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“That’s a rhetorical question,” said the psychologist, trying to work out an uncertain correlation in his reports. “With that sort of mob hysteria, the town would probably give you an affidavit of witchcraft.”

“Phone for you, Doctor Alcala.” The nurse was crisp but quiet, smiling down at the little girl before vanishing again.

Ricardo Alcala pushed the plunger in gently, then carefully withdrew the hypodermic needle from the little girl’s arm. “There you are, Cosita,” he said, smiling and rising from the chair beside the white bed.

“Will that make me better, Doctor?” she piped feebly.

He patted her hand. “Be a good girl and you will be well tomorrow.” He walked out into the hospital corridor to where the desk nurse held out a phone.

“Alcala speaking.”

The voice was unfamiliar. “My deepest apologies for interrupting your work, Doctor. At this late hour I’m afraid I assumed you would be at home. The name is Camba, Federation Investigator on a health case. I would like to consult you.”

Alcala was tired, but there was nothing to do at home. Nita was at the health resort and Johnny had borrowed all his laboratory space for a special synthesis of some sort, and probably would be too busy even to talk. Interest stirred in him. This was a Federation investigator calling; the man’s work was probably important. “Tonight, if that’s convenient. I’ll be off duty in five minutes.”