The tinny "Mrs. a-Whiggins" replies, "Hold please." Spider is accosted by electronic whirring sounds and a series of clicks and beeps, and then a different female voice says, "Centry General Hospital, how may I direct your call?" After explaining his needs, Spider is directed to yet another voice, male this time, "Ahhhh, yeeeeeees? Roger here, how may I direct your plea for urgent medical help? Did the Big, Bad Spaceman get a nasty ol' boo-boo?"
"Herd beasts? Listen, Buck Rogers, you want a veterinarian not a hospital. Call back when you get parvo or something yourself."
Doc has a hunch that if, or more likely, WHEN, this disease makes the leap from Trotherias to people, it will likely manifest itself in a fairly mild way at first, until it reaches the advanced stages and is less apt to be cured before claiming the life of the victim. The early stages will be all but impossible to tell apart from a cold or allergy without some lab tests being performed.
The lady just smiles and says, "You'll find the information that you seek on that bulletin board, just there," she points to the wall with a bulletin board nearby. There are all sorts of dealers listed in many kinds of goods. There are no pharmaceutical dealers listed, however, and nothing that looks like a medicine shoppe of any kind. The closest Zoe can find is a chemical company, McFrugal's it's called.
The driver stoically allows Gruffle to make his comments without replying. In response to the question, he says, "I wouldn't know about that stuff, I just move the cargo and put it where I'm told." The truck pulls up behind the Zax. "First, we'll need to get the cargo hatch opened. But before you do that, I guess we had better figure out what we're going to do with the stuff?"
