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Authors: Piers Anthony
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galaxy attend. Their standards are exceedingly strict—but there is no finer training. Graduates are set up for life. Had I been eligible to attend the University of Diplomacy—"
"Fascinating," Dillingham whispered. He would have to think about this. Meanwhile the immediate problem remained: instant cleansing of two thousand teeth.
He thought of something. "Trach, what can the synthesizer produce besides greenchomp? Without risking a breakdown, that is?"
"Oh, it turns out a number of mundane things. Several foodstuffs, yellow paint, mattress-stuffing, aromatic glue—"
"Mattress-stuffing?"
"For the acceleration couches. Sometimes they—"
"I see. How does it do on plastic foam?"
"I see no reason why it couldn't produce that. Of course the machine may not agree, but we can try." ,
"Fine. I want soft foam that solidifies in two or three minutes to a firm but flexible texture. Non-toxic. Try for that."
Trach obeyed, though there was obviously some question in his mind. After several tries he found a setting that produced a villainous purple goo that approximated the specifications.
"Now run a gallon of fresh foam and pack it into your mouth while it is soft. Chew on it a little, but don't swallow any."
Trach was alarmed. "In my mouth ? What did I ever do to you ? The stuff will harden—"
"It certainly will. Uh, you can breathe through your nose?"
Trach nodded dubiously. At Dillingham's insistence he crammed the foam into his oral orifice. "Tasheshts awrvul!" he muttered around the bubbles. "Hwath a hway to dhye!"
"Now hold it there until it sets."
"Urgh," Trach agreed reluctantly. After a few minutes Dillingham gave the next instructions:
"Now open your mouth carefully... slowly—there. Now lift out the entire mass. Work it loose from the teeth—you may have to knock it a little—it's a foam impression, you see. A little harder. Oh-oh." The cast seemed to have set somewhat more securely than anticipated. Dillingham took his little prosthodontic mallet and tapped at the mass, finally dislodging it. "See all that green stuff embedded in it?" he asked the dinosaur, pointing. "That's the left-over greenchomp, all yanked out at once."
Trach pointed in turn. "See those little white bits also embedded? Those are teeth."
"Oh." He had forgotten how fragile the replaceable teeth were. No real harm had been done, but this was hardly a procedure that could be repeated several times a day. And he could still smell the green breath. "I think I'd better think again."
"Well, it was worth the try." Trach opened a cabinet and withdrew a long-handled instrument. "While you cogitate, I'm going to clean up the ship. We'll be approaching Electrolus in a few hours."
As the disc of the planet came into view on the screen, Dillingham still had no idea how to solve the problem. Idly he watched the dinosaur, a finicky housekeeper, running his cleaner over the control panel. A small attachment enabled him to get at even the daintiest knobs, and the grime vanished readily.
Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. "Trach—is that an ultrasonic instrument?"
The dinosaur paused. "Why yes. The handpiece operates at about 30,000 cycles per second, with a fine water spray. The cavitational action—"
"In other words," Dillingham interrupted excitedly, "the vibration is on an ultrasonic level, and causes microscopic bubbles in the water that burst and scrub off the surface quite effectively. On Earth we use a similar instrument for cleaning teeth."
"For cleaning teeth?" Then Trach caught on. "Why of course. I must have used this cleaner a thousand times, and on my most delicate equipment. I'm pretty handy with it, if I do say so myself. I could—"
"You could, with a few hours of instruction, become competent at dental prophylaxis, since you are thoroughly familiar with the mechanism. If you have clean tips you can use for oral work, and a mirror—"
"I can blast out every bit of left-over greenchomp! My breath will be pure,
"Fascinating," Dillingham whispered. He would have to think about this. Meanwhile the immediate problem remained: instant cleansing of two thousand teeth.
He thought of something. "Trach, what can the synthesizer produce besides greenchomp? Without risking a breakdown, that is?"
"Oh, it turns out a number of mundane things. Several foodstuffs, yellow paint, mattress-stuffing, aromatic glue—"
"Mattress-stuffing?"
"For the acceleration couches. Sometimes they—"
"I see. How does it do on plastic foam?"
"I see no reason why it couldn't produce that. Of course the machine may not agree, but we can try." ,
"Fine. I want soft foam that solidifies in two or three minutes to a firm but flexible texture. Non-toxic. Try for that."
Trach obeyed, though there was obviously some question in his mind. After several tries he found a setting that produced a villainous purple goo that approximated the specifications.
"Now run a gallon of fresh foam and pack it into your mouth while it is soft. Chew on it a little, but don't swallow any."
Trach was alarmed. "In my mouth ? What did I ever do to you ? The stuff will harden—"
"It certainly will. Uh, you can breathe through your nose?"
Trach nodded dubiously. At Dillingham's insistence he crammed the foam into his oral orifice. "Tasheshts awrvul!" he muttered around the bubbles. "Hwath a hway to dhye!"
"Now hold it there until it sets."
"Urgh," Trach agreed reluctantly. After a few minutes Dillingham gave the next instructions:
"Now open your mouth carefully... slowly—there. Now lift out the entire mass. Work it loose from the teeth—you may have to knock it a little—it's a foam impression, you see. A little harder. Oh-oh." The cast seemed to have set somewhat more securely than anticipated. Dillingham took his little prosthodontic mallet and tapped at the mass, finally dislodging it. "See all that green stuff embedded in it?" he asked the dinosaur, pointing. "That's the left-over greenchomp, all yanked out at once."
Trach pointed in turn. "See those little white bits also embedded? Those are teeth."
"Oh." He had forgotten how fragile the replaceable teeth were. No real harm had been done, but this was hardly a procedure that could be repeated several times a day. And he could still smell the green breath. "I think I'd better think again."
"Well, it was worth the try." Trach opened a cabinet and withdrew a long-handled instrument. "While you cogitate, I'm going to clean up the ship. We'll be approaching Electrolus in a few hours."
As the disc of the planet came into view on the screen, Dillingham still had no idea how to solve the problem. Idly he watched the dinosaur, a finicky housekeeper, running his cleaner over the control panel. A small attachment enabled him to get at even the daintiest knobs, and the grime vanished readily.
Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. "Trach—is that an ultrasonic instrument?"
The dinosaur paused. "Why yes. The handpiece operates at about 30,000 cycles per second, with a fine water spray. The cavitational action—"
"In other words," Dillingham interrupted excitedly, "the vibration is on an ultrasonic level, and causes microscopic bubbles in the water that burst and scrub off the surface quite effectively. On Earth we use a similar instrument for cleaning teeth."
"For cleaning teeth?" Then Trach caught on. "Why of course. I must have used this cleaner a thousand times, and on my most delicate equipment. I'm pretty handy with it, if I do say so myself. I could—"
"You could, with a few hours of instruction, become competent at dental prophylaxis, since you are thoroughly familiar with the mechanism. If you have clean tips you can use for oral work, and a mirror—"
"I can blast out every bit of left-over greenchomp! My breath will be pure,
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