Prostho Plus by Piers Anthony Page A

was a relief to—"
    "A relief to hear intelligible speech again," the patient replied promptly. "After weeks of—"
    The polishing had done it—and now he knew why. "Sit down, both of you, please," he said, knowing that the transcoder would provide the term for whatever they did in lieu of sitting. "I have some serious news for you."
    Perplexed, they settled gently. "What I have accomplished is only a temporary cure," he continued in his more professional manner. "The aphasia will inevitably return, unless you take immediate action."
    "Tell us what to do, Doctor," the wife said anxiously, while the husband ran complacent ripples over his surface.
    "First, I must make plain what has happened. Sir, when did you have all that gold installed in your teeth?"
    "About six months ago." Again, the transcoder was indulging in liberal paraphrase. "It's a new technique, and very expensive—but I was tired of old-fashioned stone fillings that kept chipping away and falling out."
    "And your—problem—began several weeks ago. No—I know this is unpleasant, but I have to tell you that it was your speech that became unintelligible, not your wife's. Why else do you think she was able to communicate with other people, while you couldn't? Some of your words made sense, but others—well, you did say "shunk" instead of "speech" a moment ago, for example."
    "I did?"
    "You did, dear," the wife said firmly.
    "And my handsome expensive prestigious restorations are the cause?" The Electrolyte wasn't stupid.
    "Indirectly, yes. The work is very good—but all your metal inlays will have to be replaced with the old kind."
    In the next few minutes he made his case and left them stricken. How much easier it would have been to avoid the truth! At times the dentist's duty, like the doctor's or tax-collector's was disturbing. But necessary.
    Trach was waiting for him at the duplex. "What have you got into, you hot-blooded mammal?" the towering duckbill demanded. "I have a complaint that you cured one of the leading citizens of the planet of his madness, then turned around and told him he'd have to remove all his costly fillings."
    "That's about it, I'm afraid." News travelled rapidly, when every individual was his own broadcaster.
    Trach slapped his solid green tail against the floor in exasperation. The sound was like a pistol shot—but how better to vent pique, than by banging one's tail resoundingly! "Just when I had this planet's affairs sewed up!"
    "I don't understand. Did my patient complain?"
    "No. He's convinced you are a genius."
    "I'm duly complimented. But—"
    "So he recommended to the ruling council, of which he is a member—temporarily on health-leave—that an immediate directive be issued forbidding the employment or retention of metallic restorations in any teeth on the planet. He has influence. The directive has been published."
    "Already? In the time it took me to walk back here?"
    "Already. And the league of local dentists is up in arms. They have some pretty potent backing of their own."
    "I see." He saw. He had unwittingly provoked a political crisis. He should have consulted the local practitioners before making his recommendation. Naturally the dental league objected to having an outsider appear and demand that the latest advance be abolished. He'd feel the same way.
    That was another reason he needed further training. There were always ramifications that extended beyond the strictly practical. How could he anticipate them all?
    Trach paced the floor, his glossy reptilian skin flexing under the incongruous little dinner-jacket he affected. "This means trouble. I don't like to say this, but it would be safer for both of us if you could see your way clear to retract your recommendation."
    "But it's an honest prosthodontic opinion. I—"
    This is no longer a prosthodontic matter." Trach pursed his lips. He had extremely fleshy labia, necessary to articulate clearly around his twenty hundred teeth, and this expression was startling.