“Frankly,” he said, “my opinion of the Overlords goes down. I thought they had better things to do with their time.”
“You’re an incorrigible materialist, aren’t you? I don’t think Jean will agree at all. But even from your oh-so-practical viewpoint, it still makes sense. Surely you’d study the superstitions of any primitive race you were having dealings with!”
“I suppose so,” said George, not quite convinced. The table-top was feeling hard, so he rose to his feet. Rupert had now mixed the drinks to his satisfaction and was heading back to his guests. Querulous voices could already be heard demanding his presence.
“Hey!” protested George, “just before you disappear there’s one other question. How did you get hold of that two-way television gadget you tried to frighten us with?”
“Just a bit of bargaining. I pointed out how valuable it would be for a job like mine, and Rashy passed the suggestion on to the right quarters.”
“Forgive me for being so obtuse, but what is your new job? I suppose, of course, it’s something to do with animals.”
“That’s right. I’m a super-vet. My practice covers about ten thousand square kilometres of jungle, and as my patients won’t come to me, I’ve got to look for them.”
“Rather a full-time job.”
“Oh, of course it isn’t practical to bother about the small fry. Just lions, elephants, rhinos, and so on. Every morning I set the controls for a height of a hundred metres, sit down in front of the screen and go cruising over the countryside. When I find anyone in trouble I climb into my flyer and hope my bedside manner will work. Sometimes it’s a bit tricky. Lions and such-like are easy — but trying to puncture a rhino from the air with an anesthetic dart is the devil of a job.”
“RUPERT!” yelled someone from the next room.