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