"Lester Del Rey - Nerves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Del Rey Lester)

drive off again. Then abruptly the solid familiarity of his surroundings
snapped the blue funk he'd been in. The plant was a world by itself, busy and
densely populated. Nothing could uproot it. He waved at the grinning guard and
went inside, soaking up the sight, sound and smell of it.
The graveled walks were crowded with the usual nine-o'clock mass of young
huskies just going on shift, and the company cafeteria was jammed to capacity
with men seeking a last-minute cup of coffee. But the men made way for him
good-humoredly as he moved among them. That pleased Doc, as always, and all
the more because they didn't bother to stop their horseplay as they might have
done for another company official. He'd been just Doc to them too long for
that.
He nodded back at them easily, pushed through, and went down the walk toward
the Infirmary, taking his own time; at his age a man could begin to realize
that comfort and relaxation were worth cultivating. Besides, he could see no
reason for ruining the good food in his stomach by rushing around in a flurry
that gave him no time to digest it. He let himself in the side entrance,
palming his cigar out of long habit, though he'd had the No Smoking signs
removed years ago, and passed through the surgery to the door marked:

ROGER T. FERREL
Physician in Charge.

As always, the little room was heavy with the odor of stale smoke and littered
with scraps of this and that. His assistant was already there, rummaging
busily through Ferrel's desk with the brass that was typical of the man;
Ferrel had no objection to it, though; Blake's rock-steady hands and unruffled
brain were always dependable in a pinch of any sort.
Blake looked up and grinned confidently. "Hi, Doc. Where the deuce do you keep
your lighter fluid? Never mind, got it! . . . Thought you were taking the day
off?"
"Fat chance." Ferrel stuck the cigar back in his mouth and settled into the
old leather chair, shaking his head. "Palmer phoned me at the crack of dawn.
We've got an emergency again."
"So you're stuck with it. I don't see why any of us has to show up here-
nothing serious ever pops up. Look at yesterday. I had three cases of
athlete's foot-better send a memo down to the showers to use extra
disinfectant-a boy with a running nose, the usual hypochondriacs, and a guy
with a sliver in his thumb! They bring everything to us except their babies,
and they'd have them here if they could. Nothing that couldn't wait a week or
a month." He snapped his fingers. "Hey, I almost forgot. If you're free
tonight, Anne and I are celebrating sticking together ten years. She wants you
and Emma with us. Let the kid handle the office tonight."
"Sounds like a good idea. But you'd better stop calling Jenkins the kid."
Ferrel twitched his lips in a stiff smile, remembering the time when he'd been
as dead-serious as the new doctor; after only a week of real practice it was
too soon to learn that destiny hadn't really singled him out to save the
world. "He had his first real case yesterday. Handled it all by himself, so
he's now Doctor Jenkins, if you please."
Blake had his own memories. "Yeah? Wonder when he'll realize that everything
he did by himself came from you? What was it, anyway?"