This World Is Taboo | Page 2

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 of the Med Ship. It bore on through space.
There were tiny noises from the communicator. There were
whisperings and rustlings and the occasional strange and sometimes

beautiful musical notes whose origin is yet obscure, but which, since
they are carried by electromagnetic radiation of wildly varying wave
lengths, are not likely to be the fabled music of the spheres.
In fifteen minutes a different voice came from the speaker.
"Med Ship Aesclipus! Med Ship Aesclipus!"
Calhoun answered and the voice said anxiously:
"Sorry about the challenge, but we have the blueskin problem always
with us. We have to be extremely careful! Will you come in, please?"
"I'm on my way," said Calhoun.
"The planetary health authorities," said the voice, more anxiously still,
"are very anxious to be cooperative. We need Med Service help! We
lose a lot of sleep over the blueskin! Could you tell us the name of the
last Med Ship to land here, and its inspector, and when that inspection
was made? We want to look up the record of the event to be able to
assist you in every possible way."
"He's lying," Calhoun told Murgatroyd, "but he's more scared than
hostile."
He picked up the order folio on Weald Three. He gave the information
about the last Med Ship visit.
"What?" he asked, "is a blueskin?"
He'd read the folio on Weald, of course, but as the ship swam onward
through emptiness he went through it again. The last medical
inspection had been only perfunctory. Twelve years earlier--instead of
three--a Med Ship had landed on Weald. There had been official
conferences with health officials. There was a report on the birth rate,
the death rate, the anomaly rate, and a breakdown of all reported
communicable diseases. But that was all. There were no special
comments and no overall picture.

Presently Calhoun found the word in a Sector dictionary, where words
of only local usage were to be found:
"Blueskin: Colloquial term for a person recovered from a plague which
left large patches of blue pigment irregularly distributed over the body.
Especially, inhabitants of Dara. The condition is said to be caused by a
chronic, nonfatal form of Dara plague and has been said to be
noninfectious, though this is not certain. The etiology of Dara plague
has not been worked out. The blueskin condition is hereditary but not a
genetic modification, as markings appear in non-Mendelian
distributions."
Calhoun puzzled over it. Nobody could have read the entire Sector
directory, even with unlimited leisure during travel between solar
systems. Calhoun hadn't tried. But now he went laboriously through