"No," Oyster said, jolting him back to business. "Wax tastes bad."
"This is guaranteed tasteless to most life-forms, and it is only for the night. As soon as you report to the clinic—"
"Tastes bad!" the patient insisted, starting to close his shell.
Dillingham wondered again just what the translator had meant by "highly intelligent... emotionally stable." He kept his peace and dialed for amalgam.
"Nasty color," Oyster said.
"But this is pigmented red, to show that the filling is intended as temporary. It will hardly show, in this location. I don't want the clinic to have any misunderstanding."
The shell clamped all the way shut, nearly pinning his fingers. "Nasty color!"
It occurred to him that more was involved than capricious difficulty. Did this patient intend to go to the clinic at all? Oyster might be angling for a permanent filling. "What color does suit you?"
"Gold."
It figured. Well, better to humor the patient, rather than try to force him into a more sensible course. Dillingham could make a report to the authorities, who could then roust out Oyster and check the work properly.
At his direction, the panel extruded a ribbon of gold foil. He placed this in the miniature annealing oven and waited for the slow heat to act.
"You're burning it up!" Oyster protested.
"By no means. It is necessary to make the gold cohesive, for better service. You see—"
"Hot," Oyster said. So much for helpful explanations. He could have employed noncohesive metal, but this was a lesser technique that didn't appeal to him.
At length he had suitable ropes of gold for the slow, delicate task of building up the restoration inside the cavity. The first layer was down; once he malleted it into place—
The elevator burst asunder. A second oyster charged into the operatory waving a translucent tube. "Villain!" it exclaimed. "What are you doing to my grandfather?"
Dillingham was taken aback. "Your grandfather? I'm trying to make him comfortable until—"
The newcomer would have none of it. "You're torturing him! My poor, dear, long-suffering grandfather! Monster! How could you?"
"But I'm only—"
Young Oyster leveled the tube at him. Dillingham noticed irrelevantly that its end was solid. "Get away from my grandfather. I saw you hammering spikes into his venerable teeth, you sadist! I'm taking him home!"
Dillingham did not move. He considered this a stance of necessity, not courage. "Not until I complete this work. I can't let him go out like this, with the excavation exposed."
"Beast! Pervert! Humanoid!" the youngster screamed. "I'll volatize you!"
Searing light beamed from the solid tube. The metal mallet in Dillingham's hand melted and dripped to the floor.
He leaped for the oyster and grappled for the weapon. The giant shell clamped shut upon his hand as they fell to the floor. He struggled to right himself, but discovered that the creature had withdrawn all its appendages and now was nothing more than a two-hundred pound clam—with Dillingham's left hand firmly pinioned.
"Assaulter of innocents!" the youngster squeaked from within the shell. "Unprovoked attacker. Get your foul paw out of my ear!"
"Friend, I'll be glad to do that—as soon as you let go," he gasped. What a situation for a dentist!
"Help! Butchery! Genocide!"
Dillingham finally found his footing and hauled on his arm. The shell tilted and lifted from the floor, but gradually the trapped hand slid free. He quickly sat on the shell to prevent it from opening again and surveyed the damage.
Blood trickled from multiple scratches along the wrist, and his hand smarted strenuously, but there was no serious wound.
"Let my grandson go!" the old oyster screamed now. "You have no right to muzzle him like that! This is a free planet!"
Dillingham marveled once more at the translator's description. These just did not seem to be reasonable creatures. He stood up quickly and picked up the fallen tube.
"Look, gentlemen—I'm very sorry if I have misunderstood your conventions, but I must insist that the young person leave."
Young Oyster peeped out of his shell. "Unwholesome creature! Eater of sea-life! How dare you make demands of us?"
Dillingham pointed the tube at him. He had no idea how to fire it, but hoped the creature could be bluffed. "Please leave at once. I will release your grandfather as soon as the work is done."
The youngster focused on the weapon and obeyed, grumbling. Dillingham touched the elevator lock as soon as he was gone.
The oldster was back in the chair. Somehow the adjustment had changed, so that this was now a basketlike receptacle, obviously more comfortable for this patient. "You are more of a being than you appear," Oyster remarked. "I was never able to handle that juvenile so efficiently."
Dillingham contemplated the droplets of metal splattered on the floor. That heat-beam had been entirely too close—and deadly. His hands began to shake in delayed reaction. He was not a man of violence, and his own quick reaction had surprised him. The stress of recent events had certainly gotten to him, he thought ruefully.
"But he's a good boy, really," Oyster continued. "A trifle impetuous—but he inherited that from me. I hope you won't report this little misunderstanding."
He hadn't thought of that, but of course it was his duty to make a complete report on the melee and the reason for it. Valuable equipment might have been damaged, not to consider the risk to his own welfare. "I'm afraid I must," he said.
"But they are horribly strict!" the oldster protested. "They will throw him into a foul salty cesspool! They'll boil him in vinegar every hour! His children will be stigmatized!"
"I can't take the law into my own hands. The court—or whatever it is here—must decide. I must make an accurate report."
"He was only looking out for his ancestor. That's very important to our culture. He's a good—"
The Oyster paused. His shell quivered, and the soft flesh within turned yellow.
Dillingham was alarmed. "Sir—are you well?"
The translator spoke on its own initiative. "The Oyster shows the symptoms of severe emotional shock. His health will be endangered unless immediate relief is available."
All he needed was a dying galactic on top of everything else! "How can I help him?" The shell was gradually sagging closed with an insidious suggestiveness.
"The negative emotional stimulus must be alleviated," the translator said. "At his age, such disturbances are—"
Dillingham took one more look at the visibly putrifying creature. "All right!" he shouted desperately. "I'll withhold my report!"
The collapse ceased. "You won't tell anyone?" the oldster inquired from the murky depths. "No matter what?"
"No one." Dillingham was not at all happy, but saw no other way out. Better silence than a dead patient.
The night was well advanced when he finished with the Oyster and sent him home. He had forfeited his study period and, by the time he was able to relax, much of his sleep as well. He would have to brave the examination without preparation.
It was every bit as bad as he had anticipated. His mind was dull from lack of sleep, and his basic store of information was meager indeed on the galactic scale. The questions would have been quite difficult even if he had been fully prepared. There were entire categories he had to skip because they concerned specialized procedures buried in his unread texts. If only he had had time to prepare!