The Invaders Plan

Over under the blossoming trees, I had not seen the Widow Tayl. She was standing there in the shadows. She had not moved forward. She was just standing there. Her mouth was half-open, her eyes round. She was holding one hand to her breast as though finding it hard to breathe. I thought to myself that she was, unfortunately, really developing a case on me. "Adoration fixation," they call it: the inexplicable attraction of the female for a virile and handsome male. I regretted having this effect on women at the moment. I had other business in mind. I hastened to keep up with Heller.

"Doctor Bittlestiffender," I said. "Here is your . . . patient." I had almost said "meat." I had already briefed young Doctor Prahd Bittlestiffender. But he was a little nervous. Why not? He thought his world would collapse if he failed with this case. He nodded, snap-snipping the instrument in his hand convulsively. He led the way hurriedly inside.

Heller took a brief tour around the room. "Well, well. All the latest and the newest."

"Now, if you will just remove your clothes and lie down on this operating table," said young Doctor Prahd, "we can get on with it."

"I hope so," said Heller. "I've got a lot of things to do at the ship. We're sailing very soon, so ..." His ignorance of espionage and security was awful! He'd be telling Bittlestiffender his life history and right name next! I cut him off. "Then the sooner you do what the doctor says, the quicker it will be over." Heller kicked off his shoes and peeled. He lay down on the operating table.

"Hm," said the young Doctor Prahd, "you are certainly extremely well built. And equipped." It startled me. I glanced to see if there was amour in this young doctor's eyes. But there wasn't. He was just being matter-of-fact professional. And it was true, unfortunately, what he said of Heller. He was a very muscular, well-proportioned athlete and he was very well equipped. I realized Prahd was building patient empathy. Then I realized the compliment had made me a little cross. Other people are well built and equipped, too. Well, not really.

"Doctor," I said, "I want to call your attention to certain deadly identifying marks. Quite disfiguring. And a total catastrophe in our line of work." Prahd was looking and looking. He couldn't see any. And the dumb (bleepard) was about to say so when I firmly pointed at the tiny white scar Lombar's paralysis dagger had made. "That," I said, leaving no room for dispute, "must be taken care of!" I pointed at the end of the right eyebrow. "And thereis the dead giveaway. Stands out like a glaring boil!" Young Doctor Prahd peered and peered and finally saw the faint scar tissue. He shocked me by saying, "He certainly heals well. It would take a magnifying . . ."

"That,"I said hurriedly – my Gods, this doctor was stupid, for I had drilled him well – "is the remains of a bone-deep wound. It was the result of a skull-shattering blow from a primitive stone arrowhead!" Prahd blinked. "A stone arrowhead?" Then both he and Heller had no better sense, at this crucial moment, than to laugh. Heller told the story to him. It seemed they weren't even fighting the primitives and Heller had been curious as to how they held their stockade wall up – it seemed to be floating two feet off the ground – and, as a precaution as he approached it, had drawn his blastgun and a little kid had shot him with a stone-headed arrow. For the life of me, I couldn't see what was so fu

But before I could get this silly situation under control, young Doctor Prahd had picked up a machine that had a viewplate and was putting it under Heller's head. Prahd looked at the screen. I looked at the screen. I couldn't see anything but the outline of some skull bones.

Then young Doctor Prahd said, "Well, I'll be blasted! Was this treated?" Heller shrugged. "Wasn't much to treat. We mostly laughed about it. The doctor just put some tape on it."

"Ah," said young Doctor Prahd. "He should have been sent before the doctor's review board!" He was very serious.

Heller had stopped laughing.

Young Doctor Prahd put his finger just in toward the eyebrow on the wound. "Does that hurt?"

"Ouch," said Heller.

"I thought so!" Prahd drew an Xon the spot with a purple pen. He drew back and turned the machine off and put it on another bench. Then he stood back and shook his head at Heller. "Had that doctor taken the proper steps, he would have seen what I just saw!" I gaped. I hadn't seen anything on the screen.

Young Doctor Prahd looked grave. "My dear fellow, I don't like to tell you this. Now don't be unduly alarmed for you are in competent hands. But in another two years at the outside, had it not come to my attention, the creeping penetration syndrome would have resulted in prefrontal lobe incision with the usual consequences of internal cerebral shield suppuration." What the Hells was this stupid doctor up to?

"Hey," said Heller, "physical doctoring is not in my line. You'll have to put that in plain Voltarian." Prahd took Heller's hand in his own in a comforting gesture. "I have to tell you – now don't leap up and run away – that the tip of that stone arrowhead is still in there!" I finally got it! Wow, this young Doctor Prahd was a very sharp boy. No wonder the older practitioners didn't want him around as competition! A real con artist! Worthy of the finest traditions of the Apparatus!

"Hold it," said Heller. "I haven't got time to let you fool around with that now! I've got to get going on a mission!" Young Doctor Prahd said, "Mission physical clearance refused. Officer Gris, please inform your superiors that said subject ca

"Why?" demanded Heller, trying to sit up.

Prahd said, "If the inevitable consequences of a foreign body gradually eating its way into the brain were to occur after I passed you, resulting in mission failure as it would, the Board of Examiners could revoke my certificates. So, I ca

"How long would it take to remove it?" demanded Heller.

Prahd shrugged. "It's not a big job, even if it is vital. Two hours. Another four or five to recover from the anesthesia."

"Oh, no," said Heller. "I promised . . . well, I promised somebody not to let myself be put under around . . . around certain people."

"Oh, Jet," I said. "Don't you trust your friends?" But I had thought of all this. I knew that Krak would have a fit if she found Heller had been put into a general anesthesia. She had feared somebody would really cut him up or maybe do a hypnotic implant. I had worked it all out.

I picked up a case from a table from right where I had left it. I handed it to Heller. "That is a security recorder. Lockable. I give it to you. You set your own combination on it. You lock it to your own wrist. Nobody can interfere with it or change it but you. It will start recording. It will keep right on recording until you wake up. It will take both sound and picture of what is happening. Examine it." He did so. There were no tricks in it. The metal case was totally impenetrable once it was locked. Only he would know the numbers and be able to open it and get at the recording strip.

Heller sighed. In a weary voice, he said, "Which wrist do I put it on." I had won! I had won! But I preserved my grave mien. "Left wrist, as the doctor will be working on the right side. We can lay your hand on this little wheeltable and it will just sit there and record everything. Then you, at your leisure, can review it." I knew the Countess Krak would review it!