Do you, doctor?"
The old man threw a startled glance at the corpse. Then he shrugged and
nodded to the attendant. "Well, go through his things. If he still has a
space ticket, I can get his name from that."
The kid began pawing through the bag that had fallen from the cot. He
dragged out a pair of shoes, half a bottle of cheap rum, a wallet and a
bronze space ticket. He wasn't quick enough with the wallet, and the
doctor took it from him.
"Medical Lobby authorization. If he has any money, it covers my fee and
the rest goes to his own Lobby." There were several bills, all of large
denominations. He turned the ticket over and began filling in the death
certificate. "Arthur Billings. Space Lobby. Crewman. Cause of death,
idiopathic gastroenteritis _and_ delirium tremens."
There had been no evidence of delirium tremens, but apparently the
doctor felt he had scored a point. He tossed the space ticket toward the
shoes, closed his bag, and prepared to leave.
"Hey, doc!" The attendant's voice was indignant. "Hey, what about my
reporting fee?"
The doctor stopped. He glanced at the kid, then toward Feldman, his face
a mixture of speculation and dislike. He took a dollar bill from the
wallet. "That's right," he admitted. "The fee for reporting a solvent
case. Medical Lobby rules apply--even to a man who breaks them."
The kid's hand was out, but the doctor dropped the dollar onto Feldman's
cot.
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