CHAPTER VI
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 lookedblankly at Kennon and then brightened as she saw Jordan. "What's thetrouble, 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 overto the switchboard beside the door and punched five buttons. Four morehumanoids 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'tthere 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 theisland 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'resterile. The line would die out in a generation."
"Not the Lani--you can see for yourself. We've been using the techniquehere 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 onindefinitely."
"But how is it done?"
"I don't know. That's Alexander's secret. The Boss-man doesn't tell useverything. All I know is that we get results. Old Doc knew how it wasdone, 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 inbelaboring the point. He turned to the staff. Five of them were thesame big-boned heavy-framed type that apparently did most of themanual labor. The sixth, the late arrival, was an elegant creature, abronze-skinned, green-eyed minx with an elfin face half hidden under awavy mass of red-brown hair. Unlike the others, she had been docked--andin contrast to their heavy eyes and sleep-puffed features she was alertand lively. She flashed him an impish grin, revealing clean white teeth.
Kennon smiled back. He couldn't help it. And suddenly the tension andstrangeness was broken. He felt oddly at ease. "Which of you are onduty?" he asked.
"All of us," the redhead replied, "if it's necessary. What do you wantus to do?"
"He's already told me. He wants that last carcass prepped for apost-mortem," the nightcall Lani said.
"Good," the redhead said. "It'll be nice to get to work again." Sheturned 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 youcould do with a little review."
"I could do with a lot of it," Kennon admitted. "Unless the innerstructure of a Lani is as similar to human as their outer."
"There are differences," the redhead admitted. "After all, we aren'tquite 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 Blalokor 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 humanbody." She accented the "human."
Even in death there is no equality, Kennon thought. He nodded andthe Lani led the way to a door which opened into a good-sized office,liberally covered with bookshelves. An old-fashioned plastic desk, someoffice cybernetics, a battered voicewriter, and a few chairs completedthe furnishings. The redhead placed several large folio volumes in frontof him and stepped back from the desk as he leafed rapidly throughthe color plates. It was an excellent atlas. Dr. Williamson had been acareful and competent workman.
Half an hour later, well fortified with a positional knowledge ofLani viscera, Kennon looked up at the redhead. She was still standingpatiently, 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 inthe pitiless light of the fluorescents. She had been hardly more than achild. Kennon felt a twinge of pity--so young--so young to die. And ashe looked he was conscious of another feeling.
It had been an open secret among his classmates that he had refusedan offer to study human medicine because of his aversion to dissectingcadavers. The sarcoplastic models were all right, but when it came toflesh, Kennon didn't have the stomach for it. And now, the sight of thedead humanoid brought back the same cold sweat and gut-wrenching nauseathat had caused him to turn to veterinary medicine eight years ago.
He fought the spasms back as he approached the table and made theexternal examination. Icterus and a swollen abdomen--the rest wasessentially normal. And he knew with cold certainty that he could notlay a scalpel edge upon that cold flesh. It was too human, too like hisown.
"Are you ready, Doctor?" the Lani standing across the table from himasked. "Shall I expose the viscera?"
Kennon's stomach froze. Of course! He should have realized! Nopathologist 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 swollenliver and the Lani deftly severed its attachments and laid the organout for inspection. The cause of death was obvious. The youngster hadsuccumbed to a massive liver-fluke infestation. It was the worst hehad ever seen. The bile ducts were thick, calcified and choked withliterally 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 minordifferences, the lesions were identical. He removed a few of the flukesand 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 fascinatingqualities of a crime hunt. Now he must act to prevent further murders,to reconstruct the crime, to find the modus operandi, to track the fluketo its source, and to execute it before it could do more harm.
Photographs and tri-dis would have to be taken, the parasite would haveto be identified and its sensitivity to therapy determined. Studieswould have to be made on its life cycle, and the means by which itgained entrance to its host. It wouldn't be simple, because thistrematode was probably Hepatodirus hominis, and it was tricky. Itadapted, like the species it parasitized.
Kennon leaned back from the microscope and studied the illustrations inthe parasitology text. No matter how much Hepatodirus changed its lifecycle, it could not change its adult form. The arrangements of thesuckers and genital structures were typical. Old Doc's library onparasites was too inadequate for more than diagnosis. He would have towait for his own books to be uncrated before he could do more than applysymptomatic treatment. He sighed and rose slowly to his feet. Tomorrowwas 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 morebeautiful. Old Doc was a fat, gray old man." She paused and eyed Kennonappraisingly with a look on her pointed face that was the virtual twinof Eloise's. "I think I'll like working for you if you're as nice as youare 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 hedidn'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 downat 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 pausedfor a moment, then drew a deep breath.
Kennon blinked.
"About that report," she said. "Regulations require that eachpost-mortem be reported promptly and that a record of the Lani concernedbe posted in the death book together with all pertinent autopsy data.Man Blalok is very fussy about proper records." She drew one of thechairs 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 inthe name of Sir Arthur Fleming could he dictate a coldly precise reportwith a naked redhead sitting beside him? "Look," he said. "I won't needyou. I can operate a voicewriter. You can pick up the material later andtranscribe it."
Her face fell. "You don't like me," she said, her green eyes fillingwith quick tears. "Old Doc never--"
"Oh, damn Old Doc!" Kennon snapped. "And stop that sniveling--or getout. 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 hadbeen more brutal than necessary. But the girl--no, the Lani--wasdisconcerting. He felt ashamed of himself. He had behaved like aprimitive rather than a member of one of the oldest human civilizationsin 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 femalesvirtually indistinguishable from human weren't the most soothing objectsto contemplate.
He wondered if his exasperation was real or merely a defense mechanism.First Eloise, and then this! Confound it! He was surrounded! He felttrapped. And it wasn't because he'd been away from women too long. Aweek was hardly that. He grinned as he recalled the blonde from Thuleaboard the starship. Now there was a woman, even though her ears werepointed and her arms were too long. She didn't pressure a man. She lethim make the advances.
He grinned. That was it. He was on the defensive. He was the one who wasbeing pursued--and his male ego had revolted. He shrugged and turnedhis attention to the autopsy report, but it was hopeless. Hecouldn't concentrate. He jotted a few notes and dropped them on thedesk--tomorrow would be time enough. What he needed now was a stiffdrink and eight hours' sleep.