Weald. Check with your public health authorities. This is the first
Med Ship visit in twelve standard years, I believe--which is
inexcusable. But your health authorities will know all about it. Check
with them."

The voice said truculently:

"What was your last port?"

Calhoun named it. This was not his home sector, but Sector Twelve had
gotten into a very bad situation. Some of its planets had gone
unvisited for as long as twenty years, and twelve between inspections
was almost commonplace. Other sectors had been called on to help it
catch up.

Calhoun was one of the loaned Med Ship men, and because of the
emergency he'd been given a list of half a dozen planets to be
inspected one after another, instead of reporting back to sector
headquarters after each visit. He'd had minor troubles before with
landing-grid operators in Sector Twelve.

So he was very patient. He named the planet last inspected, the one
from which he'd set out for Weald Three. The voice from the
communicator said sharply:

"What port before that?"

Calhoun named the one before the last.

"Don't drive any closer," said the voice harshly, "or you'll be
destroyed!"

Calhoun said coldly, "Listen, my fine feathered friend! I'm from the
Interstellar Medical Service. You get in touch with planetary health
services immediately! Remind them of the Interstellar Medical
Inspection Agreement, signed on Tralee two hundred and forty standard
years ago. Remind them that if they do not cooperate in medical
inspection that I can put your planet under quarantine and your space
commerce will be cut off like that!

"No ship will be cleared for Weald from any other planet in the galaxy
until there has been a health inspection! Things have pretty well gone
to pot so far as the Med Service in this sector is concerned, but it's
being straightened up. I'm helping straighten it! I give you twenty
minutes to clear this! Then I am coming in, and if I'm not landed a
quarantine goes on! Tell your health authorities that!"

Silence. Calhoun clicked off and poured himself another cup of coffee.
Murgatroyd held out his cup for a refill. Calhoun gave it to him.

"I hate to put on an official hat, Murgatroyd," he said, annoyed, "but
there are some people who demand it. The rule is, never get official
if you can help it, but when you must, out-official the official who's
officialing you."

Murgatroyd said "_Chee!_" and sipped at his cup.

Calhoun checked the course