rip. They were sitting in a nearby car while Feldman enjoyed the
scenery, Chris made further plans, and Harnett gathered material. There
was also a photographer and writer, but they hadn't been introduced by
name.

Feldman reached Baxter first. The man was moaning and scared, and he was
bleeding profusely. Only a miracle had saved him from instant death. The
bullet had struck a rib, been deflected and robbed of some of its
energy, and had barely reached the heart. But it had pierced the
pericardium, as best Feldman could guess, and it could be fatal at any
moment.

He'd reached for a probe without thinking. Chris knocked his hand aside.

She was right, of course. He couldn't operate outside a hospital. But
they had no phone in the lodge where the guide lived and no way to
summon an ambulance. They'd have to drive Baxter back in the car, which
would almost certainly result in his death.

When Feldman seemed uncertain, Harnett had given his warning in a low
but vehement voice. "You touch him, Dan, and I'll spread it in every one
of our media. I'll have to. It's the only way to retain public
confidence. There'd be a leak, with all the guides and others here, and
we can't afford that. I like you--you have color. But touch that wound
and I'll crucify you."

Chris added her own threats. She'd spent years making him the outlet for
all her ambitions, denied because women were still only second-rate
members of Medical Lobby. She couldn't let it go now. And she was
probably genuinely shocked.

Baxter groaned again and started to bleed more profusely.

There wasn't much equipment. Feldman operated with a pocketknife
sterilized in a bottle of expensive Scotch and only anodyne tablets in
place of anesthesia. He got the bullet out and sewed up the wound with a
bit of surgical thread he'd been using to tie up a torn good-luck
emblem. The photographer and writer recorded the whole thing. Chris
swore harshly and beat her fists against the bole of a tree. But Baxter
lived. He recovered completely, and was shocked at the heinous thing
that had been done to him.

They crucified Feldman.

III

Spaceman

Most crewmen lived rough, ugly lives--and usually, short ones.
Passengers and officers on the big tubs were given the equivalent of
gravity in spinning compartments, but the crews rode "free". The lucky
crewmen lived through their accidents, got space-stomach now and then,
and recovered. Nobody cared about the others.