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Lucky did not seem to hear. He said, "When will I be able to talk to Scott Mindes, Dr. Gardoma?"
"Not for at least twelve hours."
"And will he be rational?"
''I'm certain of that."
A new guttural baritone voice broke in. "Are you, Gardoma? Is that because you know our boy Mindes was never irrational?"
Dr. Gardoma whirled at the sound and made no effort to hide the look of acute dislike on his face. "What are you doing here, Urteil?"
"Keeping my eyes and ears open, though I suppose you'd rather I kept them closed," the newcomer said.
Both Lucky and Bigman were staring at him curiously. He was a large man; not tall, but broad of shoulder and thick-muscled. His cheeks were blue with stubble, and there was a rather unpleasant air of self-assurance about him.
Dr. Gardoma said, "I don't care what you do with your eyes and ears, but not in my office, if you don't mind."
"Why not in your office?" demanded Urteil. "You're a doctor. Patients have a right to come in. Maybe I'm a patient."
"What's your complaint?"
"How about these two? What are their complaints? Hormone deficiency, for one thing, I suppose." His eyes fell lazily on Bigman Jones as he said that.
There was a breathless interlude in which Bigman turned a deathly white and then seemed to swell. Slowly he rose from his seat, his eyes round and staring. His lips moved as though forming the words "hormone deficiency," as though he were trying to convince himself that he had actually heard the words and that it was no illusion.
Then, with the speed of a cobra striking, Bigman's five foot two of cord-whip muscle launched itself at the broad, sneering figure before him.
But Lucky moved faster. His hands shot downward, catching Bigman at each shoulder. "Easy, Bigman."
The small Martian struggled desperately. "You heard him, Lucky. You heard him."
"Not now, Bigman."
Urteil's laugh was a series of sharp barks. "Let him go, fella. I'll smear the little boy over the floor with my finger."
Bigman howled and writhed in Lucky's grip.
Lucky said, "I wouldn't say anything else, Urteil, or you may be in a kind of trouble your senator friend won't be able to get you out of."
His eyes had become brown ice as he spoke and his voice was smooth steel.
Urteil's glance locked with Lucky's for a moment, then fell away. He mumbled something about joking. Bigman's harsh breathing calmed somewhat, and as Lucky slowly released his grip the Martian took his seat, still trembling with almost unbearable fury.
Dr. Gardoma, who had watched the bit of byplay tensely, said, "You know Urteil, Mr. Starr?"
"By reputation. He's Jonathan Urteil, Senator Swen-son's roving investigator."
"Well, call it that," muttered the physician.
"And I know you too, David Starr, Lucky Starr, whatever you call yourself," said Urteil. "You're the roving wonder-boy for the Council of Science. Mars poisonings. Asteroid pkates. Venusian telepathy. Do 1 have the list correct?"
"You have," said Lucky tonelessly.
Urteil gri
"Why?"
"To give you a little warning. Just a friendly little warning. I suppose the medic here has been telling you what a nice guy Mindes is. Just a momentary splash of unbearable strain, he's been telling you, I suppose. They're great friends, Mindes and he."
"I just said-- " began Dr. Gardoma.
"Let me say," said Urteil. "Let me say this, Scott Mindes is about as harmless as a two-ton asteroid heading for a space-ship. He wasn't temporarily insane when he pointed a blaster at you. He knew what he was doing. He tried to kill you in cold blood, Starr, and if you don't watch out, he'll succeed next time. Because you can bet your small friend's Martian hip boots he'll try again."