“You never let me tell you,” Kennon said mildly, “that my landing here was a matter of medicine. Technically you have contributed to a delay in treatment.”
The Port Captain’s face paled. “Why didn’t you say something?” he said.
“Against your gale of wind I would be but a faint breeze,” Kennon said coldly. He turned to the interne. “I’m Dr. Kennon.” They bowed formally to each other.
“I’m Smalley, sir, from the medical center. Dr. Brainard sends his compliments and requests that you join him for consultation.”
“The Port Captain—” Kennon began.
“Don’t worry about it, Doctor. I’ll relinquish responsibility to Dr. Brainard,” the Captain said.
“I have placed a formal written request with your office,” Smalley said stiffly. “You are relieved of further charge. Dr. Kennon is urgently needed. It is a matter of medicine.”
The Captain looked relieved. On Beta it was poor policy to interfere with the doings of doctors and engineers—or even doctors of philosophy.
“Very well. He’s yours—and I’m glad to be rid of him.” The Port Captain bowed to Kennon and Smalley and stalked out of the office.
“Pompous little man,” Kennon observed, “but he certainly can talk.”