The Galactic Circle Veterinary Service

by Stephen Benjamin

  Please take care of yourself and give my best to Fur...and Levi. Enjoy your adventures.

  Roxanne

  I watched it several times more and chuckled to myself. Wait until she heard about Dragonworld. I decided to get a message off before we left and thought through what to say before I recorded it.

  ***

  A request from the planet’s emperor derailed our planned departure. We arrived at the palace, a tower that soared so high my neck hurt to look up at it. The emperor, Inflicts-Death-Upon-His-Enemies-With-Great-Violence-and-Feasts-Upon-Their-Carcasses, was by far the largest dragon we had met; he also had the longest name. His scales were a unique shade of deep rose. Though he might have preferred a description like scarlet, or crimson, or even just red, he really was pink.

  I wondered what he would do if I called him that. I was less than one mouthful...without chewing. He reclined on a pile of furs that looked too much like the little teddy bears that had been the menu at our banquet. I shuddered.

  Pink’s mouth hung open and he writhed as he keened, a low, plaintive sound that rattled my teeth.

  “Your Highness, what is the problem?” We were told to address Pink as royalty.

  He grunted and lifted his massive head off the furs. “Stomach. Hurts.”

  I eyed the vast expanse of fuchsia scales. “Any particular place in your stomach?”

  He raised a foreleg and pointed a talon as long as my arm to his lower abdomen.

  His tenderness was in the lower bowel. I normally could not localize internal pain this well, but he was so big, and the pain so intense, that I sensed different zones of his body. I stayed well back as we spoke. While my stomach wrenched in time to his waves of pain, I did not want to lose it to accidental disembowelment by his writhing limbs.

  “Sire, have you had this before?”

  Floomph. He passed a huge bolus of intestinal gas. This was not sweet, herbivorous gas. Fur and I gasped for breath.

  Pink replied. “Yes. After eating staflymp.”

  The name did not translate, but I took his meaning. I glanced at Fur. “I don’t think we can do anything here. We need to get him to GCVS.”

  I turned back to Pink. “Sire, do you think you would be able to get to our ship? We can run tests there to determine how we might treat you.”

  He looked at his retainers and said, “Do.”

  ***

  A litter borne by six sturdy dragons brought Pink and deposited him next to the ship. We had deployed our largest X-ray unit, but still had to take thirty X-rays and stitch them together digitally to examine the images of the colon.

  “My God,” Fur said, as he pulled at his beard. “Look at the size of those bones. They are as big as a full-grown ox. And not even chewed up a bit. No wonder this guy has a bellyache.”

  I laughed. “I’d like to see whatever it was that he ate whole. That must be an amazing sight. He said it isn’t the first time this has happened, just the worst.”

  “Yeah. Gluttony is taken to an extreme here, isn’t it?” Fur shook his head.

  I walked over to where Pink reclined. His moans were worse, if anything. “How long since your last bowel movement, Your Highness?”

  It turned out to be more than four days. No question, then. He had a colonic blockage.

  I looked at Fur. “We have nothing pharmacologic that we can use to loosen him up and we need to do something fast. He’s getting toxic, and colonic rupture is a threat.”

  “Surgery?” asked Fur.

  I shook my head. “On this guy? Uh, uh. What this guy needs is an enema.”

  Fur barely suppressed his guffaw. “So much for modern medicine.”

  I grimaced at him. “Classic therapy has its place.”

  I explained this to Pink’s retainers. They were aghast.

  “You sure?” one asked. “Hurt His Majesty, he eat you.”

  Fur looked at me and mouthed, “Are you kidding me?”

  I turned back to Pink. “We can do this, or we can just leave you and see what happens.”

  He suspended a talon a hand’s-breadth above my head. “Will remove pain?”

  “I sure hope so.” I did not need to read his emotions to get the message that I would follow the staflymp if this went wrong.

  Fur and I ran a four-inch hose from the GCVS water tank and inserted it into the nether region of Pink’s anatomy. A variety of interesting sounds emanated from Pink’s mouth, accompanied by the release of considerable gas from the orifice we happened to face. We staggered back and I told a couple of dragons to hold the hose. Let them be in the path of any reflexive disemboweling. They approached this duty rather gingerly.

  I had Ruthie open the valve and waited. Water flowed for several minutes, while the cries from Pink increased in volume. I swallowed back acid as my head felt like it would split. When he started to thrash, I staggered away from him. Then an incredible explosion rent the air. An ordurous slurry liberally peppered with flying bones sprayed the countryside. The dragons assembled to watch the festivities scattered in every direction: left, right, and up, out of the path of the potentially lethal osseous missiles. Thank God the blast blew away from the ship and us.

  The moans from Pink receded to a few bleats, and then nothing. He sat up on his litter and shook his wings. He now looked every bit the emperor as he displayed his impressive dentures.

  “Captain Berger, I have relief.”

  I know I was relieved.

  “Your magic powerful,” he continued. “Dragons in your debt.”

  “I will remember that, Sire.” Having dragons in my debt had to be good, if I could only figure out how. I thrust aside the image of the emperor swallowing a screaming Levi. Maybe line the whole Rebbinical Council up on his plate? I shook my head and came back to reality.

  Inflicts-Death-Upon-His-Enemies-with-Great-Violence-And-Feasts-Upon-Their-Carcasses motioned to two dragons carrying a wooden chest. They deposited it at our feet, and one of the dragons flicked the lid open. Gold, silver, and jewels coruscated in the sunlight.

  “You earn,” the emperor said.

  I smiled. “Sire, I will look back on our time here with fond remembrance. Stories of your, um, power will amaze the galaxy.”

  I figured I couldn’t lay it on too thick.

  CHAPTER 11

  The promise of tall beers led Fur and me into a tavern on our way back to the ship. An epidemic threatened the primary food and pack animal of Certis Prime, and we had assisted the world’s small group of veterinarians vaccinating the last of their herds. The distress of thousands of animals hammering my psyche had taken its toll. Exhausted, thirsty, and in a foul mood, I was overdue for that cold brew.

  The closest patrons looked up and wrinkled their noses, from the effluvia of herdbeast manure that wafted off our boots and coveralls, no doubt. Certis Prime herdbeasts were not the cleanliest of animals.

  “Two pints,” I told the barmaid. Despite our pungent condition, she smiled. She knew we tipped well.

  As we drank, several men at a nearby table looked at us and laughed. I ignored them, as did Fur. Unfortunately, they did not return our disinterest. One man stood and approached our table with a smirk on his face. The sun beaming in through the windows into the dimly lit tavern gave me a good view of his attire. His ostentatious outfit, shiny black boots, fringed black leather pants, burgundy shirt with a frilly front, and multicolored bandanna around his neck, made me take an instant dislike to him. His aura of arrogant conceit may have contributed.

  He cleared his throat and looked around the room before he spoke. “I say, fellows. You appear to be a bit bedraggled.”

  Laughs issued from his compatriots.

  “There is a distinct...atmosphere about you. It is rather interfering with the enjoyment of our dinner. Would you mind moving closer to an open window?”

  Laughter from around the tavern did nothing for my mood. I caught one comment, “Not our window.”

  I simply wanted to enjoy the rest of my beer without int
erference, but that was not going to happen. I pushed my chair away from the table and looked up into the man’s vapid blue eyes.

  He said, “Your smell is so pervasive, I would have thought that you would be more affected by it...considering the size of your nose.”

  Another wave of laughter made the rounds of the tables.

  I felt Fur tense up, knowing my sensitivity about my outsized proboscis. I stood. The man was about my height and weight, and I looked him up and down before I spoke. “Excuse me. Did you say something about my nose?”

  He smiled. “Why, yes. You have a very big nose.”

  More laughter.

  “Is that all?”

  His brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Enough, I think.”

  I stepped closer to him and grabbed his shirtfront so he could not move away. “Ah, no, sir. That is too simple. Why, you might have said a great many things. Why waste your opportunity?”

  He tried to pull away, but my grip was firm. “For example, thus: ‘I, sir, if that nose were mine, I’d have it amputated on the spot!’ Or, ‘Tis a rock, a crag, a cape. A cape? Say rather, a peninsula!’ Or, ‘Do you love the little birds so much that when they come and sing to you, you give them this to perch on?’”

  He struggled to disengage, but I grabbed his arm with my other hand. “Or, ‘When it blows, the typhoon howls and the clouds darken. When it bleeds, the Red Sea!’ Or, ‘Was this the nose that launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium?’

  “These, my dear sir, are things you might have said had you some tinge of wit. But since you are a half-wit, you could not. Before these good folks, you have made jest of me. Now, I say these things lightly enough myself, about myself, but I allow no one else to utter them.”

  “Let go of me, you freak.” He grabbed the hand holding his shirt to free himself, and I allowed him that, while I kicked him in the left kneecap. He grunted and dropped as his leg gave way. On the way down, I used my grasp on his arm to guide him. My knee met his nose with a satisfying crunch.

  His two companions leapt toward me, only to come up short when they faced Furoletto towering over them. “I think you had better see to your friend.” Fur’s deep voice added a layer of menace to his bulk.

  The two looked at Fur and then at each other before they slunk back to their table.

  My opponent’s burgundy shirt turned black with blood that dripped from his nose. The exudation spoiled the pretty bandanna he used to staunch the flow.

  Fur turned to the bartender who had appeared with a stout club in his pudgy grasp. “No need for that. I think the festivities are completed.” Fur looked at our assailants who avoided his gaze. “See?”

  “I think you might find another tavern after this.” The bartender turned on his heel and retreated to the bar.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We won’t be back.”

  Fur and I reseated ourselves. Fur finished his beer, but I pushed mine away. I had lost my thirst to a churning stomach and aching head.

  ***

  After we were clean and smelled sweet once again, we sat over coffee in the GCVS commissary. Levi was off on one of the secretive jaunts—what he called “fact-finding” missions, euphemisms for spying—that busied him on all the human worlds we visited. Fur was antsy. He hated having the rebbe out alone, not knowing what form of subversion he was spreading on this world.

  “Relax,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do about Levi. You can’t be on his tail constantly.”

  Fur heaved a sigh. “Okay. But while we wait for him, let’s have the whole story. Your pretty speech was rehearsed.”

  I snickered. “That pretty speech isn’t mine, at all. That was the wit of one Edmond Eugène Alexis Rostand, paraphrased from his play, Cyrano de Bergerac.”

  “You’re kidding.” Fur’s eyes were wide.

  “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to use that, to follow in the footsteps of Jose Ferrer?”

  Fur shook his head. “What in hell are you talking about?”

  I laughed. “Get a refill. You will now hear the unexpurgated version of my life story.”

  We both filled our cups and sat back in our chairs.

  “My birth name is Cyrano D. Berger.”

  Fur pulled at his beard. “Cyrano, huh? What does the ‘D’ stand for?”

  “Just wait. It will make sense. I hated that name until I was twelve when I stumbled across Cyrano de Bergerac in my folks’ vid files. It starred an actor named Jose Ferrer who won an Academy Award for his performance.”

  This led to even more confusion on Fur’s part.

  “I really need to get you into ancient vids. You don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, this led me to the written version of the play. Cyrano, whose full name was Hector Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, was a real Frenchman who lived on seventeenth-century earth. Rostand romantically expanded de Bergerac’s life in his play; he immortalized Cyrano. He also immortalized Cyrano’s huge nose.”

  Fur snorted.

  “At first, I couldn’t believe that my parents would do such a thing, name me for a man with a gigantic nose. After all, they knew my family heritage guaranteed me that. I was mortified and incensed. Perhaps they didn’t know about Cyrano, I’d thought, so I confronted them, filled with twelve-year-old indignation. Their response, far from contrite as I expected, as I demanded, was rather amused. I’ll never forget that conversation.

  “‘So,’ my father said with a straight face, ‘you’ve discovered Rostand and your namesake.’

  “My namesake? I deliberately had been named after a Frenchman with a huge nose? I was so upset I couldn’t get a coherent thought out.

  “My father looked at my mother and then back at me. ‘Why are you upset? Didn’t you like the story? Don’t you think that Cyrano is a worthy model?’

  “I was floored. A model? For me?

  “My mother chimed in with her side. ‘Cyrano de Bergerac is one of the great characters in literature, but he was based on a real man.’ I hadn’t known that. ‘Admittedly, Rostand exaggerated many of his qualities and characteristics, but do some research on him.’

  “My dad said, ‘What did you think of Cyrano’s character...as portrayed by Rostand, of course?’

  “When I thought about it, Cyrano was the ultimate dashing, romantic figure, someone worth emulating...well, as much as possible. Cyrano was brilliant, a poet, a musician, a swordsman, possessed with the courage of ten, a man who exemplified fundamental honesty and integrity. Remember, I was twelve. Cyrano D. Berger—I wondered that they hadn’t changed my name and stuck an ‘-ac’ on the end. Big-nosed, Cy Berger.”

  Fur said nothing. No doubt he took into account my reaction to any slights about my nose.

  “I realized that being named for de Bergerac was not an embarrassment, but an honor. An honor I would have to live up to. I admitted that to my parents and we had a good laugh.

  “I worried as to what might happen if any kids put my name together with the famous figure, but my father put that in perspective.

  “He said, ‘There might be a dozen people in all of New Jerusalem that know Rostand and Cyrano, and they are academics at the university. No one you know will have an inkling.’

  “They hadn’t named me in an idle moment. They had planned that I would learn of Rostand and Cyrano de Bergerac, if not through my own explorations, then through their introduction. They wanted to force me to broaden my horizons, to not take the easy roads in life.”

  Fur sat back; his cup almost disappeared in his huge hands. A small smile played about his lips. “That’s quite a story. And quite a figure to live up to. Seems to me that you’ve done an admirable job so far.”

  My face grew warm. I mumbled thanks and continued. “What happened in the tavern today mimics a scene in the play. A boob insulted Cyrano’s nose and Cyrano launched into his famous—and much longer—soliloquy. This led to a duel to the death. Cyrano composed a ballad as he dispatched his foe. I cou
ldn’t quite follow up on the last parts, but the rest came off almost perfectly.”

  Fur’s laugh boomed across the small room. “You are something else.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m not done.”

  “Let me get some more coffee first.”

  He did and I continued. “You can see my family heritage, goes back to my father and grandfather, this great hooked beak of a nose. Even farther, back to our Semitic ancestors. It got me into more than a few scrapes as a kid. Unfortunately, many of the other kids in my school also came from farms, so the strength I gained from chores did not save me from some nasty thrashings.

  “Once I discovered Cyrano, I determined to emulate him. I wrote bad poetry.” I smiled. “I took up martial arts.”

  Fur grinned and nodded. “As I learned on Beta Cygnus.”

  “You must understand that Cyrano is both a glorious and a tragic figure. On the tragic side, he loses his only great love through his own insecurity and ineptness, and he dies young.”

  “Impressive story, Cyrano. Do you have any more deep dark secrets?”

  “No, but now that I’ve leveled with you, I want the story behind your name. You don’t meet someone named Furoletto every day.”

  He smiled. “No, you don’t, but I’m afraid that it lacks the drama of your story. My parents loved opera. It was their overriding passion, so I have a name that sounds operatic. Maybe Verdi’s Rigoletto influenced it. They never said, but I like to think that.” He spread his hands and shrugged.

  I smiled. “I like it. I can picture you on stage and singing bass in Die Walküre.”

  Fur laughed.

  “Let me give you my vidchip of Jose Ferrer’s performance in Cyrano de Bergerac. You’ll enjoy it. It will say more than I ever can.”

  ***

  The next morning, I met Fur in the corridor outside the commissary. Fur examined me with his head cocked to one side. A weird smile twisted his lips.

  “Cyrano’s great love. Roxanne,” he said. “Roxanne.”