Astounding British Edition, Vol. 6, No. 8 — page 50: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

48 _ ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION what she was saying nor upon her and she ts understood what was going on in the ship. “Some one you like?” she asked. “The best slave any man ever had,” said Ole Doc. “I recall...” But he stopped, listening. “The best slave a man ever had,” he finished quickly. . The sun sank lowér and then at last the clicking and chanting inside the ship had stopped. The door opened very slowly and the old man came out, carrying his clumsy bundles. He put them in the gig. In a moment, Bestin came down the twisted ladder and walked stolidly toward the gig. - Ole Doc looked at them and his shoul- ders sagged. He rose and slowly approached the old being. “IT understand,” said Ole Doc, finding it difficult to speak. “It is not easy to lose... to lose a patient,” he finished. “But you did pe best I know. I will fly you back to it “No, you won't!” howled Hippocrates, leaping down from the Morgue. “No you won't! I will do it and you will tell those two stupid humans there and that woman to put things to rights in that ship they messed up. Put them to rights, you bandits! Wreck my Morgue, will you! She’s more - human than you are!” He shook four fists in their faces and then turned to beam affectionately at Ole Doc. The little fellow was a mass of fresh plaster of Paris from neck to belt but other- wise he was very much himself. “New pipes,’ he said. “Whooeee whoooo whoooo!” he screamed, deafening them. “See? New pipes.”’ Ole Doc saw and heard. He sat down on the grass weakly and began to laugh. Hippo- crates was offended. He did not know that this was from the shock of his own near demise, from the close shave of never getting aid to him. He did not know that the biggest swindle in a thousand systems had had to relax its wealthy sway before he could be cured. He was offended. “Clean up that ship!” he shouted, jump- ing into the gig. “And as for you,” he de- claimed, pointing at his beloved master, “don’t you touch that cake. The birthday party will be at six. You invite girl but those stupid humans, never! I go’now. Be right back.” And the gig shot tremendously away. Ole Doc wiped away the tears of near hysteria and took one of his own pills. He got up. “You better do what he says, people. And as for you, Tinoi, tomorrow morning we'll shut off and destroy those ‘machines’ and get this planet running again. Jump now. | You heard him.” The clerk and the girl—-who gave Ole Dee a lingering, promising elance—entered the > ship to begin their work. But Tinoi lingered. “Better jump,” said Ole Doc. “Sure. Til work,” said Tinoi. “But one thing, Mister Doctor . . . you’re a Soldier of Light and I ain’t even good enough to talk to you, I know. But—” . 6“ 11?” %% “Sir,” plunged Tinoi. “It’s them bombs. We had our allergy pills, but them bombs was pretty good, too. If they’re so expensive to make like he said, how’ll we ever get - enough to cure up—” “My man,” said Ole Doc, “your precious bombs were one of the oldest known bun- combes in medical history. A propellant and ephedrine, that’s all. Ephedrine barely per- mits the allergy patient to breathe. It wasn’t ‘air’ you were selling but a phony, second- rate drug that costs about a dollar a barrel. They’d take a little and needed more. You were clear back in the dark ages of medical history—about a century after they'd Stopped using witches for doctors. Ragweed, ephedrine—but they were enough to wreck the lives of nearly everyone on this planet. “Oh, get into the ship and get busy. It makes me sick to think of it, Besides, if Hippocrates gets back and finds his Morgue still messed up, he’ll make you wish you’d never been born. Jump now, for by all that’s holy, there’s the gig coming back now.” DREAMS ARE SACRED (continued from page 33) How can you apologize to a girl when she doesn’t even know that you owe her an apology? She hadn’t been asleep, so she couldn’t have dreamed about the skirt in- cident. And if she had—she was Craswell’s dream, not mine. But through some aber- ration a trickle of thought-waves from Blakiston’s machine had planted an unrea- soning antipathy to me in her subconscious mind. And it would need a psychiatrist to dig it out. Or— I phoned Steve from the club office. He was still chewing. I said: “I’ve got some intensive thinking to do—into that machine of yours. I'll be right over.” | She was leaving the microphone as I passed the band on my way out. I looked at her hard as she came up, getting every detail fixed. “What time do you go to bed?” I asked. I saw the slap coming and ducked. I said: “I can wait. I'll be seeing you. Happy dreams.” Gomichbooksnco