Ole Doc Methuselah Part 4

The woman looked smilingly on Ole Doc. "We got to remember this is a new country," she said, "and that we're all neighbours. And that if we don't help each other out then we'll never make anything of it."

Ole Doc looked around. "I don't see any building mate- rials here yet," he said.

The young man shook his head, "Not yet. We're looking around to find a job. It took what money we had to buy our pa.s.sage and get the lot you're sitting on."

An older man across the circle joined in. "Well, ac- cording to Captain Blanchard, that atomic power plant should be going up any day now and then we'll all have

work. If we don't build a palace first off, why I guess that can wait for a while. A solid roof is all I ask. This one we got now leaks." He looked up at the stars.

They all laughed and the old man who had just spoken, finding the strain too much for him began to cough. He did so alarmingly, as though at any moment he would spray his soul out on the ground before him. Ole Doc watched, eyes narrowed, suddenly professional. He stood up.

"You want to watch these cold nights old man," said Doc. He fumbled through his pockets but it was Hippoc- rates behind him who found what he sought. The small black kit had been stowed in his boot pocket.

Ole Doc took it out now and selected from it a very small but extremely potent pill. He skirted the fire and gave it to the old man.

"Take this and you'll feel better."

There was some question in the eyes about him and considerable reluctance on the part of the old man. For all beware the unhappy human frailty of trying to administer to everyone else's diseases.

"Go ahead," said Ole Doc, "I'm a physician."

The old man took the pill then and swallowed it.

"That ought to cure you in an hour or so," said Ole Doc. "And if you keep yourself dry and warm your asthma shouldn't be coming back on you very soon."

There was renewed attention about the circle. "Well, by Saturn," said the old man, "I never heard of no pill that'd cure asthma in two or three hours. What kind of doctor do you be?"

Unbidden, phonograph-record-wise Hippocrates was only too glad to answer this question. " 'The Soldier of Light is no ordinary physician,' " he announced in his shrill voice. " 'He is part of an organization of six hundred who have dedicated themselves to the ultimate preservation of mankind no matter the wars or explorations of s.p.a.ce.

There are one hundred and seventy-six trillion human beings throughout this galaxy. There is roughly one physi- cian for every hundred and sixty of these. There are only six hundred Soldiers of Light. They give allegiance to no government, need no pa.s.sport, so long as they do not engage in political activity, their persons are inviolate.

" 'An apprenticeship of forty years is required to be- come a member of this society and membership is not

confirmed even then until the applicant has made an undeniably great contribution to the health and happiness of mankind. Members of the Universal Medical Society do not practice as do ordinary physicians. They accept no fee. The organization is self-supporting.

" 'You see before you my master, Soldier of Light seventy-seven known as Methuselah.' "

Before Ole Doc could stop them, all the members of the circle about the fire had risen to their feet and the men had uncovered their heads. Not one person there had failed to hear of the organization and several had heard of Ole Doc. None of them had ever before been privileged to behold a member of this awed and sacred society.

Embarra.s.sed and a bit out of patience with his faithful slave Ole Doc left hurriedly. He was angry within himself in the realization that it was he himself who was at fault for he had never attempted to educate Hippocrates into intrigue. He doubted that anyone could possibly impress upon the fellow that Ole Doc could or would do anything which could not be published on every visioscreen in the galaxy. True, there had been some peccadillos in the past but this was before the time of Hippocrates. However, for all his good intentions, he could not bring himself to address the slave in friendly terms and so walked on harshly ahead of him.

Hippocrates, disconsolate, outcast the second time dropped far behind and finally sat down on a stone beside the path to try to exude his misery into the night and so be rid of it.

By himself Ole Doc reached the ship. He was all the way into the dining salon before he fully recognized the fact that it was empty. Miss Elston was gone.

At first he thought she might have gone out to take a turn in the night but then a piece of paper, icy white on the salon table, told him this was not the case. It was in Miss Elston's handwriting.

Please do not try to find me or come for me. I am doing this of my own accord and I have no wish to get you into trouble knowing very well that you could be cast out of your society for engaging in political affairs.

Alicia Elston.

Ole Doc read it through twice, trembling. Then throwing it savagely into the corner he dashed to the cabinet where he had enclosed Dart. That worthy was gone. Belatedly he

bethought himself that the Martian might well have had his pocket radio phones concealed about him.

The cabinet containing Elston, being unknown, was, of course, undisturbed.

From a locker Ole Doc grabbed a blaster, fifty rounds and a medical case. Still buckling it on he ran across the field where the Morgue stood. He headed straight for the building where he had that day seen Blanchard.

Blanchard's white hands fluttered in the night gesticulat- ing before the face of the tramp rocketship captain: Now they threatened, now they pleaded, now they rubbed thumb against fingers in the money sign but whatever they did the hard bitten old master of the s.p.a.ceship remained adamant.

Dart squirmed and wriggled nervously as he regarded the odds in the form of five armed s.p.a.cemen which they faced.

The captain stood st.u.r.dily on the lower step of the air lock and grimly shook his head. "No, Mr. Blanchard, I can't do anything like that. I gotta yella ticket, I tell ye. I can't clear until it's turned white by him that wrote it."

"But I tell you again and again," cried Blanchard, "that I can get a physician here in Junction City who'll give you a white ticket that will get you through any planetary quarantine you face."

"Naw sir, you ain't no regular port and if there's disease to be carried I ain't carryin' it. Nawthing can make me go up against a yella ticket signed by a Soldier of Light."

Sudden intelligence shot through Blanchard's face. His hands stiffened, clenched. "How can this be? When did it happen?"

"Just afore sundown, Mr. Blanchard. He come here and he give me the ticket and he give everybody else the same yella ticket. And while he didn't say wot disease, and while he didn't even say there was disease a yella ticket from a Soldier of Light is good enough for me. I don't go nowhere and I don't take you nowhere, and there's no use askin' it cause I'd make myself and my crew an outlaw for all the rest of my days if I was to do it. There ain't no planetary port anywhere in the galaxy that'd receive us With a yella ticket from him."

Anger displayed the extent of Blanchard's defeat. "I can show you there is no disease," he cried wildly. Then,

bethinking himself that a more proper frame of mind would better suit his ends he calmed.

"How could you get rid of such a thing as a yellow ticket? Supposing the Soldier of Light himself were to be stricken by the disease? Supposing he were to die? Then what? Supposing any number of things happened? Suppos- ing Junction City burned down? Supposing, well, you can't stand there and tell me that you would then refuse to leave."

"Oh, that would be different, Mr. Blanchard. But them conditions ain't nowise appeared. While there's a Soldier of Light alive and well and as long as I holds his yella ticket I don't go no place. There's no use offering bribes and there's no use using threats. I ain't going!"

The s.p.a.ce door shut with a clang.

If Blanchard's eyes had been acetylene torches they would have cut it neatly through but they were not. He and Dart, followed by three outlaws, who carried amongst them a quant.i.ty of baggage and a peculiarly noisy chest, made their way back towards the Comet Saloon.

They had not gone nearer than the outskirts of the town when they encountered two pioneers at one of the innumerable water hydrants which Blanchard had used as props to give stability to his swindle.

They had just drunk when one of them said, in a sour voice, "Look at that sky. Goin' to rain, all right."

Blanchard glanced up. The fine brilliance of the stars was not marred by a single cloud anywhere.

"Rain," said the other pioneer, "it'll probably hail or sleet. I never saw a worse lookin' night!"

"My old woman," said the first, "she'll probably die if it turns cold. She's doin' awful poor."

"And you never saw ground," said the second, "harder to dig a grave in."

This gloomy dissertation caused Blanchard to walk fast- er. The soft turf yielded, the night was fine. But there was chill in the wind which was not temperature. A lot depend- ed upon the state of mind of these people.

Near the river he paused and let the three carriers come up. They jostled to a halt in the starlight.