He thumbed down the communicator button and spoke into a microphone.

“Med Ship Aesclipus Twenty reporting arrival and asking coordinates for landing,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Purpose of landing is planetary health inspection.  Our mass is fifty tons, standard.  We should arrive at a landing position in something under four hours.  Repeat.  Med Ship Aesclipus Twenty....”

He finished the regular second transmission and made coffee for himself while he waited for an answer.  Murgatroyd came out for a cup of coffee for himself.  Murgatroyd adored coffee.  In minutes he held a tiny cup in a furry small paw and sipped gingerly at the hot liquid.

A voice came out of the communicator: 

“Aesclipus Twenty, repeat your identification.”

Calhoun went to the control board.

“Aesclipus Twenty,” he said patiently, “is a Med Ship, sent by the Interstellar Medical Service to make a planetary health inspection on 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!”