quite tune in. Crash call?" His eye caught the black-striped card. "Class VI planet ... a plague spot! How can we get a crash-call from this?"

"You tell me," said Jenkins.

"Wait a minute. Seems to me there was some sort of nasty business--"

Jenkins nodded heavily. "There sure was. Five successive attempts to establish a Contract with them, and five times we got thrown out bodily. The last time an Earth ship landed there half the crew was summarily shot and the others came home with their ears cut off. Seems the folks on Morua II didn't want a Contract with Hospital Earth. And they're still in the jungle, as far as their medicine goes. Witch doctors and spells." He tossed the Info-card down the chute with a growl. "So now we have an emergency call from them in a Contract code they couldn't possibly know."

The surgeon in the green undershorts chewed his lip. "Looks like somebody in that last crew spilled the beans before they shot him."

"Obviously."

"Well, what are we doing on automatics? We're not going there, are we?"

"What else? You know the law. Instantaneous response to any crash-priority call, regardless of circumstances--"

"Law be damned," Stone cried. "File a protest with HQ. Cancel the course bearings and thumb our noses at them!"

"And spend the next twenty years scrubbing test tubes." Jenkins shook his head. "Sorry, it took me too long to get aboard one of these tubs. We don't do that in the General Practice Patrol, remember? I don't know how Morua II got the code, but they got it, and that's all the farther we're supposed to think. We answer the call, and beef about it later. If we still happen to be around later, that is."

* * * * *

It had always been that way. Since the first formal Medical Service Contract had been signed with Deneb III centuries before, Hospital Earth had laboriously built its reputation on that single foundation stone: immediate medical assistance, without question or hesitation, whenever and wherever it was required, on any planet bound by Contract. That was the law, for Hospital Earth could not afford to jeopardize a Contract.