“Section six, paragraph eight, general orders,” answered Rolth. “ ‘The Patrol is the guardian of the law under Central Control. It may assist the civil branch if and when requested to do so. But at no time and in no manner does it surrender its authority to any planetary or sectional advisor or ruler, except under the direct seal and order of Central Control.’ ”
The youngster stood with his mouth slightly open. The last thing he had expected, thought Kartr with a relieving chuckle of real humor which he was able to suppress, was to have general orders spouted in his face. Zinga would have loved to hear this. Kartr hoped that the Zacathan had followed them mentally and was enjoying it.
“But—” whatever protest the Spacer was about to make died away as the rangers’ expressions of polite but impatient attention did not alter.
“Now,” Kartr said when the officer added nothing to that forlorn “but,” “perhaps you can direct me to your medico’s quarters. I require attention for this.” He indicated his wrist.
The officer was eager to oblige. “Down two flights of stairs at the end of this corridor and turn to your right. Medico Tre has the first four rooms in that hall.”
He remained where he was, still staring after them as they moved on.
“What do you suppose he is going to report to the great Cummi?” Rolth wondered as they followed directions. “I don’t think that I would care to be in his boots. “Do you believe—”
“That I was wise to stand up and resist at this point? Maybe I wasn’t, but they must have discovered from Jaksan that I am hostile. And”—Kartr’s face was entirely expressionless—“that was something I had to do. He set the Can-hound on us!”
And Rolth, having seen that fighting face before and knowing what its mask covered, decided to say no more.
They met no one else on those two flights of stairs. Apparently this portion of Cummi’s stronghold was more or less deserted. And they were approaching the first door along the medico’s corridor when a thin whisper of sound caught their attention. Here the tall windows were set in deep recesses and it was from one of those that the summons came.
“A woman—”
But Kartr already knew that, having met the block which always prevented a sensitive from interpreting the emotions of one of the opposite sex. She was leaning forward, daring to beckon with one hand. Rolth edged toward that side of the hall and Kartr nodded. The Faltharian would contact the woman while the sergeant kept on to their destination. If any one except Zinga had a mind watch on them at present such a move might be confusing.
Rolth stepped into the embrasure and drew back against the window, taking the woman with him. To anyone not directly before the recess they were not visible. Kartr went on a yard and glanced back. Rolth had made the right move—from where he was now they could not be seen.
The sergeant turned into the next open door. Medico’s quarters all right from the equipment in sight. Almost at the same instant a tall man came from an inner room. Kartr tried mind contact and then lost some of his tension. This was no Ageratan, and no enemy either. He could scan nothing but good will in the other’s mind.
“You have a renewer ray?” he asked, drawing his arm out of the sling.
“We have. How long it will continue to function locked to these city currents is another question. We cannot be sure of anything. I am Medico Lasilo Tre. A break?” His fingers were already busy about Kartr’s wrist, unfastening the bandages Zinga had put on that morning.
“I don’t know. Ah—” Kartr sucked in his breath as Tre began probing the bruised and purple flesh.
Then the ranger was pushed down on a stool at the edge of the renewer beam, his throbbing arm stretched out under the concentrated ray, feeling again the draw of those invisible healing motes. Twice Tre snapped off the current and came to examine the hurt with delicate finger tips—only to turn it on again after shaking his head. The third time he was satisfied. Kartr lifted his arm gingerly and flexed first his fingers and then his wrist. Although he had once before been under the ray—to renew a leg almost chewed to pieces—the wonder of the restoration was as great as ever. He pulled off his sling and grinned happily at the medico.
“Better than new,” Tre commented. “Only wish that your officer could be as easily put to rights, Sergeant—”
Vibor! Kartr had almost forgotten the Commander. “How is he?”
Tre frowned. “The physical wounds—those we were able to heal. But the other— I’m no psycho-sensitive. He needs the type of care and treatment he’ll never be able to get now—unless a miracle occurs and we are rescued—”
“Which you do not believe will ever happen,” suggested Kartr.
“How can any sensible man believe that we will?” countered the medico. But there was something else, another emotion hidden beneath that answer. “This planet—this solar system—does not even exist on any map the X451 carried.”
“But those who built this city were at a high level of civilization,” Kartr pointed out. “Where did they go?”
“They were and they weren’t. Mechanically they were far advanced, yes. But there are odd gaps. I understand you rangers are trained to assess strange civilizations. I shall be eager to have your reaction to the ruins of this one after you have had the time to study it. The one thing I have noticed is that there is no space port here and there never was. Maybe the men of this world never knew space flight—”
“But what happened to them?”
Tre shrugged. “At least this is no second Tantor. We made sure of that before we entered the city. And we have found no human remains here. It seems almost as if they all walked away one day, leaving their city ready and waiting, all geared to go again when they wished to return. There are signs of time—some erosion. The machinery, though, had all been left protected, oiled, laid up in such a way as to set our mech-techneers running around begging people to come and look at an excellent preservation job.”
“They must have planned on returning, then.” Kartr digested that. Was there, on some other land mass of this unknown world, a remnant of civilization?
“If they did they were prevented. It has been a long time since they left. Wrist okay, Sergeant?”
Kartr did not start at the abrupt change in the other’s speech. He knew that Rolth was at the door behind him.
“Medico Tre, Ranger Rolth.” He was careful to glance around before making the introductions. No need to tip off Tre that he was a sensitive.
The medico acknowledged the Faltharian’s salute. “Pleased to see you, ranger. Any aches or pains to report? Goggles holding up? Need any skin burn cream? You are a Faltharian?”
The lips below Rolth’s goggle mask curved into a smile which expanded under the medico’s friendliness. “You know all about my problems then, Medico?”
“Had a Faltharian patient once—bad skin burn. That’s what started me messing around with creams. Found one which did help a lot. Wait a minute—”
He hurried to a medicine case in the corner and began checking over the assortment of plaso-tubes it held. “Try this.” He brought one out. “Spread it on before you go into direct daylight. I think you’ll find it will stop irritation.”
“Thanks, Medico.” Rolth put the tube into his belt pouch. “So far I’ve been okay. Only the sergeant here had work for you.”
Kartr flipped his left hand up and down from the restored wrist. “And this is as good as new. What’s your fee?”
Tre laughed. “Credit slips wouldn’t have much value here, would they? If you come across anything interesting in my line when you go exploring, just let me know. That will be good enough for me. Glad to be of service to the Patrol at any time, anyway. You boys deserve the best we civilians can give you. I hear that you may be hunting—any chance of going along some time on one of your trips?”
Kartr was surprised. There was an urgency in that question and the medico’s eyes locked with his as if Tre were trying desperately to tell him something—a message vitally important to both of them.
“I don’t see why not,” the sergeant returned. “If we do go. I’ve had no orders as yet. Thanks again, Medico—”
“Not at all. Only too glad to be able to help. See you around—”
But still underneath that urgent appeal. Then Kartr’s eyes widened. The fingers of the medico’s right hand—they had moved—were moving again—to shape a figure he knew well. But how—how and when had Tre learned that? Automatically he made the prescribed answer with his forefinger, even as he said loudly: