Fantastic Science Fiction – February 1956
(1956)*
Randall Garrett
They needed a brain fixer on Kaibere IV, so naturally it had to be the best man in the business. That would be Dr. Kendrick Dell from Cardigan III. So the Doc showed up with a bag of tools and the desire to earn his fee.
It didn't work out as he had expected; for not only did somebody blow his hand off so he couldn't operate—there wasn't any patient not to operate on!
-
THE white-hot beam of energy that seared blindingly through the night air of Kaibere IV snuffed out two lives during the fraction of a second of its existence.
Kendrick Dell heard the woman's scream, but it was almost meaningless to him, combined as it was with his own hoarse shout. He stood for nearly a full minute staring in horror at the charred stump of his forearm where his right hand had been. Then, as footsteps pounded toward him, shock took its toll of his body and he collapsed limply, only a few feet from the body of the dead woman.
He wasn't dead, but his life was gone—a surgeon without a hand is no longer a surgeon.
He came up through the cloud of unconsciousness, his mind braced for the feeling of pain. Curiously, the pain didn't come.
A girl was leaning over him. She said: "How do you feel, Dr. Dell?"
It took him several seconds to realize just how he did feel. He didn't hurt; he just felt empty. He didn't tell the girl that; instead, he countered with another question.
"What the hell happened?" His voice sounded strained to his own ears.
The girl frowned. "Your right hand was burned off just below the wrist. I—I'm afraid I don't know any more than that.
"We've fitted a prosthetic; you'll be as good as ever as soon as you learn to use it."
Kendrick knew that was a lie. The synthetic flesh of a prosthetic could never replace his own hand.
"If you feel well enough," the girl continued hurriedly, "Colonel Tebrin of the Farn City Police would like to talk to you. He may be able to tell you more about the accident."
Accident, hell! thought Kendrick. "I'll see him," he said aloud.
The girl opened the door of the hospital room and said something to someone out of Kendrick's sight. A tall, lean man in a gray uniform appeared at the door.
"I'll only be a few minutes, Dr. Leeth," he said in a firm baritone.
Doctor Leeth? For the first time, Kendrick took a good look at the girl in the trim, light-green uniform. She filled it well, and the red-brown hair complimented the color nicely.
The colonel of police came on into the room as the girl left, closing the door behind her.
"Dr. Kendrick Dell?" he asked crisply.
Kendrick nodded.
"I'm sorry to bother you so soon after your operation," the colonel continued, pulling up a chair beside the bed, "but there are some things we'd like to know for the record."
"Perfectly all right," Kendrick said tonelessly.
The officer pulled out a notebook and consulted it. "We checked at your hotel room and the spaceport," he said. "You landed five days ago from—"
"Five days ago!" Kendrick said sharply.
Colonel Tebrin looked up from his notebook. "Yes. Didn't you know? You've been under anasthesia for four days."
"No, I didn't know," Kendrick said softly. There was something odd here. It didn't take four days to fit a new hand.
"Mmh. At any rate," the colonel continued, "you landed with the liner Queen of Courlay. Your place of origin is listed as Cardigon III. You checked in at the Farn Hotel, and then went sightseeing. That was at 1300 hours. At 2215, you were in front of the Old Fashioned Tavern on South Ninety-Second Street. Someone using a Lindhurst Fifty beamed down a woman named Kella Glay, and you happened to be in the way." He paused and looked up from his notes. "Is that it?"
"Essentially," Kendrick agreed.
The colonel made a note, then looked back at Kendrick.
"Dr. Dell, may I ask what your business is on Kaibere IV?"
"I am—was—one of the best neurosurgeons in the Galaxy," Kendrick said. There was no bragging in his voice; he had simply stated a fact.
"I am aware of that," the colonel said, "but what brought you here? A newly-settled planet like this would hardly sustain the practice of a man like yourself."
"I was given a substantial retainer to come here to perform some rather delicate brain surgery."
"I see. Who was your patient?"
"A man named Corwin. I was contacted by his wife, Mrs. Delpha Corwin."
"Mmmm. Do you know anyone on Kaibere IV?"
"Not a soul," said Kendrick. "I've never been here before."
"You said: 'a substantial retainer'," the policeman said softly. "Now, Dr. Dell, I don't know what you charge for surgery of that sort, but I'd say that your reputation, plus the fact that you've traveled over fifteen hundred parsecs to take the case, would make the fee run well up around a hundred thousand stellors. Correct me if I'm wrong."
"You're close," Kendrick said.
"I thought so. That's what makes it so odd."
"Odd?"
"Yes. You see, I make it my business to know everybody of wealth and importance here. It's easy to do, since there are only thirty thousand people on the entire planet. And I can assure you, doctor, there isn't any family named Corwin that could possibly put out money like that. As a matter of fact, I don't think there's anyone by that name on the planet."
Kendrick Dell sat in his hotel room flexing his new right hand. Even after two days, it was still numb and stiff. It always would be, he told himself dourly.
Colonel Tebrin had been right. There were no Corwins on Kaibere IV.
Kendrick felt a seething rage just below the surface of his thoughts. Somebody had paid out a thirty thousand stellor retaining fee to get him here. He'd gotten mixed up in a street killing and had his hand burned off—and now there wasn't even a patient to give the retainer back to. He'd have to do that, of course. The operation could never be performed—at least not by Dr. Kendrick Dell.
He looked again at his pink, new hand and swore softly.
"There's something damned screwy going on here," he said aloud, "and I, by God, am going to find out what it is!"
His first stop was the Old Fashioned Tavern, where he'd been hit by the energy beam from an illegal Lindhurst Fifty. He pushed open the door and walked over to the bar. The place was old fashioned, all right; there wasn't an automatic machine in the place, only human bartenders and waiters.
Kendrick ordered a drink, and, as the bartender poured, he casually slipped a five stellor note onto the bar. "I'd like a little information," he said quietly.
The barkeep grinned. "Yes, sir. What'll it be?"
"Do you know a woman named Corwin—Delpha Corwin?" Kendrick asked, picking up his glass.
"Corwin?" The man shook his head. "Nope. I don't think I ever heard that name before."
Kendrick changed his tack. "Were you on duty seven days ago, when the shooting took place?"
"Yeah. Boy, that was a mess. Dame killed and a guy wounded. They still ain't found who did it."
"I know. What I want to know is, was there a woman in here at the time—alone? She probably acted as though she were waiting for someone who didn't show up."
The barman looked oddly at Kendrick before answering. "Yeah, there was a gal in here who was acting just like you said. She's the one that got herself knocked off out front."
Kendrick dropped the bill to the bar, and the barman scooped it up with a polite "Thanks."
It made sense, Kendrick decided. Hell, yes, it made sense! He'd been told to meet Mrs. Delpha Corwin at the Old Fashioned Tavern. There was no Delpha Corwin, but someone had been there to meet him, and that someone had been killed.
What was the woman's name? Colonel Tebrin had mentioned it, but the name escaped him. Well, there was one way to find out.
"What's the name of the newsfac in this town?" he asked the barman.
"Farn City News," came the answer. "Real original name, ain't it?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Kendrick finished his drink and went out to the street to grab a taxi.
The little automatic machine pulled over to the curb at Kendrick's signal. He climbed inside and dialed the directory.
"Information service," said a voice.
"Taxi number for the Farn City News."
"Dial PENwyck 2-3391."
Kendrick dialed and the machine glided smoothly down the street.
Kaibere IV was a raw, new world. It was old fashioned and backwards because it had yet to build up any really heavy industry to make the machines and gadgets that provided the ease and comfort found on the older, more settled worlds. It wouldn't take long, though; Kaibere IV had plenty of potential wealth in her seas.
The great shallow oceans of the planet were filled with the peculiar seaweed that yielded the pseudo-hormone azuronol. The stuff could, of course, he synthesized, but it cost about eighty times as much as the natural product, and couldn't be made in quantity. And, because of the high cobalt content of the seas of Kaibere IV, it was the only place in the Galaxy where the azuronol plant would grow.
And azuronol was important; it was the only known substance which would stimulate the regeneration of nerve tissue in a human body. Muscles, glands, and bones, when damaged, can repair themselves, if the damage isn't too bad. But not nerve tissue. Once a nerve is damaged, it is damaged forever—unless the patient is doped with azuronol during the healing process.
With such a gold mine as that, it wouldn't be long until Kaibere IV was the most important planet in the Galaxy.
The autocab pulled up in front of an imposing looking building which had the words FARN CITY NEWS emblazoned over the door.
Kendrick pushed open the door and went in.
He did some fast talking with the receptionist and managed to get permission to look through the files. The girl showed him to the reproducer and left him.
Kendrick punched for the morning issue of the day after the killing. Within seconds, the newly-printed sheets were sliding out into his hands.
The killing had made the front page. There was nothing in the article that he hadn't known previously, except the woman's name and the fact that she had been a private secretary to the Planetary Governor.
Kendrick wondered why Colonel Tebrin hadn't mentioned that.
He checked the next four issues of the newsfac, but nothing new had turned up. There seemed to be absolutely no motive for the killing, no reason for the girl's death.
The one other bit of information that interested Kendrick was that Kella Glay had been unmarried. If she had been the mysterious Mrs. Corwin, where was Mr. Corwin? Who was the patient he was supposed to operate on?
There was nothing else in the sheets before him. He pushed them into the disposal chute, thanked the receptionist for her trouble and went back to his hotel.
Colonel Tebrin was waiting for him.
...
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