Truth and Beauty 2-8

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“I am an internist,” said Stephen. “I also do some surgery.”

“Really?” said Jack. “Really?” He picked up the bottle and poured for Jevons and himself, let the spout hover over Stephen’s glass; then, having not been waved off, poured for him as well. “I suppose it would be too much to ask of luck for me to find a new ship’s surgeon just as soon as I lose the old one. You’d think the Sick and Hurt representative for the home sector would be an upstanding, God-fearing fellow but no, I expect I’ll have to ship out without one.” He raised his glass, Jevons did the same, and without thinking, Stephen did, too. “You have no idea what a hypochondriac you common sailor is,” Jack went on, “and suspicious, too. Sailing without a surgeon is terribly bad luck, they feel.”

“But I am in no way qualified to be a ship’s physician,” said Stephen. “Surely there must be special classes, examinations, that sort of thing?”

“If you’re a physician then you’re overqualified,” said Jevons, pouring another round. “Sloops and other unrated vessels typically get med-school drop-outs, or else RNs tired of working at the old folks home. Drunks, most of them, too, though the sailors worship them just the same. Roth’s surgeon was regularly speechless by lights out, the sot.”

“I remember in the Perdition the surgeon drank himself to death off Tortuga y Coney,” said Jack, then, changing tack, “but it is not all so melancholy, think of this prize money! With his share, the surgeon of the Ethalion is setting up his carriage and retiring! Come, sir, cannot I tempt you to come to space?”

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