Prostho Plus Read online

  "Yes." Under duress, however. Should he remind them?

  "Yet you refused to do similar work on a dummy jaw at this University," Honeycomb put in.

  They were sharp! "I did what seemed necessary at the time."

  "Don't your standards appear inconsistent, even to you?" Sponge inquired.

  Dillingham laughed, not happily. "Sometimes they do." How much deeper could he bury his chances?

  Tank's turn: "Why did you accompany the aliens to their world?"

  "I did not have much choice, as I explained."

  "So you did not come to space in search of superior prosthodontic techniques?"

  "No. It is possible that I might have done so, however, had I known of their availability at the time."

  "Yes, you have repeatedly expressed your recent interest," Tank said dryly. "Yet you did not bother to study from the most authoritative texts available on the subject, when you had both opportunity and encouragement to do so."

  Once again his promise to Oyster prevented him from replying. He was coming to understand why his room-mates had shown so little desire to spend time helping the supplicant. Such a gesture appeared, in retrospect, to be a sure passport to failure.

  Could he have passed—that is, brought his probability up to a reasonable level—had he turned away that plea? Should he have sacrificed that one creature, for the sake of the hundreds or the thousands he might have helped later, with proper training? He had been shortsighted.

  But he knew he would do the same thing again, in similar circumstances. He just didn't have the heart to be that practical. At the same time, he could see why the business-like University would have little use for such sentimentality.

  "On planet Gleep," Tank said, surprising him by using his own ludicrous term for the next world he had visited—though of course that was the way the translator had to work—"you filled a single cavity with twenty-four tons of fine gold alloy."

  "Yes."

  "Are you aware that gold, however plentiful it may be on Gleep, remains an exceptionally valuable commodity in the galaxy? Why did you not develop a less extravagant substitute?"

  Dillingham tried to explain about the awkwardness of the situation, about the pressure of working within the cavernous mouth of a three-hundred foot sea creature, but it did seem that he had made a mistake. He could have employed a specialized cobalt-chromium-molybdenum alloy that would have been strong, hard, resilient and resistive to corrosion, and that might well have been superior to gold in that particular case. He had worried, for example, about the weight of such a mass of gold, and this alternate, far lighter material, would have alleviated that concern. It was also much cheaper stuff. He had not thought carefully enough about such things at the time. He said so.

  "Didn't you consult your Enen associates?"

  "I couldn't. The English/Enen transcoder was broken." But that was no excuse for not having had them develop the chrome-cobalt alloy earlier. He had allowed his personal preference for the more familiar gold to halt his quest for improvement.

  "Yet you did communicate with them later, surmounting that problem readily once the gold had been wasted."

  Dillingham was becoming uncomfortably aware that this group had done its homework. The members seemed to know everything about him. "I discovered by accident that the English/Gleep and Gleep/Enen transcoders could be used in concert. I had not realized that at the time we were casting the filling."

  "Because you were preoccupied with the immediate problem?"

  "I think so."

  "But not too preoccupied to notice decay in the neighbouring teeth."

  "No." It did seem foolish now, to have been so concerned with future dental problems, while wasting tons of valuable metal on the work in progress. How did that jibe with his more recent concern for Oyster's problem, to the exclusion of the much larger University picture? Was there any coherent rationale to his actions, or was he continually rationalizing to excuse his errors of judgment?

  Was the seeming unfairness of this interview merely a way of proving this to him?

  But Tank wasn't finished. "You next embarked with a passing diplomat of uncertain reputation who suggested a way to free you from your commitment to Gleep."

  "He was very kind." Dillingham did not regret his association with Trach, the friendly dinosaur.

  "He resembled one of the vicious predators of your planet's past—yet you trusted your person aboard his ship?"

  "I felt, in the face of galactic diversity of species, that it was foolish to judge by appearances. One has to be prepared to extend trust, if one wants to receive it."

  "You believe that?" Honeycomb demanded instantly.

  "I try to." It was so hard to defend himself against the concentrated suspicion of the council.

  "You do not seem to trust the common directives of this University, however."

  What answer could he make to that? They had him in another conflict, since they chose to interpret it that way.

  "Whereupon you proceeded to investigate another unfamiliar jaw," Tank said. "Contrary to your expressed policy. Why?"

  "Trach had befriended me, and I wanted to help him."

  "So you put friendship above policy," Sponge said. "Convenient."

  "And did you help him?" Tank again. It was hard to remember who said what, since they were all so murderously sharp.

  "Yes. I adapted a sonic instrument that enabled him to clean his teeth efficiently."

  "And what was your professional fee for this service?"

  Dillingham reined his mounting temper. "Nothing. I was not thinking in such terms."

  "A moment ago you were quite concerned about costs."

  "I was concerned about unnecessary expense to the patient. That strikes me as another matter."

  "And of course the prospective sale of your contract to planet Ra had no bearing on your decision to help a friend," Honeycomb said with infinite irony.

  Sponge spoke before Dillingham could respond. "And the dinosaur told you about the University of Dentistry?"

  "Yes, among other things. We conversed quite a bit."

  "And so you decided to attend, on hearsay evidence."

  "That's not fair!"

  "Is the colour of your face a sign of distress?"

  He realized that they were deliberately needling him, so he shut up. Why should he allow himself to get excited over a minor slur, after passing over major ones? All he could do that way was prove he was unstable, and therefore unfit.

  "And did you seriously believe," Sponge persisted nastily, "that you had any chance at all to be admitted as a student here?"

  Again he had no answer.

  "On planet Electrolus you provoked a war by careless advice," Honeycomb said. "Whereupon you conspired to be exiled—to this University. What kind of reception did you anticipate here, after such machinations?"

  So that was it! What use to explain that he had not schemed, that Trach had cleverly found a solution to the Electrolus political problem that satisfied all parties? This trio would only twist that into further condemnation.

  "I made mistakes on that planet, as I did elsewhere," he said at last. "I hoped to learn to avoid such errors in the future by enrolling in a corrective course of instruction. It was ignorance, not devious intent, that betrayed me. I still think this University has much to offer me."

  "The question before us," Tank said portentously, "is what you have to offer the University. Have you any further statements you fancy might influence our decision?"

  "I gather from your choice of expression that it has already been made. In that case I won't waste any more of your time. I am ready for it."

  "We find you unsuitable for enrollment at this University as a student," Tank said. "Please depart by the opposite door." So as not to obstruct the incoming interviewees. Very neat. Dillingham stood up wearily. "Thank you for your consideration," he said formally, keeping the irony out of his tone. He walked to the indicated exit.

  "One moment, ex-
applicant," Honeycomb said. "What are your present plans?"

  Dillingham wondered why the creature bothered to ask. "I suppose I'll return to practice wherever I'm needed—or wanted," he said. "I may not be the finest dentist available, or even adequate by your standards—but I love my profession, and there is much I can still do." But why was it that the thought of returning to Earth, that he was free to do now and where he was adequate, no longer appealed? Had the wonders he had glimpsed here spoiled him for the backwoods existence? "I would have preferred to add the University training to my experience, but there is no reason to give up what I already have just because my dream has been denied." He walked away from them.

  The hall did not lead to the familiar elevators. Instead, absent-mindedly following the wrist-band glow, he found himself in an elegant apartment. He turned, embarrassed to have blundered into the wrong area, but a voice stopped him.

  "Please be seated, Earthman."

  It was the old Oyster he had treated two days before. Dillingham was not adept at telling aliens of identical species apart, but he could not mistake this one. "What are you doing here?"

  "We all have to dwell somewhere." Oyster indicated a couch adaptable to a wide variety of forms. "Make yourself comfortable. I have thoughts to exchange with you."

  Dillingham marvelled at the change in the manner of his erstwhile patient. This was no longer a suffering, unreasonable indigent. But his presence remained incongruous.

  "Surely it occurred to you, Doctor, that there are only three groups upon this planet? The applicants, the students, and the University personnel. Which of these do you suppose should lack proper dental care? Which should lack the typical University identification?"

  "You—" Dillingham stared at him, suddenly making connections. "You have no band—but the elevator worked for you! You're an employee! It was a put-up job!"

  "It was part of your examination."

  "I failed."

  "What gave you that impression?"

  Brother! "The Admissions Advisory Council found me unfit to enter this University."

  "I find that hard to believe, Doctor."

  Dillingham faced him angrily, not appreciating this business at all. "I don't know why you or the University were so eager to interfere with my application, but you succeeded nicely. They rejected me."

  "Perhaps we should verify this," Oyster said, unperturbed.

  He spoke into the translator: "Summon Dr. Dillingham's advisory group."

  They came: the Sponge, the Honeycomb and the Tank, riding low conveyors. "Sir," they said respectfully.

  "What was your decision with regard to this man's application?"

  Tank replied. "We found this humanoid to be unsuitable for enrollment at this University as a student."

  Dillingham nodded. Whatever internecine politics were going on here, at least that point was clear.

  "Did you discover this applicant to be deficient in integrity?" Oyster inquired softly. It was the gentle tone of complete authority.

  "No sir," Tank said.

  "Professional ethics?"

  "No sir."

  "Professional caution?"

  "No sir."

  "Humility?"

  "No sir."

  Temper control?"

  "No sir."

  "Compassion? Courage? Equilibrium?"

  "That is for you to say, sir."

  Oyster glanced at Dillingham. "So it would seem. What, then, gentlemen, did you find the applicant suitable for?"

  "Administration, sir."

  "Indeed. Dismissed, gentlemen."

  "Yes, Director." The three departed hastily.

  Dillingham started. "Yes, who?"

  "There is, you see, a qualitative distinction between the potential manual trainee and the potential administrator," Oyster said. "Your room-mates were evaluated as students—and they certainly have things to learn. Oh, technically they are proficient enough—quite skilled, in fact, though none had the opportunity to exhibit the depth of competence manifested in adversity that you did. But in attitude—well, there will be considerable improvement there, or they will hardly graduate from this school. I daresay you know what I mean."

  So the cheating had been noted! "But—"

  "We are equipped to inculcate manual dexterity and technical comprehension. Of course the techniques tested in the Admissions Examination are primitive; none are employed in advanced restoration. Our interrogatory schedule is principally advisory, to enable us to programme for individual needs.

  "Character, on the other hand, is far more difficult to train—or to assess accurately in a fixed situation. It is far more reliable if it comes naturally, which is one reason we don't always draw from graduates, or even promising students. We are quite quick to investigate applicants possessing the personality traits we require, and this had nothing to do with planet or species. A promising candidate may emerge from any culture, even the most backward, and is guaranteed from none. No statistical survey is reliable in pinpointing the individual we want. In exceptional cases it becomes a personal matter, a non-objective thing. Do you follow me?"

  Dillingham's mind was whirling. "It sounds almost as though you want me to—"

  To undertake training at University expense leading to the eventual assumption of my own position: Director of the School of Prosthodontics."

  Dillingham was speechless.

  "I am anticipating a promotion, you see," Oyster confided. "The vacancy I leave is my responsibility. I would not suffer a successor to whom I would not trust the care of my own teeth."

  "But I couldn't possibly—I haven't the—"

  "Have no concern. You adapted beautifully when thrust from your protected environment into galactic society, and this will be no more difficult. The University of Administration has a comprehensive programme that will guarantee your competence for the position, and of course you will serve as my assistant for several years until you get the hang of it. We are not rushed. You will not be subjected to the ordeal unprepared; that unpleasantness is over."

  Dillingham still found this hard to grasp. "Your grandson—what if I'd—"

  "I shall have to introduce you more formally to that young security officer. He is not, unfortunately, my grandson; but he is the finest shot with the single-charge laser on the planet. We try to make our little skits realistic."

  Dillingham remembered the metal mallet dripping to the floor: no freak interception after all. And the way the youngster had retreated before the tube... that, being single-shot, was no longer functional. Realism, yes.

  That reminded him. "That tooth of yours I filled. I know that wasn't—"

  "Wasn't fake. You are correct. I nursed that cavity for three months, using it to check out prospects. It is a very good thing I won't need it any more, because you spoiled it utterly."

  "I—"

  "You did such a competent job that I should have to have a new cavity cultured for my purpose. No experienced practitioner would mistake it now for a long-neglected case even if I yanked out the gold and re-impacted the cavity. That, Doctor, is the skill that impresses me—the skill that remains after the machinery has been incapacitated. Good intentions mean nothing unless backed by authoritative discretion and ability. You were very slow, but you handled that deliberately obstructive patient very well. Had it been otherwise—"

  "But why me? You could have selected anyone—"

  Oyster put a friendly smile into his voice. "Hardly, Doctor. I visited eleven dormitories that evening before I came to yours—with no success. All contained prospects whose record and fieldwork showed that particular potential. You selected yourself from this number and carried it through honourably. More correctly, you presented yourself as a candidate for the office; we took it from there."

  "You certainly did!"

  "Portions of your prior record were hard to believe, I admit. It was incredible that a person who had as little galactic background as you did should accomplish so much. But now we are satisfied that y
ou do have the touch, the ability to do the right thing in an awkward or unfamiliar situation. That, too, is essential for the position."

  Dillingham fastened on one incongruity. "I—I selected myself?"

  "Yes, Doctor. When you demonstrated your priorities."

  "My priorities? I don't—"

  "When you sacrificed invaluable study time to offer assistance to a creature you believed was in pain."

  Her heart sank when she saw Ra. There was no green on the surface of the planet; the entire landscape seemed to consist of tailings from the mines, mounded into mountains and eroded into valleys.

  Radium mines—she had realized the significance of that too late. They were notorious throughout the galaxy for the effect they had on living creatures. The local ore, called pitch-car, was extraordinarily rich; thus it required only fifty tons of the stuff to produce a full ounce of radium. The non-commercial byproducts such as uranium were discarded wherever convenient. There was no trash collection here.

  If Dr. Dillingham had come to this planet...

  The ship landed ungently. The front port burst open, admitting a foul cloud of native smog, and several troll-like tripeds stomped in. One spoke, his voice like dry bones being run through an un-oiled grinder.

  "Slaves of Ra," the central translator rasped, the words muffled by the babble of other renditions for the dubious benefit of a score of miserable species. "Co-operate, and you may survive for years. Malinger, and you will receive inclement assignments. Any questions?"

  Judy felt sorry for the prisoners, but knew there was nothing at all she could do for them now.

  "Sir," a lovely ladybug called melodiously. "We do not wish to seem ungrateful, but we are very hungry—"

  True enough. There had been no food aboard, and the trip had lasted sixteen hours. Many galactic species had much more active metabolisms than human beings did, and there was no telling how long they had been hungry before she embarked.

  "The others will be hauled to the force-feeding station after processing. You will wait for the following shift for sustenance, with half-rations for the first two days of your inclement assignment. Any other questions?"

  There were none. The hapless prisoners had got the message.