Douglas Alexander was a puffy-faced youngster with small intolerant eyes set in folds of fat above a button nose and a loose-lipped sensual mouth. There was an odd expression of defiance overlaid with fear on his pudgy features. Looking at him, Kennon was reminded of a frightened dog, ready either to bite or cower.
But it wasn’t Douglas who held his eye. It was the two Lani who followed him into the room. Every line of their bodies was perfection that spoke volumes about generations of breeding for physical elegance. They moved with a co-ordinated grace that made Douglas look even more clumsy by contrast. And they were identical, twin cream-and-gold works of art. They were completely nude—and Kennon for the first time in his life fully appreciated the beauty of an unclad female. To cover them would be sacrilege, and ornaments would only detract from their exquisite perfection.
Kennon knew that he was staring like an idiot. Alexander’s amused smile told him that much. With an effort he composed his startled features.
The pair looked at him with soft violet eyes—and it was as though some psychic bathhouse attendant had poured ice water down his spine. For he had seen that look before, that liquid introspective look in the velvet eyes of cattle. He shivered. For a moment he had been thinking of them as human. And somehow the lack of that indefinable some thing called humanity robbed them of much of their glamour. They were still beautiful, but their beauty had become impersonal.
“Don’t take these as representative of the Lani,” Alexander said suddenly. “They’re a special case, a very special case.” He glared at his cousin. “Damn your impudence,” he said without beat. “I sent for you—not your toys. Send them away.”
Douglas sulkily thrust out his lower lip. “You can’t talk to me like that, Cousin Alex,” he began. “I’m just a—”
“You heard me, Douglas. Out!” Alexander’s voice didn’t rise but it cut like a whip.
“Oh, very well,” Douglas said. “I can’t fight you—yet.” He turned to the humanoids. “You heard the Boss-man. Go home.”
The two nodded in unison and departed quickly. Somehow Kennon got the impression that they were happy to leave.
“Just wait,” Douglas said. “You can’t boss me forever. Just wait. I’ll reach my majority in five years. I can vote my shares then—and then I’ll fix you. You won’t be so high and mighty then, Mr. Big. I’ll throw in with the rest of the Family. They don’t like you too much.”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for the Family to help you,” Alexander said. “They wouldn’t have anyone else but me handle the finances. They love money too much. And until you get your inheritance remember one thing—I’m master here.”
“I know it,” Douglas said, and then curiously—“Who’s the oddball?” He gestured at Kennon with a pudgy thumb.
“Our new veterinarian, Dr. Kennon.”
“Oh—great! Now you tell me!”
“There’s nothing like making a good first impression,” Alexander said with ironic emphasis. “I hope he cuts you off from the Lani. He’ll have the authority to do it, since he’s taking Old Doc’s place.”
“He can’t. I’m an owner. I own-”
“You own nothing. You’re a minor. And under the terms of Grandfather’s will, you’ll own nothing except an allowance until you reach legal age. And that brings me to the reason I brought you here. Just when did you gain the right to reorganize the household staff? Just when did you get the power to interfere with the experimental program?”
Douglas flushed dull red and bit his lip. “Do we have to go into this in front of strangers?”
“Kennon’s my agent,” Alexander said coldly, “and he might as well learn about you and the others from the start.”
“Well—what do you want him to do—watch me crawl?” Douglas asked bitterly. “You’ll make me do it. You always do. Do you want me to beg, to say I was wrong, to promise I won’t do it again?”
“You’ve done that already,” Alexander said. “Several times. You need a lesson. I won’t have you meddling with valuable animals.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“Put you where you can do no more damage. As of tomorrow you’ll go to Otpen One.”
Douglas paled. His lips quivered, and his eyes flicked uneasily as he watched Alexander’s granite face. “You don’t mean that,” he said finally. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about business.”
“But you can’t do that! I’ll tell the Family. They won’t let you.”
“I already have their consent,” Alexander said. “I obtained it after your last escapade. You’ll be happy out there. You can play tin god all you like. Master of life and death on a two-acre island. No one will mind. You can also go to work. No one will mind that, either. And Mullins won’t mind as long as you leave the troops alone. Now get out of here and get packed. You’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
“But cousin Alex—”
“Move! I’m tired of the sight of you!” Alexander said.
Douglas turned and shambled out of the room. His ego was thoroughly deflated and he seemed more frightened than before. Obviously the Otpens weren’t the pleasantest place in this world.
“They’re a military post,” Alexander said. “And Commander Mullins doesn’t like Douglas. Can’t say that I blame him. Douglas is a thoroughly unpleasant specimen, and incidentally quite typical of the rest of the Family.” Alexander sighed and spread his hands in a gesture that combined disgust and resignation. “Sometimes I wonder why I have been cursed with my relatives.”
Kennon nodded. The implications behind the empty eyes of Douglas’s Lani sickened him. There were several ways to produce that expression, all of them unpleasant. Hypnoconditioning, the Quiet Treatment, brainburning, transorbital leukotomy, lobectomy—all of the products of that diseased period of humanity’s thinking when men tampered with the brains of other men in an effort to cure psychic states. Psychiatry had passed that period, at least on the civilized worlds, where even animal experiments were frowned upon as unnecessary cruelty.
“You saw those two Lani,” Alexander said. “Grandfather had them made that way as a birthday present for Douglas. He was getting senile. He died a year later. You’d think a man would be ashamed to keep things like that around—but not Douglas. He likes them.” Alexander’s voice was tinged with contempt. “He knows they disgust me—so he parades them in. I could strangle that pup sometimes!”
“I wondered about it. I wouldn’t like to work for a man who permitted such things.”
“That was done before I took over. For the past three years there have been no dockings, no mutilations. I can’t see treating a helpless animal like that.”
“I feel better about it,” Kennon said. “I didn’t think you were that sort.”
“Understand me,” Alexander said. “I’m always opposed to senseless cruelty and waste—particularly when it’s dangerous. Docked Lani are the height of stupidity. Just because someone wants a pet that is an exact duplicate of a human being is no reason to risk a court action. Those Lani, and a few others whose tails have been docked, could be a legal bombshell if they ever left Flora.”
Kennon was jolted. He had been thinking of mental mutilation and Alexander had been talking physical. Naturally they would be dangerous property. Anyone attempting to sell a docked Lani would probably be thrown in Detention and charged with slave trading.
“Did you ever figure the cost of taking a legal action through our court system?” Alexander asked. “Even the small ones set you back four or five thousand, and a first-class action like a Humanity Trial could cost over a million. Grandfather found that out. Sure, there are differences between Lani and humans, but a smart lawyer can make them seem trivial until the final test and that would drag on for nearly two years until all the requirements were satisfied—and by that time the unfavorable publicity would drop sales to zero. The Family would be on my neck for lost dividends, and I’d lose much of the control I hold over them.
“Sure, it’s possible that prehensile tails could be produced by mutation, but so far as we know it hasn’t happened in human history. As a result, the tail serves as a trade-mark—something that can be easily recognized by anyone. So we sell them intact.” Alexander crossed his legs and settled back in his chair. “Shocks you, doesn’t it?”
Kennon nodded. “Yes,” he admitted. “It does.”
“I know. You can’t help it. Most of our new employees think the Lani are human—at first. They learn better, but adjustment is always a strain. They keep confusing external appearances with the true article. But remember this—Lani are not human. They’re animals. And on this island they’re treated as what they are—no more, no less. They are a part of our economics and are bred, fed, and managed according to sound livestock principles. Despite some of the things you may see here in Alexandria, don’t forget that. You are a veterinarian. Your job is to handle disease problems in animals. Lani are animals. Therefore you will be doing your job. I was disappointed in your reaction when you first saw them, but I suppose it was natural. At any rate this should clear the air.”
“It does—intellectually,” Kennon admitted. “But the physical resemblance is so close that it is difficult to accept.”
Alexander smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll accept it in time. Now I think it’s time that you met the Family.”
The main salon was crowded. The huge room, glittering with mirrors and crystal, floored with thick carpets, and hung with rich drapes, had something of the appearance of a Sarkian harem. Although there were only five of the Alexander family present, there were at least twenty Lani whose costumes ranged from the black G string and halter of the household staff to the utter nudity of Douglas’s playthings. They were all female, and Kennon wondered for a moment what a male was like.
Besides Alexander, there were two men and three women: Douglas, still with his sulky expression, an older man in his late nineties who looked like Douglas’s elder brother, two mature women who could be any age from fifty to three hundred, and a girl. She might have been thirty—perhaps younger, perhaps older, a lean feminine edition of Alexander, with the same intriguing face and veiled predatory look. There was a hardness about her that was absent in the others. Kennon had the feeling that whatever this girl did, she didn’t do it half way.
“My sister Eloise,” Alexander said in a low voice. “Watch out for her. She’s as deadly as a puff adder and she collects men. The other man is Douglas’s father, Henry. The plump redhead beside him is his wife, Anne. The other woman is my mother, Clara, even though Eloise and I don’t look like her. We take after Father.”
“Where’s he?” Kennon whispered.
“Dead,” Alexander replied. “He was killed twenty years ago.”
“I’d like to present Dr. Jac Kennon, our new veterinarian,” Alexander said into the hush that followed their entrance. The introductions that followed were in proper form, and Kennon was beginning to feel more at ease until Eloise sent one of her Lani with a summons. He looked around for Alexander, but the entrepreneur was the center of a three-cornered argument, hemmed in by Douglas, Henry, and Anne. Henry’s voice was raised in bitter protest that Alexander was exceeding his authority. He shrugged. There was no help there.
“All right,” he said, “tell your mistress I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Yes, Doctor,” the Lani said, “but the Woman Eloise says for you to come, and she is not accustomed to being disobeyed.”
“Tell her what I said,” Kennon replied. “I shall be there directly.” He crossed to the table and examined it, selecting a cluster of odd purple fruit which looked more interesting than it tasted. When he had finished he walked leisurely over to where Eloise sat.
She looked at him angrily. “I am accustomed to being obeyed by my employees,” she said coldly. Her dark eyes, oddly like her brother’s, traversed his hard body like twin scanners.
He returned her appraising stare with one of his own. “I’m not your employee,” he said bluntly. “I was hired by your brother, and there’s a full peeper rider on my contract.” His eyes traveled slowly over her carefully arranged hair, her make-up, her jewelry at throat and arms, her painted finger- and toenails, and then across the slim small-breasted lines of her body half revealed under her thin ankle-length tunic of Lyranian silk.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
“On Beta,” he said bluntly, “your appearance would qualify you for a parasite camp. Six months of hard labor would do you no end of good. You’re soft, lazy, and undisciplined.”
Eloise gasped. “Why, you—” she sputtered.
“And perhaps next time you’ll learn to be polite,” Kennon continued imperturbably. “After all, the superficial attributes of good breeding are not too hard to counterfeit.”
To his surprise, Eloise giggled. “You bite, don’t you?” she asked. “Remind me to remember that.”
“I shall.”
“Of course, your actions weren’t good breeding either.”
“Admitted—but I’ve never pretended to be what I’m not. I’m the son of a spaceship skipper, and I’m a veterinarian. That’s all.”
“That’s not all. You are also a man.” Her face was sober, “It’s been some time since I’ve met one. I’d almost forgotten they existed.”
“There’s your brother.”
“Alex?—he’s a money making machine. Come—sit beside me and let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“You—me—your job, your life—anything you wish?”
“That line isn’t exactly new,” Kennon grinned.
“I know,” she admitted, “but it usually works.”
“I’m immune.”
“That’s what you think.” Eloise’s eyes were frankly appraising. “I think I could become interested in you.”
“I have a job here. I don’t think I would have time to give you the attention you’d demand.”
“I get bored easily. It probably wouldn’t be long before I would be tired of you.”
“Perhaps—and perhaps not, I can’t afford to take the chance.”
“You seem confident.”
“You forget. I was a sailor.”
“And spacemen have a reputation, eh?” Eloise chuckled.
“At that, you might be right. I remember the first officer of—” she let the thought die. “But I became tired of him,” she finished.
Kennon smiled. “I’ve never had that complaint.”
“Perhaps you’d like to make the acid test?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But not tonight.”
“Tomorrow then? Alex will be leaving in the morning. He never stays more than a few hours.” Eloise’s eyes were bright, her lips moist and red.
“I’ll pick the time,” Kennon said—and added to himself, “If ever.” Despite her wealth Eloise was no different from the port-of-call girls. If anything, she was worse since she had enough money to implement her desires. They were merely in the trade for business reasons. No—Eloise would be something to steer clear of. Alexander was right. She was a mantrap. He stood up and bowed Betan fashion. “I see your brother is free now. He wants to brief me on my duties here. We were discussing it before we entered.”
Eloise pouted. “You can always do that.”
“You said yourself that Alexander never stays here very long. I would be a poor employee if I delayed him.” He grinned knowingly at her and she smiled back with complete understanding.
“Very well, then. Get your business done. Your pleasure can wait.”
Kennon steered Alexander over to an open window that led to a balcony. “Whew!” he said. “I see what you mean.”
“She’s a tartar,” Alexander agreed. “I suspect that she’s a nymphomaniac.”
“You suspect?” Kennon asked. “By this time you should know. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had about all of your sister I care to take.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. I’ll show you to your quarters. Maybe Old Doc left a bottle or two, although I suspect the old sinner hung on until the last one was empty.”
“If he had to put up with your relatives as a steady diet, I can’t say that I blame him,” Kennon said.
“Careful, Doctor. You’re talking about my kinfolk,” Alexander said wryly. “At that, though, you have a point.” The two men slipped quietly from the room. Apparently none of the Family was conscious of their departure except Eloise, who watched them leave with an enigmatic expression on her narrow face.
They left the fortress through the rear gate and walked slowly down the winding path that led to the cluster of buildings in the valley below. It was a beautiful night, calm and clear with the stars shining down from the dark vault of the heavens. The constellations were strange, and Kennon missed the moons. Beta had three, two of which were always in the sky, but Kardon was moonless. Somehow it gave the sky an empty look.
A damp coolness rose from the ground as the evening rain evaporated mistily into the still air. Kennon sniffed the odor of soil and growing vegetation, clean pleasant odors in contrast to what he had left. In the distance a bird called sleepily from one of the fortress turrets and was answered by some creature Kennon couldn’t identify. A murmur of blended sound came from the valley below, punctuated by high-pitched laughter. Someone was singing, or perhaps chanting would be a better description. The melody was strange and the words unrecognizable. The thin whine of an atomotor in the fortress’s generating plant slowly built up to a keening undertone that blended into the pattern of half-perceived sound.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Alexander remarked as they rounded another turn on the switchback path.
“Yes. You can’t hear a sound from back there except for that generator. It’s almost as though we shut those people out of existence by merely closing a door.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Alexander said. “But doors that can be closed can also be opened. Well—think you’ll like it here?”
“I think so, providing I don’t have to entertain your relatives.”
“You mean Eloise? Don’t worry about her. She’s as fickle as the wind.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so frankly predatory,” Kennon said. “She worries me.”
“They’ll all be gone tomorrow—except for Eloise,” Alexander said with mock comfort. “Douglas is on the Otpens for a year, and the others are off somewhere.”
“You’ll be staying, I suppose.”
“No—I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I hoped you’d help me get organized. This whole thing has been something of a shock. I was expecting something entirely different.”
“Sorry—someone has to run the business. But Blalok’ll brief you. Actually he’s more qualified than I. He knows everything worth knowing about this place. We’re going past his house in a minute—want to stop in and see him?”
“It’s pretty late.”
“Not for Blalok. He’s a Mystic—a nocturnal. He’s probably doing his work now.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb him.”
“Nonsense. He’s used to it. I visit him frequently at night.”
“Sure—but you’re the boss.”
“Well—in a sense you are too. At least in the veterinary end of this business.” Alexander swung sharply to the left and climbed a short flight of stairs that led to the nearest house. Lights flared on the deep porch, and the old-fashioned iris door dilated to frame the black silhouette of a stocky, broad-shouldered man.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “I was expecting you. That the new vet with you?”
“Your pipeline’s still working, I see,” Alexander said. “Yes, this is Dr. Kennon—Evald Blalok—I wanted you two to meet.”
Kennon liked the gray middle-aged man. He looked honest and competent, a solid quiet man with a craggy face and the deep-set eyes of a Mystic. His skin had the typical thickness and pore prominence of the dwellers on that foggy world from which he came. But unlike the natives of Myst, his skin was burned a dark brown by Kardon’s sun. He seemed out of place on this tropic world, but Kennon reflected wryly that there was probably more than one misplaced human here, himself included.
“I’ve been going over Station Fourteen’s records with Jordan,” Blalok said as he ushered them into the house. A tall black-haired man rose as they entered.
“Skip the formality, Jordan. Sit down,” Alexander said, “and meet Dr. Kennon—Steve Jordan—Jordan runs the Lani Division.”
Kennon nodded acknowledgment as Alexander continued, “What’s this trouble at Fourteen?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got an epizootic of something. Another youngster died this morning, and there’s three more that look pretty bad, jaundice, no appetite, complaining of muscular pains. Same symptoms as took the others. The one this morning makes the fourth this month, and we’re only half through it.”
“Are all your losses in this one station?” Kennon asked.
“No—but it’s worst there.”
“I don’t like losses like that,” Alexander said.
“Neither do I,” Jordan replied.
“This isn’t Jordan’s fault, sir,” Blalok said quickly. “As you know, we haven’t had a vet for three months.”
“Two,” Alexander corrected.
“Three—Old Doc wasn’t around at all the month before he died,” Blalok said. “As a result we’ve got a problem. We need professional help.”
“Well here he is—use him,” Alexander said. He looked at Kennon, a trace of amusement on his face. “There’s nothing like getting into things early.”
“Particularly when one comes into them stone cold,” Kennon added. “It’s a poor way to start a career.”
“We can’t afford to wait,” Jordan said. “We need help.”
“I’ll see what can be done,” Kennon replied. “Have you saved the body?”
“Every one of them,” Jordan said. “They’re in the hospital in the autopsy room.”
“That was sensible. A post-mortem might give us an answer. Where’s the hospital?”
“I’ll show you,” Jordan offered.
“Count me out,” Alexander said. “I have a weak stomach.”
“I’ll go along if it’s necessary,” Blalok said.
“There’s a staff there, Old Doc trained them,” Jordan said.
“Then it shouldn’t be necessary,” Kennon said.
Blalok sighed with relief and turned to Alexander. “We could check the records while those two are about their bloody work.”
“I’d rather check a long strong drink,” Alexander replied. “What with the Family and this, it’s too much to take for one evening.”
Kennon hid a smile. Alexander had a weak spot. He was squeamish. That was a good thing to know.
Jordan opened the door of the two-story building below Blalok’s house. “This is it,” he said, “just outside your front door. Convenient—no?”
“Too convenient,” Kennon said, “also too quiet. Isn’t anyone on duty?”
“I wouldn’t know. Old Doc never kept the place open at night.”
There was a stir of movement in the darkness, the lights flashed on, and a sleepy-eyed Lani blinked at them in the sudden glare. She looked blankly at Kennon and then brightened as she saw Jordan. “What’s the trouble, sir?” she asked.
“Nothing. We want to look at the Lani I sent down this morning—Dr. Kennon would like to inspect the carcass.”
“You’re the new doctor?” the Lani asked. “Thank goodness you’ve come! I’ll get the staff. I’ll be back in a moment.” She stepped quickly over to the switchboard beside the door and punched five buttons. Four more humanoids came into the room, followed a little later by a fifth.
“Where’s the emergency?” one asked.
“He is—it’s our new doctor.”
“More females,” Kennon muttered to himself. He turned to Jordan. “Aren’t there any males in this crew?”
Jordan stared at him with mild surprise. “No, sir—didn’t you know? There are no male Lani.”
“What?”
“Just that,” Jordan said. “Only females. There hasn’t been a male on the island since Old Man Alexander took over. He killed them all.”
“But that’s impossible! How do they reproduce?”
“Ever hear of artificial fertilization?”
“Sure—but that’s a dead end. The offspring are haploids and they’re sterile. The line would die out in a generation.”
“Not the Lani—you can see for yourself. We’ve been using the technique here for better than four centuries, and we’re still doing all right. Over forty generations so far, and from the looks of things we can go on indefinitely.”
“But how is it done?”
“I don’t know. That’s Alexander’s secret. The Boss-man doesn’t tell us everything. All I know is that we get results. Old Doc knew how it was done, and I suppose you will too, but don’t ask me. I’m dumb.”
Kennon shrugged. Maybe—maybe not. At any rate there was no sense in belaboring the point. He turned to the staff. Five of them were the same big-boned heavy-framed type that apparently did most of the manual labor. The sixth, the late arrival, was an elegant creature, a bronze-skinned, green-eyed minx with an elfin face half hidden under a wavy mass of red-brown hair. Unlike the others, she had been docked—and in contrast to their heavy eyes and sleep-puffed features she was alert and lively. She flashed him an impish grin, revealing clean white teeth.
Kennon smiled back. He couldn’t help it. And suddenly the tension and strangeness was broken. He felt oddly at ease. “Which of you are on duty?” he asked.
“All of us,” the redhead replied, “if it’s necessary. What do you want us to do?”
“He’s already told me. He wants that last carcass prepped for a post-mortem,” the nightcall Lani said.
“Good,” the redhead said. “It’ll be nice to get to work again.” She turned to face Kennon. “Now, Doctor—would you like to see your office? Old Doc left a fine collection of notes on Lani anatomy and perhaps you could do with a little review.”
“I could do with a lot of it,” Kennon admitted. “Unless the inner structure of a Lani is as similar to human as their outer.”
“There are differences,” the redhead admitted. “After all, we aren’t quite alike.”
“Perhaps I’d better do some reading,” Kennon said.
“You need me any more?” Jordan asked.
“No—I think not.”
“Good. I’ll get back. Frankly, I don’t like this any better than Blalok or the boss, but I’m low man on that pole. See you later.”
Kennon chuckled as Jordan left. “Now, let’s get ready for that cadaver,” he said.
“Carcass, doctor,” the redhead corrected. “A cadaver is a dead human body.” She accented the “human.”
Even in death there is no equality, Kennon thought. He nodded and the Lani led the way to a door which opened into a good-sized office, liberally covered with bookshelves. An old-fashioned plastic desk, some office cybernetics, a battered voicewriter, and a few chairs completed the furnishings. The redhead placed several large folio volumes in front of him and stepped back from the desk as he leafed rapidly through the color plates. It was an excellent atlas. Dr. Williamson had been a careful and competent workman.
Half an hour later, well fortified with a positional knowledge of Lani viscera, Kennon looked up at the redhead. She was still standing patiently, a statue of red-gold and bronze.
“Get a smock and let’s go,” he said. “No—wait a minute.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s your name? I don’t want to say ‘Hey you!’”
She smiled. “It’s Copper Glow—want my pedigree too?”
“No—it wouldn’t mean anything to me. Do they call you Copper or Glow? or both?”
“Just Copper, sir.”
“Very well, Copper—let’s get going.”
* * *
The body of the dead Lani lay on the steel table, waxy and yellowish in the pitiless light of the fluorescents. She had been hardly more than a child. Kennon felt a twinge of pity—so young—so young to die. And as he looked he was conscious of another feeling.
It had been an open secret among his classmates that he had refused an offer to study human medicine because of his aversion to dissecting cadavers. The sarcoplastic models were all right, but when it came to flesh, Kennon didn’t have the stomach for it. And now, the sight of the dead humanoid brought back the same cold sweat and gut-wrenching nausea that had caused him to turn to veterinary medicine eight years ago.
He fought the spasms back as he approached the table and made the external examination. Icterus and a swollen abdomen—the rest was essentially normal. And he knew with cold certainty that he could not lay a scalpel edge upon that cold flesh. It was too human, too like his own.
“Are you ready, Doctor?” the Lani standing across the table from him asked. “Shall I expose the viscera?”
Kennon’s stomach froze. Of course! He should have realized! No pathologist did his own dissection. He examined. And that he could do. It was the tactile, not the visual sensations that upset him. He nodded. “The abdominal viscera first,” he said.
The Lani laid back the skin and musculature with bold, sure strokes. An excellent prosectress, Kennon thought. Kennon pointed at the swollen liver and the Lani deftly severed its attachments and laid the organ out for inspection. The cause of death was obvious. The youngster had succumbed to a massive liver-fluke infestation. It was the worst he had ever seen. The bile ducts were thick, calcified and choked with literally thousands of the gray-green leaf-shaped trematodes.
“Let’s look at the others,” he said.
Two more post-mortems confirmed the diagnosis. Except for minor differences, the lesions were identical. He removed a few of the flukes and set them aside for further study.
“Well that’s that,” he said. “You can clean up now.”
He had found the criminal, and now the problem assumed the fascinating qualities of a crime hunt. Now he must act to prevent further murders, to reconstruct the crime, to find the modus operandi, to track the fluke to its source, and to execute it before it could do more harm.
Photographs and tri-dis would have to be taken, the parasite would have to be identified and its sensitivity to therapy determined. Studies would have to be made on its life cycle, and the means by which it gained entrance to its host. It wouldn’t be simple, because this trematode was probably Hepatodirus hominis, and it was tricky. It adapted, like the species it parasitized.
Kennon leaned back from the microscope and studied the illustrations in the parasitology text. No matter how much Hepatodirus changed its life cycle, it could not change its adult form. The arrangements of the suckers and genital structures were typical. Old Doc’s library on parasites was too inadequate for more than diagnosis. He would have to wait for his own books to be uncrated before he could do more than apply symptomatic treatment. He sighed and rose slowly to his feet. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
The door opened behind him and Copper slipped quietly into the office. She looked at him curiously, a faint half-shy smile on her face.
“What is it?” Kennon asked.
“Are you ready to fill out the autopsy protocol? It’s customary.”
“It’s also customary to knock on a door before entering.”
“Is it? Old Doc never mentioned it.”
“I’m not Old Doc.”
“No, you’re not,” she admitted. “You’re much younger—and far more beautiful. Old Doc was a fat, gray old man.” She paused and eyed Kennon appraisingly with a look on her pointed face that was the virtual twin of Eloise’s. “I think I’ll like working for you if you’re as nice as you are pretty.”
“You don’t call a man beautiful or pretty!” Kennon exploded.
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t done.”
“You’re a funny human,” she said. “I called Old Doc beautiful, and he didn’t mind.”
“That’s different. He was an old man.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I don’t like it,” Kennon said, hitting on the perfect answer.
She stiffened. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I won’t do it again.” She looked down at him, head cocked sideways. “I guess I have a lot to learn about you. You’re much different from Old Doc. He didn’t snap at me.” She paused for a moment, then drew a deep breath.
Kennon blinked.
“About that report,” she said. “Regulations require that each post-mortem be reported promptly and that a record of the Lani concerned be posted in the death book together with all pertinent autopsy data. Man Blalok is very fussy about proper records.” She drew one of the chairs to a spot beside the desk and sat down, crossed her long legs, and waited expectantly.
Kennon’s mouth was suddenly dry. This situation was impossible. How in the name of Sir Arthur Fleming could he dictate a coldly precise report with a naked redhead sitting beside him? “Look,” he said. “I won’t need you. I can operate a voicewriter. You can pick up the material later and transcribe it.”
Her face fell. “You don’t like me,” she said, her green eyes filling with quick tears. “Old Doc never—”
“Oh, damn Old Doc!” Kennon snapped. “And stop that sniveling—or get out. Better yet—get out and stop sniveling!”
She leaped to her feet and fled.
Kennon swore. There was no reason for him to act that way. He had been more brutal than necessary. But the girl—no, the Lani—was disconcerting. He felt ashamed of himself. He had behaved like a primitive rather than a member of one of the oldest human civilizations in the galaxy. He wouldn’t bark at a dog that way. He shook his head. Probably he was tired. Certainly he was irritable, and unclad females virtually indistinguishable from human weren’t the most soothing objects to contemplate.
He wondered if his exasperation was real or merely a defense mechanism. First Eloise, and then this! Confound it! He was surrounded! He felt trapped. And it wasn’t because he’d been away from women too long. A week was hardly that. He grinned as he recalled the blonde from Thule aboard the starship. Now there was a woman, even though her ears were pointed and her arms were too long. She didn’t pressure a man. She let him make the advances.
He grinned. That was it. He was on the defensive. He was the one who was being pursued—and his male ego had revolted. He shrugged and turned his attention to the autopsy report, but it was hopeless. He couldn’t concentrate. He jotted a few notes and dropped them on the desk—tomorrow would be time enough. What he needed now was a stiff drink and eight hours’ sleep.
Kennon stopped at Blalok’s house long enough to tell the superintendent what was causing the trouble. Blalok scowled. “We’ve never had flukes here before,” he said. “Why should they appear now?”
“They’ve been introduced,” Kennon said. “The thing that bothers me is how Dr. Williamson missed them.”
“The old man was senile,” Blalok said. “He was nearly blind the last six months of his life. I wouldn’t doubt that he let his assistants do most of his work, and they could have missed them.”
“Possibly, but the lesions are easy to see. At any rate, the culprit is known now.”
“Culprit?”
“Hepatodirus hominis—the human liver fluke. He’s a tricky little fellow—travels almost as far as men do.”
“I’m glad it’s your problem, not mine. All I can remember about flukes is that they’re hard to eradicate.”
“Particularly H. hominis.”
“You can tell me about it later. Right now Mr. Alexander’s over at Old—your house. Probably he’s looking for you.”
“Where’s Jordan?”
“He went up to Station Fourteen. We’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I’ll say good night then,” Kennon said.
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s a load off my shoulders. See you tomorrow.” Blalok waved a friendly good night and left the lights on long enough for Kennon to make his way to his quarters.
Alexander was seated in a heavily upholstered chair listening to a taped symphony in the stereo, his eyes half closed, an expression of peace on his face. An elderly Lani stood beside him. It was a comfortable picture.
The humanoid saw Kennon and gasped, a tiny indrawn sound of surprise. Alexander’s eyes snapped open. “Oh—it’s you,” he said. “Don’t worry, Kara—it’s your new doctor.”
Kara smiled. “You startled me,” she said. “I was dreaming.”
“On your feet?” Alexander interjected idly.
“I should have known you at once, Doctor. There’s talk about you all over the yards, ever since you arrived.”
“They know what is going on around here better than any of us,” Alexander chuckled. “The grapevine is amazingly efficient. Well—what’s the story?”
“Liver fluke.”
“Hmm—not good.”
“I think it can be stopped. I looked at the records. It doesn’t seem to have been here too long.”
“I hope you’re right. How long will it take?”
“Several months, maybe a year, maybe more. I can’t say. But I’ll try to clean it up as quickly as possible. I’m pretty sure of the fluke, and it’s a hard one to control.”
“Hepatodirus?”
Kennon nodded.
“That’s an offworld parasite, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It originated on Santos. Parasitized the Varl originally, but liked humans better. It’s adapted to a hundred different planetary environments, and it keeps spreading. It’s a real cutie—almost intelligent the way it behaves. But it can be licked.”
“Good—get on it right away.”
“I’m starting tomorrow.”
“Fine—I thought you’d be the right man. Kara! Fix the doctor a drink. We might as well have a nightcap—then I’ll go back to the house and listen to Henry and Anne’s screams about poor mistreated Douglas, and then back to Albertsville tomorrow. Duty and the credits call.”
With mild surprise, Kennon realized that Alexander was drunk. Not obnoxiously, but enough to change his character. Intoxicated, he was a friendlier person. If there was any truth in the ancient cliche about alcohol bringing out a man’s true character, then Alexander was basically a very nice person indeed.
“Well—here’s your home for the next five years,” Alexander said. “Eight rooms, two baths, a freshener, and three Lani to keep the place running. You’ve got it made.”
“Perhaps—we’ll see when we tackle this fluke infestation. Personally, I don’t think I’m going to have an easy time. Tomorrow I’m going to be up to my neck in trouble trying to save your profits.”
“You’ll do it. I have confidence in you.”
“I still think you should have hired a medic.”
“This isn’t all of your job,” Alexander said. “And besides I can’t afford to do it. Oh—not the money, but it might be admitting that the Lani might be human. And we’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to prove they’re not.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There’s a story behind this.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“Maybe it’d be better if I told it. It goes back over four centuries. Grandfather was a clever man. After he had secured this island he became worried about the surviving Lani. He didn’t want to be accused of genocide, since the Lani were so human in appearance. So he had his medical officer make a few autopsies. The M.D. reported that while there was similarity, the Lani were probably not human.
“That was enough for Grandfather. He requested a Court of Inquiry. The court was sitting in Halsey and the hearing was private. Even so, it leaked and Grandfather was highly unpopular for a time until the lab reports came in. It cost him over eight hundred Ems and nearly two years’ time to finish the case, but when it was over the Lani were declared alien, and Grandfather had ironclad discovery rights.
“They really put him through the mill. Grandfather furnished the bodies and three court-appointed M.O.‘s went through them with microscopes. They didn’t miss a thing. Their reports are so detailed that they’re classics of their kind. They’re almost required reading for anyone who wants to learn Lani structure and function. The court rendered an interim decision that the Lani were nonhuman, and armed with this, Grandfather prepared the final tests which were run by a team of court-appointed medics and biologists, who made in vitro and live tests on a number of Lani female prisoners. The tests ran for over two years and were totally negative. So the Alexander family acquired Flora and the Otpens, and a legal status.” Alexander stood up. “Well—that’s a capsule summary. The records are in the library if you’d care to check them.”
“Why?”
“Just to prove we’re honest.” He moved carefully toward the door, opened it, and disappeared into the night.
Silently Kennon watched him descend the porch steps. He seemed steady enough. For a moment Kennon debated whether he should see him home—and then decided against it. If Alexander needed help he’d have asked for it. As it was, it was better to leave things alone. Certainly he didn’t know Alexander well enough to act as a guardian. He turned back to the living area. The stereo was playing something soft and nostalgic as Kennon sank into the chair Alexander had vacated. He let his body relax. It had been as full a day as he had ever spent filled with changes so abrupt that they were exhausting. He felt confused. There were no precedents he could apply. Neither his studies nor his travels had prepared him for living in a situation like this.
Legally and biologically the Lani weren’t human. But they were intelligent, upright, bipedal mammals whose morphology was so close to man’s that it had taken the ultimate test to settle their status. And being a Betan, Kennon was suspicious of the accuracy of that ultimate test.
But the Brotherhood of Man was based upon it. The feeling of unity that pervaded mankind’s expanding empire was its product. From almost the beginning of mankind’s leap to the stars it had been recognized that men must help each other or perish. The spirit of co-operation against the common enmity of alien worlds and cultures transcended the old petty rivalries on Earth. Men—all men—were brothers in arms.
And so the Brotherhood was born—and the concept born of necessity developed its muscles in a thousand battles on a thousand hostile worlds. And ultimately it evolved into the only form of central authority that men would accept. Yet basically it was not a government. It was an attitude of mind. Men accepted its decisions as they would accept the rulings of a family council, and for the same reasons.
The Brotherhood laid down certain rules but it did not attempt to enforce them. After all, it didn’t need to. It also arbitrated disputes, admitted new worlds to membership, and organized concerted human effort against dangerous enemies. And that was all. Yet in its sphere the authority of the Brotherhood was absolute.
There was only one criterion for membership in the Brotherhood—membership in the human race. No matter how decadent or primitive a population might be, if it was human it was automatically eligible for Brotherhood—a free and equal partner in the society of human worlds.
Kennon doubted that any nonhuman race had ever entered the select circle of humanity, although individuals might have done so. A docked Lani, for instance, would probably pass unquestioned as a human, but the Lani race would not. In consequence they and their world were fair prey, and had been attacked and subjugated.
Of course, proof of inhumanity was seldom a problem. Most alien life forms were obviously alien. But there were a few—like the Lani—where similarities were so close that it was impossible to determine their status on the basis of morphology alone. And so the Humanity Test had come into being.
Essentially it was based upon species compatibility—on the concept that like can interbreed with like. Tests conducted on every inhabited world in the Brotherhood had proven this conclusively. Whatever changes had taken place in the somatic characteristics of mankind since the Exodus, they had not altered the compatibility of human germ plasm. Man could interbreed with man—aliens could not. The test was simple. The results were observable. And what was more important, everyone could understand it. No definition of humanity could be more simple or direct.
But was it accurate?
Like other Betans, Kennon wondered. It was—so far—probably. The qualifying phrases were those of the scientist, that strange breed that refuses to accept anything as an established fact until it is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. After all, the human race had been spaceborne for only six thousand years—scarcely time for any real differences to develop. But physical changes had already appeared—and it would only be a question of time before these would probably be followed by genetic changes. And in some groups the changes might be extensive enough to make them genetic strangers to the rest of humanity.
What would happen then? No one knew. Actually no one bothered to think about it except for a few far-seeing men who worried as they saw.
Probably.
Might.
Possibly.
If.
Four words. But because of them the Betans were slowly withdrawing from the rest of humanity. Already the radiations of Beta’s variant-G sun had produced changes in the population. Little things like tougher epidermis and depilation of body hair—little things that held alarming implications to Beta’s scientists, and to Beta’s people. Not too many generations hence a Betan outside his home system would be a rarity, and in a few millennia the Betan system itself would be a closed enclave peopled by humans who had deviated too far from the basic stock to mingle with it in safety.
Of course, the Brotherhood itself might be changed by that time, but there was no assurance that this would happen. And mankind had a history of dealing harshly with its mutants. So Beta would play it safe.
Kennon wondered if there were other worlds in the Brotherhood that had come to the same conclusion. Possibly there were. And possibly there were worlds where marked deviations had occurred. There wasn’t a year that passed that didn’t bring some new human world into the Brotherhood, and many of these had developed from that cultural explosion during the First Millennium known as the Exodus, where small groups of colonists in inadequate ships set out for unannounced goals to homestead new worlds for man. Some of these survived, and many were being discovered even at this late date. But so far none had any difficulty in proving their human origin.
The Lani, conceivably, could have been descendants of one of these groups, which probably explained the extreme care the Brotherhood courts had taken with their case. But they had failed the test, and were declared animals. Yet it was possible that they had mutated beyond genetic compatibility. If they had, and if it were proved, here was a test case that could rock the galaxy—that could shake the Brotherhood to its very foundations—that could force a re-evaluation of the criteria of humanity.
Kennon grinned. He was a fine employee. Here he was, less than a full day on the job, dreaming how he could ruin his employer, shake the foundation of human civilization, and force ten thousand billion humans to change their comfortable habit patterns and their belief in the unchangeable sameness of men. He was, he reflected wryly, an incurable romantic.