Douglas! Kennon hadn’t thought of him since the one time they had met in Alexandria. That was a year ago. It seemed much longer. Since the Boss-man had exiled his cousin to that bleak rock to the east of Flora there had been no word of him. And now—he laughed a sharp bark of humorless annoyance—Douglas couldn’t have timed it better if he had tried!
“All right,” Kennon said. “I’ll come. What seems to be the trouble?”
“They’re sick.”
“That’s obvious,” Kennon snapped. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling. Can’t you tell me any more than that?”
“They’re vomiting. They have diarrhea. Several have had fits.”
“Thanks,” Kennon said. “I’ll be right out. Expect me in an hour.”
“So you’re leaving?” Al asked as he cradled the phone.
“That’s a practitioner’s life,” Kennon said. “Full of interruptions. Can I borrow your jeep?”
“I’ll drive you. Where do you want to go?”
“To the hospital,” Kennon said. “I’ll have to pick up my gear. It’s an emergency all right.”