He heard the uproar behind him, but he paid no attention. Whatever they wanted, he was getting out of here, fast. There might have been trouble, but at a critical point the public address system swung into operation, thanks to the foresight of his intern friends, who had rigged up a special portable attachment to the microphone. It started calling Dr. Manson, calling Dr. Kolanyi, calling Dr. Pumber, and all the others.
In the confusion, Ollie escaped and found himself, for the first time in his life, a passenger in a taxicab. With him were the two friendly interns, no longer in white.
"Just in case any more of those lumps appear in your stomach," said the female, "you'd better take another couple of tablets."
She was so persuasive that Ollie put up only token resistance. The tablets went down his stomach, and then he settled back to enjoy the cab ride. It was only later that he wondered where they were taking him. By that time, he was too sleepy to wonder very much.
With the aid of the first two tablets, he had digested the equivalent of a tremendous meal. The blood coursed merrily in his veins and arteries, and he had a warm sensation of well-being.
As the taxi sped along, his eyes closed.
"You transmitted the message in one of the latter tablets?" asked Zolto in their native tongue.
"I have explained all that has happened," replied his wife. "They will stop sending food and wait for other directives."
"Good. Now we'll have to get the transfer out of him as soon as possible. We ourselves can operate and he will never be the wiser."