Hospital Station by James White
scanned by lzmini Jan 2003
Copywrite 1962
Other BOOKS BY JAMES WHITE
The Secret Visitor (1957)
Second Ending (1962)
Deadly Litter (1964)
Escape Orbit (1965)
The Watch Below (1966)
All Judgement Fled (1968)
The Aliens Among Us (1969)
Tomorrow Is Too Far (1971)
Dark Inferno (1972)
The Dream Millennium (1974)
Monsters and Medics (1977)
Underkill (1979)
Future Past (1982)
Federation World (1988)
The Silent Stars Go By (1991)
The White Papers (1996)
Gene Rodden berry's Earth:
Final Conflict-The First Protector (Tor, 2000)
THE SECTOR GENERAL SERIES
Hospital Station (1962)
Star Surgeon (1963)
Major Operation (1971)
Ambulance Ship (1979)
Sector General (1983)
Star Healer (1985)
Code Blue-Emergency (1987)
The Genocidal Healer (1992)
The Galactic Gourmet (Tor, 1996)
Final Diagnosis (Tor, 1997)
Mind Changer (br, 1998)
Double Contact (br, 1999)
Species Classification
The Classification System
by Gary Louie
James White's Sector General stories used a unique four letter
classification system that helped describe the species quickly and
effectivly, as one would require when the hospitol is a multi species
enviroment.
Gary Louie was working on a James White concordance. As part of that he
completed a classification system, for the sector general series which
covers all characters up to Final Diagnosis.
This article appeared in the White Papers. Unfortunatly Gary Louie passed
away, before the concordance was completed.
Classification:AACL
Planet:Unknown
Species:Crepellian Pet No Individual Names Known
A non-intelligent pet kept by AMSOs. It has six python-like
ten-tacles which poke though seals in the cloudy plastic of its
suit. The tentacles are each at least twenty feet long and tipped
with a horny substance which must be steel-hard.
Classification:AACP
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown No Individual Names Known
A race whose remote ancestors were a species of mobile vegetable.
They are slow moving, but the carbon dioxide tanks which they wear
seem to be the only protection they need. AACPs do not eat in the
normal manner but plant themselves in specially prepared soil during
their sleep period, and absorb nutriment in that way.
Classification:AMSL
Planet:Unknown
Species:Creppelian, Crepellian
Individuals:Nurse Towan, Diagnostician Vosan
A species of water breathing octopoids.
Classification:AMSO
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
A larger life-form, in the habit of keeping non-intelligent
AACL-type creatures as pets.
Classification:AUGL
Planet:Chalderescol IT
Species:Chaldor, Chalder
Individuals:Patient AUGL-1 13, Patient AUGL-1 16, Patient AUGL-122,
Patient AUGL-126, Patient AUGL-187, Patient AUGL-193, Patient
AUGL-211, Patient AUGL-218, Patient AUGL-22 1, Patient AUGL-233,
Muromeshomon
The denizens of Chalderescol, an armored fish-like species are
water-breathers who can not live in any other medium for more than a
few seconds. A heavily plated and scaled being, slightly re-sembling
a forty-foot long armour-plated crocodile, except that instead of
legs there is an apparently haphazard arrangement of stubby fins,
and a heavy knife-edged tail. A fringe of ribbon-like tentacles
encircles its middle, projecting through some of the only openings
visible in its organic armor. Chaldors have six rows of teeth in an
over-large mouth. The Chalders are one of the frw in-telligent
species whose personal names are used only between mates, members of
the immediate family, or very special friends.
Classification:BLSU
Planet:Groalter
Species:Groalterri
Individual:Hellishomar the Cutter
The Groalterri overall body configuration is that of a squat
octopoid with short, thick tentacular limbs. Its central torso and
head seem disproportionately large. The eight limbs terminate
alternately in four sets of claws (that will with maturity evolve
into manipula-tory digits) and four flat, sharp-edged, osseous
blades. The organ of speech and hearing is centered above the four
heavily lidded eye that are equally spaced around the cranium. A
macrospecies, there is an element of risk involved to any life-form
of more or less nor-mal body mass which approaches it too closely.
Classification:BRLH
Planet:Tarla
Species:Tarlan
Individuals:Surgeon-Captain/Trainee/Padre Lioren, Sedith and
Wrethrin the Healers
Tarlans are an erect quadrupedal life-form with its for short-legs
supporting a tapering, cone-shaped body. Four long, multi-jointed,
medial arms for heavy lifting and handling sprout from waist-level.
Another four that are suited for more delicate work encircle the
base of the neck. Equally spaced around the head are four eyes whose
stalks are capable of independent motion. Tarlans have very large
teeth. An adult Tarlan stands eight feet tall.
Classification:CLCH
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
Apparent typographical error for Classification CLHG.
Classification:CLHG
Planet:Drambo
Species:Roller
Individuals:Camsaug, Surreshun
The Rollers resemble animated donuts rolling on their outer edge,
with manipulatory appendages in the form of a fringe ofshort
ten-tacles sprouting from the inner circumference between the series
of gill mouths and eyes. Its visual equipment must operate like a
coeleostat since the contents of its field of vision are constantly
rotating. The Rollers must roll to stay alive-there is an ingenious
method of shifting its center of gravity while keeping itself
upright by partially inflating the section of its body which is on
top at any given moment. The continual rolling causes blood to
circulate-it uses a form of gravity feed system instead of a
muscular pump. The species reproduce hermaphroditically. Each parent
after mating grows twin offspring, one on each side of its bodies
like continu-ous blisters encircling the side walls of a tire.
Injury, disease or the mental confusion immediately following birth
could cause the parent to lose balance, roll on to its side, stop
and die. The points where the children eventually detach themselves
from their par-ents remain very sensitive areas to both generations
and their posi-tions are governed by hereditary factors. The result
is that any close blood relation trying to make mating contact
causes itself and the other being considerable pain. The rollers
really do hate their fa-thers and every other relative. The species
is water-breathing with a warm-blooded oxygen-based metabolism. The
life-support mechanism for the species is physically complicated, to
allow the occupant to roll naturally within it. The concept of
modesty is com-pletely alien to this race. This species does not
know the meaning of sleep. There is no such thing as sleeping,
pretending to be dead or unconsciousness. A Roller is either moving
and alive or still and dead.
Classification:CLSR
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
Apparent typographical error for Classification CPSD.
Classification:CPSD
Planet:Unknown
Species:The Blind Ones
No Individual Names Known
These beings are roughly circular, just over a meter in diameter
and, in cross section, a slim oval flattened slightly on the
under-side. In shape they very much resemble their ship, except that
the ship does not have a long, thin horn or sting projecting aft or
a wide, narrow slit on the opposite side which is obviously a mouth.
The upper lip of the mouth is wider and thicker than the lower, and
can be curled over the lower lip, apparently sealing the mout shut.
The beings are covered, on their upper and lower surfaces and around
the rim, by some kind of organic stubble which varies in thickness
from pin-size to the width of a small finger. The stubble on the
underside is much coarser than that on the upper surface, and it is
plain that parts of it are designed for ambulation. The Blind Ones
evolved underground, and have no organs for sight. They formed an
alliance with the Protectors of the Unborn, each species providing
something that other lacked.
Classification:CRLT
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
Senior Physician Conway was unable to classi~ this life-form with
complete certainty. The initial analysis was performed on a cadaver,
an independent portion of a larger composite being. The compos-ite
is a warm-blooded oxygen breather with the type of basic me-tabolism
associated with the physiological grouping CRLT. Even a segment is
massive, measuring approximately twenty meters in length and three
meters in diameter, excluding projecting append-ages. Physically it
resembles the DBLF Kelgian life-form, but it is many times larger
and possesses a leathery tegument rather than the silver fur of the
Kelgians. Like the DBLF's it is multipedal, but the manipulatory
appendages are positioned in a single row along the back. There are
twenty-one of these dorsal limbs, all showing evidence of early
evolutionary specialization. Six of them are long, heavy, and
claw-tipped and are obviously evolved for defense since the being is
a herbivore. The other fifteen are in five groups of three, spaced
between the six heavier tentacles, which terminate in four digits,
two of which are opposable. These thinner limbs are ma-nipulatory
appendages originally evolved for gathering and trans-ferring food
to the mouths-three on each flank opening into three stomachs. Two
additional orifices on each side open into a very large and complex
lung. The structure inside these breathing ori-fices suggests that
expelled air could be interrupted and modulated to produce
intelligence-bearing sounds. On the underside are three openings
used for the elimination of wastes. The mechanism of reproduction is
unclear and the specimen shows evidence of p05-sessing both male and
female genitalia on the forward and rear extremities respectively
The brain, if it is a brain, takes the form of a cable of nerve
ganglia with localized swellings in three places, running
longitudinally through the cadaver like a central core. There is
another and much thinner nerve cable running parallel to the thicker
core, but below it and about twenty-five centimeters from the
underside. Positioned close to each extremity are two sets of three
eyes. Two are mounted dorsally and two on each of the forward and
rear flanks. They are recessed but capable of limited extension;
together they give the being complete and continuous vision
vertically and horizontally. The type and positioning of the visual
equipment and appendages suggest that it evolved on a very
unfriendly world. The tentative Classification is an incomplete CRLT
Classification:DBDG
Planets:Earth, Gregory (Colony)
Species:Earth-human, Gregorian
Individuals:Theologian Augustine, Lieutenant Braithwaite,
Sur-geon-Lieutenant Brenner, Corpsman Briggs, Lieutenant Briggs,
Captain Chaplain Bryson, Lieutenant Carrington, Lieutenant Chen,
Major Chiang, Clarke, Lieutenant Clifton, Junior Intern/Senior
PhysicianlDiagnostician-in-Charge of Surgery Peter Conway, Sergeant
Davis, Major/Colonel Jonathan Dermod, Fleet Commander Dermod,
Lieutenant Dodds, Lieutenant Dowling, Major-Captain Fletcher, Fox,
Trainee Hadley, Harmon, Lieuten-ant Haslam, Patient Hewlitt, Tailor
George L Hewlitt, Mrs. George L Hewlitt, Captain Hokasuri, Major
Holyrod, OR Nurse Hudson, Lieutenant-General Lister, MacEwan, Major
Madden, Captain Mallon, Senior Physician/Diagnostician/Patient
Mannen/Man non, Nurse/Pathologist Murchison, Major Nelson,
Mister/Major/Chief Psychologist O'Mara, Captain Sigvard Nyberg,
Doctor Pelling, General Prentiss, Reviora, Lieutenant-Colonel
Simmons, Colonel Skempton, Surgeon-Lieutenant/Major Stillman,
Lieutenant-Sur-geon Sutherland, Corpsman Timmins, Lieutenant
Wainright, Waring, Corpsman/Colonel-Captain Williamson
Probable Individuals:Lieutenant Carmody, Lieutenant Carson, Section
Chief Caxton, Major Colinson, Major Craythorne, Major Edwards,
Doctor Hamilton, Dietician-in-ChiefKW Hardin, Lieu-tenant Harrison,
Lieutenant Hendricks, Kellerman, Colonel Okaussie, Captain Stillson,
Captain Summerfield, TrooperTeirnan, Surgeon-Captain Telford
This species shows their teeth in a silent snarl when displaying
amusement or friendship and make an unpleasant barking sound that
denotes amusement. The sound, called laughing, in most cases a
psychophysical mechanism for the release of minor degrees of
tension. An Earth-human laughs because of sudden relief from worry
or fear, or to express scorn or disbelief or sarcasm, or in
re-sponse to words or a situation that is ridiculous, illogical or
funny, or out of politeness when the situation or words are not
funny but the person responsible is of high rank. The Earth-human
voice is reputed to be one of the most versatile instruments in the
Galaxy. The Earth-human DBDGs are the only race in the Galactic
Fed-eration with a nudity taboo, and one of the very few member
spe-cies with an aversion to making love in public. The Earth-human
DBDGs make up the majority of the Monitor Corps forces.
Classification:DBDG
Planets:Etlan Empire, Central World (Capital), Imperial Etla
(Capital), Etla, Etla the Sick (Colony)
Species:Etlan, Imperial
Individuals:Heraltnor, Imperial Representative Teltrenn
The physiology of the citizens of the Empire is the same as the
population of their colony Etla. The physiological resemblance is so
close to Earth-human DBDGs that no other disguise other than native
language and dress is needed. There are theories about a prehistoric
colonization program by common, star-travelling an-cestors. Attempts
at procreation between Earth-human DBDGs and Etlans have been
unsuccessful.
Classification:DBDG
Planet:Nidia
Species:Nidian
Individuals:Chief of Procurement Creon-Emesh, Senior Physi-cian and
Tutor Cresk-Sar, Surgeon-Lieutenant Dracht-Yur, Lieu-tenant-Colonel
Dragh-Nin, Senior Physician Lesk-Murog, Senior Food Technician
Sarnyagh-Sa, Yoragh-Kar
Probable Individual:Surgeon-Lieutenant Krack-Yar
The Nidians have seven-fingered hands, stand only four feet tall.
They have a thick red fur coat, and look like a very cuddly
teddy-bear.
Classification:DBDG
Planet:Orligia
Species:Orlig, Orligian
Individuals:Grawlya-Ki/Grulyaw~Ki, Surgeon-Lieutenant Krach-Yul,
Major Sachan-Li, Colonel Shech-Rar, Surgeon-Lieutenant Turragh-Mar
Like the neighboring Nidians, Orligians resemble an Earth-hu-man
child's first non-adult friend's teddy bear.
Classification:DBLF
Planet:Ia
Species:Ian (pre-adolescent)
No Individual Narnes Known
The being appears ring-shaped, rather like a large balloon tire.
Overall diameter of the ring is about nine feet, with the thickness
between two and three feet. The tegument is smooth, shiny and grey
in color where it is not covered with a thick, brownish
incrus-tation. The brown stuff, which covers more than half of the
total skin area, looks cancerous, but may be some type of natural
cam-ouflage. There are five pairs of limbs, and no evidence
ofspecial-ization. No visual organs or means of ingestion can be
seen. The being isn't a doughnut, but possesses a fairly normal
anatomy of the DBLF type~a cylindrical, lightly-boned body with
heavy musculature. The being is not ring-shaped, but gives that
impres-sion because for some reason, known best to itself, it has
been try-ing to swallow its tail. Senior Physician Conway, convinced
all along that the patient is undergoing a natural metamorphosis,
observes that the new patient, after the process is complete, is of
classifica-tion GKNM.
Classification:DBLF
Planet:Kelgia
Species:Kelgian
Individuals:Patient Henredth, Senior Physician Karthad, Charge Nurse
Kursedd, Diagnostician Kursedth, Patient Morredeth, Charge Nurse
Naydrad, Fleet Commander Roonardth, Charge Nurse Segroth,
Diagnostician Suggrod, Student Nurse Tarsedth, Diagnostician Towan,
Senior Physician Yarrence
Probable Individual:Charge Nurse Kursenneth
Kelgians are warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing, multipedal, and with a
long, flexible cylindrical body covered overall by highly mobile,
silvery fur. The Kelgian forelimbs have three digits. There are
twenty sets of short, thin, and not heavily muscled walking limbs.
The feet, which have no toe-nails or other terminations, are like
small, hard sponges.The fur moves continually in slow ripples from
the conical head right down to the tail. These are completely
involuntary movements triggered by its emotional reactions to
outside stimuli. The evolutionary reasons for this mechanism are not
clearly understood, not even by the Kelgians themselves, but it is
generally believed that the emotionally expressive fur comple-ments
the Kelgian vocal equipment, which lacks emotional flex-ibility of
tone.The movements of the fur make it absolutely clear to another
Kelgian-what a Kelgian feels about the subject under discussion. As
a result they always say exactly what they mean be-cause what they
think is plainly obvious-at least to another Kelgian.They can not do
otherwise. Kelgians have an intense aver-sion towards any surgical
procedure which would damage or dis-figure its most treasured
possession, its furs. To a Kelgian the re moval of a strip or patch
of fur, which in their species represents ~ means of communication
equal to the spoken word, is a personal tragedy which all too often
results in permanent psychological damage. A Kelgian's fur does not
grow again and one whose pelt is damaged can rarely find a mate
because it is unable to fully display its feelings. Kelgians are
very close to Earth-humans in both basic metabolism and temperament.
Except for the thin-walled, narrow casing which houses the brain,
the DBLF species has no boney structure. Their bodies are composed
of an outer cylinder of mus-culature which, in addition to be being
its primary means of loco-motion, serves to protect the vital organs
within it. To the mind of a being more generously reinforced with
bones, this protection is far from adequate. Another severe
disadvantage in the event of in-jury is its complex and extremely
vulnerable circulation system; the blood-supply network which has to
feed the tremendous bands of muscle encircling its body runs close
under the skin, as does the nerve network that controls the mobile
fur. The thick fur of the pelt gives some protection here, but not
against chunks ofjagged-edged, flying metal. An injury which many
other species would consider superficial could cause a DBLF to bleed
to death in min-utes. Kelgians are herbivorous.
Classification:DBPK
Planet:Dwerla
Species:Dwerlan
No Individual Names Known
A warm-blooded oxygen-breathing herbivore that does not walk
upright. Judging by the shape of the spacesuits, the beings are
flat-tened cylinders about six feet long with four sets of
manipulatory appendages behind a conical section which is probably
the head, and another four locomotor appendages. Apart from the
smaller size and number of appendages, the beings physically
resemble the Kelgian race. The pointed, fox-like head and the thick,
broad-striped coat make it look like a furry, short-legged zebra
with an enormous tail. These beings seem not to possess natural
weapons of offrnce or defense, or any signs of having had any in the
past. Even their limbs are not built for speed, so they can not run
from danger. The set used for walking are too short and are padded,
while the fotward set are more slender, less well-muscled and end in
four highly flexible digits which don't possess so much as a
fingernail among them. There are the fur markings, of course, but it
is rare that a life-form rises to the top of its evolutionary tree
by camou-flage alone, or by being nice and cuddly. The species has
two sexes, male and female, and the reproductive system seems
relatively nor-mal. Both sexes use a water soluble dye to enhance
artificially the bands of color on their body fur~clearly the dyes
are for cosmetic reasons. The immature do not use dyes, but use a
brownish pig-ment on a bare patch above the tail.
Classification:DCNF
Planet:Sommaradva
Species:Sommaradvan
Individual:Trainee Cha Th rat
Four Ambulatory limbs; Four waist-level heavy manipulators; and a
set of manipulators for food provisions and fine work encircling the
neck. This being has two stomachs. Sommaradvan society is stratified
into three levels~serviles, warriors, and rulers~which strictly
govern how an individual acts within the society.
Classification:DCSL
Planet:Cromsag
Species:Cromsaggar
No Individual Names Known
This species has three sets of limbs: two ambulators, two medial
heavy manipulators, and two more at neck level for eating and to
perform more delicate work. It has a cranium covered by thick, blue
fur that continues in a narrow strip along the spine to the
vestigial tail.
Classification:DHCG
Planet:Wemar
Species:Wem
Individuals:First Hunter Creethar, Hunter Druuth, Youth Evemth,
First Cook Remrath, First Teacher Tawsar
The Wem life-form is a warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing species with
an adult body mass just under three times that of an Earth-human
and, since Wermar's surface gravity is one point three eight
standard Gs, a healthy specimen is proportionately well-muscled. It
resembles the rare Earth beast called a kangaroo. The differences
are that the head is larger and fitted with a really ferocious set
of teeth; each of the two short forelimbs terminate in six-fingered
hands possessing two opposable thumbs, and the tail is more massive
and tapered to a wide, flat triangular tip composed of immobile
osseous material enclosed by a thick, muscular sheath. The
flattening at the end of tail serves a threefold purpose: as its
principal natural weapon, as an emergency method of fast locomotion
while hunting or being hunted, and as a means of transporting infant
Wem who are too small to walk. The Wem hunt by adopting an awkward,
almost ri-diculous stance with their forelimbs tightly folded, their
chins touch-ing the ground, and their long legs spread so as to
allow the tail to curve sharply downwards and forwards between the
limbs so that the flat tip is at their center of balance. When the
tail is straight-ened suddenly to full extension, it acts as a
powerful third leg ca-pable of hurling the Wem forward for a
distance of five or six body lengths. If the hunter does not land on
top of its prey, kicking the creature senseless with the feet before
disabling it with a deep bite through the cervical vertebrae and
underlying nerve trunks, it piv-ots rapidly on one leg so that the
flattened edge of the tail strikes its victim like a blunt, organic
axe. While the tail is highly flexible where downward and forward
movement is concerned, it cannot be el-evated above the horizontal
line of the spinal column.The back and upper flanks are, therefore,
the Wem's only body areas that are vul-nerable to attack by natural
enemies, who must also possess the el-ement of surprise if they are
not to become the victim.
Classification:DRVJ
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Doctor Yeppha
Planet:Unknown
A small, tripedal, fragile being. From the furry dome of its head
there sprout singly and in small clusters, at least twenry eyes.
Classification:DTRC
Species:Rhum
Planet:Unknown
Individual:Crelyarrel
Flat, roughly circular beings, dark gray and wrinkled on one
sur-face, and with a paler, mottled appearance on the other, smooth,
surface. The beings attach to their FGHJ hosts with thick tendrils
growing from the edge of the disk. The tendrils penetrate into their
FGHJ hosts' spinal columns and rear craniums. The DTRCs have their
own special needs that in no way resemble those of their hosts,
whose animal habits and undirected behavior are highly repugnant to
them. It is vital to the DTRCs continued mental well-being that the
masters escape periodically from their hosts to lead their own
lives~usually during the hours of darkness when the tools are no
longer in use and can be quartered where they can not harm
them-selves.
Classification:DTSB
Planet:Traltha
Species:Tralthan
No Individual Names Known
Apparent typographical error for Classification OTSB.
Classification:EGCL
Planet:Duwetz
Species:Dewatti
No Individual Names Known
A warm-blooded, oyxgen-breathing life-form of approximately twice
the body weight of an adult Earth-human. Visually it re-sembles an
outsize snail with a high, conical shell which is pierced around the
tip where its four extensible eyes are located. Equally spaced
around the base of the shell are eight triangular slots from which
project the manipulatory appendages. The carapace rests on a thick,
circular pad of muscle which is the locomotor system. Around the
circumference of the pad are a number of fleshy pro-jections,
hollows and slits associated with its systems of ingestion,
respiration, elimination, reproduction, and nonvisual sensors. The
EGCLs are organic empaths. They are organic transmitters,
reflec-tors and focusers and magnifiers of their own feelings and
those of the beings around them. The faculty has evolved to the
stage where they have no conscious control over the process.
Classification:ELNT
Planet:Melf Four
Species:Melfan
Individuals:Maintenance Technician Dremon, Senior Physician Edanelt,
Diagnostician Ergandhir, Patient Kennonalt, Patient KIetilt,
Maintenance Technician Kiedath, Nurse Lontallet, Senior Physician
Medalont, Senreth
Melfans are large, low slung crab-like crustaceans. The six thin,
bony, tubular, multi-jointed legs project from slits where the bony
carapace and underside join. The legs and all of the body are
ex-oskeletal. The head has large, protruding, vertically-lidded
eyes, enormous mandibles, and pincers projecting forward from the
place where ears should be. Two long, thin and fragile feelers grow
from the sides of the mouth. The species is amphibious.
Classification:EPLA
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Lonvellin
Apparent typographical error for Classification EPLH.
Classification:EPLH
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Lonvellin
The being is large, about one thousand pounds mass, and resembles a
giant, upright pear. Five thick, tentacular appendages grow from the
narrow head section and a heavy apron of muscle at its base gives
evidence of a snail-like, although not necessarily slow, method of
locomotion. The being is warm-blooded and has fairly normal gravity
requirements. Five large mouths are situated below the root of each
tentacle, four being plentifully supplied with teeth and the fifth
housing the vocal apparatus. The tentacles themselves show a high
degree of specialization at their extremities: three of them are
plainly manipulatory, one bears the patient's visual equipment, and
the remaining member terminates in a horn-tipped, boney mace. The
head is featureless, being simply an osseous dome housing the brain.
The cranium is pierced at regular intervals for visual, aural and
olfactory sensors. Their life-span, lengthy to begin with, is
ar-tificially extended. Because they have tremendous minds, they
have plenty of time, but they constantly have to fight against
boredom. Because part of the price of such longevity is an
ever-growing fear of death, they need to have their own personal
physicians~no doubt the most efficient practitioners of medicine
known to them-constantly in attendance.
Classification:FGHJ
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
The being has six limbs, four legs and two arms, all very heavily
muscled, and is hairless except for a narrow band of stiff bristles
running from the top of the head along the spine to the tail, which
seems to have been surgically shortened at an early age. The body
configuration is a thick cylinder of uniform girth between the fore
and rear legs, but the forward torso narrows towards the shoulders
and is carried erect. The neck is very thick and the head small.
There are two eyes, recessed and looking forward, a mouth with very
large teeth, and other openings that are probably aural or olfactory
sense organs. The legs terminate in large, reddish-brown hooves.
Each hoof has four digits and does not appear particularly
dexterous. This creature serves as a host to beings of
Classification DTRC.
Classification:FGLI
Planet:Traltha
Species:Tralthan
Individuals:Patient Cossunallen, Crajarron, Chief Dietitian
Gurronsevas, Patient Horrantor, Senior Physician Hossantir,
Surriltor, Senior Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology Thorn-nastor
A massive entity with an osseous dome housing its brain, six
el-ephantine feet connected to its triple massive shoulders, and
four extensible eyes on an immobile head. Its six stubby legs
normally give the Tralthan species such a stable base they
frequently go to sleep standing up. Even healthy Tralthans have
great difficulty get-ting up again if they fall onto their sides.
Tralthans must not be rolled onto their backs under normal gravity
conditions since this causes organic displacement which would
increase their respira-tory difficulties. Standard gravity at Sector
General is just over half Tralthan normal. Tralthans are
vegetarians.
Classification:FOKT
Planet:Goglesk
Species:Gogleskan
Individuals:Healer '(hone and child
The Gogleskan FOKT resembles a large, dumpy cactuslike plant whose
spikes and hair are richly colored in a pattern which seems less
random the more you look at it. A faint smell comes from the entity,
a combination of musk and peppermint. The mass of un-ruly hair and
spikes covering its erect, ovoid body are less irregular in their
size and placing than is at first apparent. The body hair has
mobility, though not the high degree of flexibility and rapid
mo-bility of the Kelgian fur, and the spikes, some of which are
extremely flexible and grouped together to form a digital cluster,
give evi-dence of specialization. The other spikes are longer and
stiffer, and some of them seem to be partially atrophied, as if they
were evolved for natural defense, but the reason for their presence
has long since gone. There are also a number of long, pale tendrils
lying amid the multicolored hair covering the cranial area, used for
contact telepa-thy. Its voice seems to come from a number of small,
vertical breath-ing orifices which encircles its waist. The being
sits on a flat, mus-cular pad, and it has legs as well. These
members are stubby and concertina-like, and when the four of them
are in use they increase the height of the being by several inches.
The being al50 has two additional eyes at the back of its
head~obviously this species has had to be very watchful in
prehistoric times.
Classification:FROB
Planet:Hudlar
Species:Hudlar, Hudlarian
Individuals:Patient FROB-3, Patient FROB-lO, Patient FROB-18,
Patient FROB-43, Patient FROB-1 132, Trainee FROB-61, Trainee
FROB-73, Senior Physician Garoth, Infant Patient Metiglesh
Hudlars are blocky, pear-shaped beings whose home planet pulls four
Earth gravities and has a high-density atmosphere so rich in
suspended animal and vegetable nutrients that it resembles thick
soup. Although the FROB life-form is warm-blooded and techni-cally
an oxygen-breather, it can go for long periods without air if its
food supply, which it absorbs directly through its thick but highly
porous tegument, is adequate. Hudlars are massive six legged
be-ings. Each leg is an immensely strong tapering tentacle, which
ter-minates in a cluster of flexible digits, curled inward so that
the weight is born on heavy knuckles and the fingers remain clear of
the floor. The two lidless, recessed eyes are protected by hard,
trans-parent and featureless casings. Hudlars communicate using a
speak-mg membrane, which grows like a cock's comb from the top of
the head. The speaking membrane also serves as a sound sensor. The
skin resembles a seamless covering of flexible armor in appearance
and texture. Food is ingested through organs of absorption that
cover both flanks and the wastes are eliminated by a similar
mecha-nism on the underside. Both systems are under voluntary
control. Because of the physiological necessity for avoiding further
sexual contact with its life-mate, a gravid Hudlar female changes
gradu-ally into male mode and, concurrently, its life-mate slowly
becomes female. A Hudlar year after partuition the changes to both
are com-plete.The Hudlar FROBs are acknowledged to be, physically,
stron-gest life-forms of the Galactic Federation and to have the
least-pervious body tegument. Contact with chlorine is instantly
lethal to them. Hudlar blood is yellow and circulates under great
pres-sure and pulse rate. Hudlars consider their names to be their
most private and personal possession, and do not give or use their
names in the presence of anyone who is not a member of the family or
a close friend.
Classification:FSOJ
Planet:Unknown
Species:Protectors of the Unborn
No Individual Names Known
The Protector of the Unborn is a large, immensely strong life-form
that resembles aTralthan, but is less massive with stubbier legs
pro-jecting from a hemispherical carapace flared out slightly around
the lower edges. The deployment of the legs and tentacles is
simi-lar to the Hudlar FROB life-form, but the carapace is a thicker
ELNT Melfan shell without markings, and the FSOJ is plainly not
herbivorous. From openings high on the carapace sprout four
ten-tacles. Two different types of tentacles have been observed on
dif-ferent beings: long and particularly thin tentacles which
terminate in flat, spear-like tips with serrated boney edges, and
thick tentacles terminating in a cluster ofsharp, bony projections
which make them resemble spiked clubs. The four stubby legs also
have osseous pro-jections which enable them to be used as weapons as
well. Midway between two of the tentacle openings there is a larger
gap in the carapace from which protrudes a head, all mouth and
teeth. The large upper and lower mandibles are capable of deforming
all but the strongest metal alloys. A little space is reserved for
two well-protected eyes at the bottom of deep, boney craters. A
serrated tail also protrudes from the heavily slitted carapace.
While the under-side is not armored, as is the carapace, this area
is rarely open to attack, and it is covered by a thick tegument
which apparently gives sufficient protection. In the center of this
area is a thin, longitudi-nal fissure which opens into the birth
canal. It will not open, how-ever, until a few minutes before giving
birth. The FSOJ brain is not in its skull, but deep inside the torso
with the rest of the other vital organs. It is positioned just under
the womb and surrounding the beginning of the birth canal. As a
result, the brain is compressed as the embryo grows. If it is a
difficult birth, the parent's brain is destroyed and junior comes
out fighting, with a convenient food supply available until it can
kill something for itself Senior Physi-cians Conway's first
impression was that the entity was little more than an organic
killing machine. Considering the fact that it is warm-blooded and
oxygen-breathing, and its appendages show no evidence of the ability
to manipulate tools or materials, Patholo-gist Murchison tentatively
classified it as FSOJ and probably non-intelligent. The Unborn young
of the bisexual FSOJ is retained in the womb until it is well-grown
and fully equipped to survive. The Unborn is an intelligent and
telepathic being, but loses these fac-ulties at birth.
Classification:GKNM
Planet:Ia
Species:Ian (adult)
Individual:Patient Makolli
The metamorphosed form of the adolescent DBLF life-form. The species
created a colony in this galaxy, coming from an adjoining one. The
race is oxygen-breathing and oviparous, having a long, rod-like but
flexible body, and possessing four insectile legs, ma-nipulators,
the usual sense organs, and three tremendous sets of wings. The
life-form looks something like a large dragonfly.
Classification:GLNO
Planet:Cinruss
Species:Cinrusskin
Individual:Senior Physician Prilicla
Cinrusskins are enormous, incredibly fragile flying insects, with a
tubular exoskeletal body. Six sucker-tipped pencil-thin legs, four
even more delicately fashioned, tiny, precise manipulators, and four
sets ofwide, iridescent, and almost transparent wings project form
the body. The head is a convoluted eggshell, so finely structured
that the sensory and manipulatory organs that it supports seem ready
to fall off at the first sudden movement. The eyes are large and
triple-lidded. The Cinrusskin are the Federation's only empathic
race. Cinruss has a dense atmosphere and one-eighth gravity.
Cinrusskins are sexless.
Classification:LSVO
Planet:Nallaji
Species:Nallajim
Individuals:Kytili, Senior Physician Seldal
The species has a birdlike, fragile, low-gravity physiology, with
three legs, two not-quite-atrophied wings, and no hands at all. When
LSVOs eat, they are sickened by anything which doesn't look like
bird seed.
Classification:MSVK
Planet:Euril
Species:Eurils
No Individual Names Known
Fragile, tn-pedal, stork-like beings from a low gravity world. The
MSVK environment has dim lighting and a opaque fog for an
at-mosphere. The race is driven by an intense curiosity and hampered
by extreme caution. They are the galaxy's prime observers, and are
content to look and learn and record through their long-probes and
sensors without making their presence known. MSVKs have a low
tolerance to radiation.
Classification:OTSB
Planet:Traltha
Species:Tralthan
No Individual Names Known
Tralthan Surgeons are really two beings instead of one, a
combina-tion of FGLI and OTSB.The OTSB is a nearly mindless symbiont
which lives with its FGLI host. At first glance the OTSB looks like
a furry ball sprouting a long ponytail, but a closer look shows that
the ponytail is composed of scores of fine manipulators, most of
which incorporate sensitive visual organs. A cluster of wire-thin,
eye- and sucker-tipped tentacles sends infinitely detailed visual
in-formation to its giant host and receives instructions from the
host. The Tralthan combinations are the best surgeons the Galaxy has
ever known. Not all Tralthans choose to link up with a symbiote, but
FGLI medics wear them like a badge of office.
Classification:PVGJ
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Doctor Fremvessith
Apparent typographical error for Classification PVSJ.
Classification:PVSJ
Planet:Illensa
Species:Illensan
Individuals:Senior Physician Gilvesh, Charge Nurse Hredlichi,
Diagnostician Lachlichi, Charge Nurse Leethveeschi
Probable Individual:Charge Nurse Lentilatsar
Illensans are chlorine breathers with shapeless spiny bodies and
dry, rustling membranes joining the upper and lower appendages. The
body resembles a haphazard collection of oily, yellow-green,
un-healthy vegetation. The two stubby legs are covered by what look
like oily blisters. Their loose protective suits are transparent
except for the faint yellow fog of chlorine contained within. The
Illensans are generally held to be the most visually repulsive
beings in the Federation, as well as the most vain regarding their
own physical appearance. Illensans suffer digestive upsets if they
exercise after meals. Contact with water is instantly lethal to
chlorine-breathers. PVSJs are not physiologically suited to the use
of stairs and have very sensitive hearing.
Classification:QCQL
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
Apparent typographical error for Classification QLCL. Senior
Phy-sician Mannen did not know there was any such beastie, but
Ma-jor O'Mara had a tape. There were two casualties of this
classifica-tion at Sector General. The operations were suit jobs,
since the gunk that the QCQLs breath would kill anything that walks,
crawls or flies, excluding them.
Classification:QLCL
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
Recent, and very enthusiastic, members of the Federation, this
species had never been to Sector General until the war with the
Empire. Then a small ward was prepared to receive possible QLCL
casualties. The ward was filled with the horribly corrosive fog the
QLCLs used for an atmosphere, and the lighting was stepped up to the
harsh, actinic blue which the they consider restful.
Classification:SNLU
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name: Vosan
Individual:Diagnostician Semlic
The SNLU life form requires a refrigerated life-support system for
its ultra-low-temperature environment while on the Chlorine and
Oxygen levels. A frigid-blooded methane-breather, it is most
com-fortable in an environment only a few degrees above absolute
zero. The SNLUs have a complex mineral and liquid crystalline
struc-ture. The species evolved on the perpetually dark worlds which
detached from their original solar systems and now drift through the
interstellar spaces. Physically they are quite small, averaging
one-third the body mass of a being like a Kelgian. In order to allow
contact with other, warmer, species, the SN LUs are required to wear
a large, complex, highly refrigerated life-support and sensor
trans-lation system, which requires frequent power recharge. The
scales covering the SNLU's eight-limbed, starfish-shaped body shine
coldly through the methane mist like multihued diamonds, mak-ing it
resemble some wondrous, heraldic beast. The SNLUs live and work in
the almost total silence of beings with a hypersensitiv-ity to
audible vibrations. These fragile, crystalline, methane-based
life-forms would decompose at temperatures in excess of eighteen
degrees above absolute zero and be instantly cremated if the
tem-perature rose above minus one-twenty on the temperature scale in
use in the Federation.
Classification:SRJH
Planet:Drambo
Species:Healers or Physicians or Protectors
No Individual Names Known
The Drambon Physicians are glorified leucocytes to the Drambon
Strata Creatures, treating the many independent organisms living in
and around those immense living carpets. The stupid, slow moving
Drambon Physicians stay close to the most active and dan-gerous
stretches of the Drambon shoreline. They resemble jelly-fish, so
transparent that only their internal organs are visible. A
leech-like form of life, the SRJHs seem comfortable in either air or
water. Their reactions in the presence of severe illness or injury
are instinctive. Using their spines or stings, they practice their
profes-sion by withdrawing the blood of their patients and pun fying
it of any infection or toxic substances before returning it to the
patients' bodies. (The process repairs simple physical damage as
well.) How-ever, not all the withdrawn blood is returned. It has not
been es-tablished whether it is physiologically impossible for the
SRJH to return it all or whether the Physician retains a few ounces
as pay-ment for services rendered. A Physicians can kill as well as
cure. It can barely touch a beast, causing a predator to go into a
muscular spasm so violent that parts of its skeleton pop through the
skin. There is no evidence that they communicate verbally, visually,
tac-tually, telepathically, by smell or by any other system known to
Sector General. The quality of their emotional radiation suggests
that they do not communicate at all in the accepted sense. The
Physicians are simply aware ofother beings and objects around them
and, by using their eyes and a mechanism similar to the empathic
faculty, they are able to identi~ friend and foe.
Classification:SRTT
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
This physiological type is amoebic, possessing the ability to
extrude any limbs, sensory organs or protective tegument necessary
to the environment in which it finds itself. It is so fantastically
adaptable that it is difficult to imagine how one of these beings
could ever fall sick in the first place.
Classification:TLTU
Planet:Threcald 5
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:TLTU Diagnostician
A TLTU doctor breathes superheated steam and has pressure and
gravity requirements three times greater than the environment of the
oxygen levels. The local protection needed by a TLTU doctor is a
great, clanking juggernaut which hisses continually as if it is
about to spring a leak. The large protective suit resembles a
spheri-cal pressure boiler bristling with remote handling devices
and mounted on caterpillar treads, and has to be avoided at all
costs. The large size is needed to allow for heaters to render the
occupant comfortable, and surface insulation and refrigerators to
keep the vicinity habitable by other life-forms. The small TLTU
life-form inhabits a heavy-gravity, watery planet with edible
minerals, which circles very close to its parent sun. The TLTU's
blood consists of superheated liquid metal. TLTU patients are
transported in their protective spheres anchored to stretcher
carriers. These spheres emit a high-pitched, shuddering whine as
their generators labor to main-tain the internal temperature at a
comfortable, for their occupants, five hundred degrees.
Classification:TOBS
Planet:Fotawn
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Trainee/Doctor Danalta
This being can extrude any limbs, sense organs, or protective
tegu-ment necessary to the environment or situation in which it
finds it-self. It evolved on a planet with a highly eccentric orbit,
and with climatic changes so severe that an incredible degree of
physical adapt-ability was necessary for survival. It became
dominant on its world, and developed intelligence and a
civilization, not by competing in the matter of natural weapons but
by refining and perfecting its adap-tive capability. When it is
faced by natural enemies, the options are flight, protective
mimicry, or the assumption of a shape frightening to the attacker.
The speed and accuracy of the mimicry, particularly in the almost
perfect reproduction ofbehavior patterns, suggests that the entity
may be a receptive empath. The empathic faculty is under voluntary
control, so that the level of emotional radiation reaching its
receptors can be reduced, or even cut off at will, should it become
too distressing. With such effective means of self-protection
avail-able, the species is impervious to physical damage other than
by com-plete annihilation or application of ultrahigh
temperatures.The con-cept of curative surgery would be a strange one
indeed to members of that race. They do not require mechanisms for
self-protection, so they are likely to be advanced in the
philosophical sciences but back-ward in developing technology. When
not trying to look like some-thing else, TOBSs take the
configuration of a large, dark-green, uneven ball.
Classification:TRLH
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
No Individual Names Known
The TRLH casualty was an ally of the Empire during that war.
Classification was aided by the fact that the patient's spacesuit
was transparent as well as flexible. The atmosphere the being
breathes is as exotic as that of the QCQLs, but can be reproduced.
The TRLH has a thin carapace which covers its back and curves down
and inwards to protect the central area of its underside. Four
thick, single-jointed legs project from the uncovered sections. It
has a large but lightly boned head, four manipulatory appendages,
two recessed but extensible eyes, and two mouths.
Classification:VTXM
Planet:Telf
Species:Telfi, Telphi
Individual:Astrogator-part Cheixic
A group-mind species whose small beetle-like bodies live by the
direct conversion of various combinations and intensities of hard
radiation. Mthough individually the beings are quite stupid, the
gestalt entities are highly intelligent. The Telfi operate in groups
as contact telepaths to pool their mental and physical abilities.
The Telfi have a spoken language as well as the telepathic faculty
used between individuals, especially members of a family gestalt.
An-other variant of the species resembles a large, terrestrial
lizard, just under five feet long from the bulbous head to vestigial
tail, with an extra set of fore-limbs growing from the base of the
neck. The only visible features are two tiny, lidless eyes and the
mouth. The four stubby walking limbs can be bent double to lie flat
against the body while the two, longer forward manipulators can
stretch forward and cross so as to allow the chin to rest on the
crossover point. The skin of a dead Telfi is pale gray with a
mottled and veined effect that resembles unpolished marble. The
color is a symptom of ad-vanced radiation starvation and a lethal
failure of the absorption mechanism. A healthy Telfi reflects no
light at all, looking like liz-ard-shaped black holes. A
healthyTelfi's temperature is below room temperature. Investigating
their ultra-hot metabolism closely is to risk radiation poisoning.
There is a fallacy among non-medics that the Telfi cannot be closely
approached or touched without the use of remotely controlled
manipulators. To live they must absorb the radiation normally
provided by their natural environment but when, for clinical
reasons, the radiation is withdrawn for several days and they are
week from their equivalent of hunger, their ra-dioactive emissions
drop to a harmless level.
Classification:VUXG
Planet:Unknown
Species:Name Unknown
Individual:Dr. Arretapec
The VUXG resembles nothing so much as a withered prune float-mg in a
spherical gob of syrup. The species has telepathic, teleportive,
and~sort of~precognitive abilities. The precognitive ability does
not appear to be of much use because it does not work with
individuals but only with populations, and so far in the fu-ture and
in such a haphazard manner that it is practically useless.
Classification:Unknown
Planet:Drambo
Species:Farmer Fish
No Individual Names Known
The large-headed Farmer Fish are responsible for cultivating and
protecting benign growth and destroying all other growth in the
Drambon Strata Creature. Farmer Fish have stubby arms sprout-ing
from the base of their enlarged heads.
Classification:Unknown
Planet:Drambo
Species:Strata Creatures
No Individual Names Known
The largest creature on the planet Drambo~so large that at a
scoutship's suborbital velocity of six thousand plus miles per hour
it takes just over nine minutes to travel from one side of the
pa-tient to the other. The creature is so vast that it has many
indepen-dent parts performing specialized functions, such as the eye
plants, air renewal plants, Farmer Fish, Thought Controlled Tools,
and vegetable teeth. The parts can communicate via a mineral-rich
sap. The creature uses water instead of blood as its working fluid.
It is not clear if the entire creature is an animal or a plant,
there being components of both in its immense expanse. There is only
one intelligent Strata Creature on Drambo, and it is being treated
for radiation poisoning.
Classification:Unknown
Planet:Drambo
Species:Thought Controlled Tools
No Individual Names Known
Under the mental control of its user, a "tool" can assume any
use-ful shape imagined. At Sector General, one appeared as a Hudlar
type six scalpel, a medium-sized box spanner, a metallic sphere, a
miniature bust of Beethoven, a set of Tralthan dentures, and a
Hudlar food sprayer, among other things. The tools belong to the
only sentient Strata Creature on Drambo, and were used to attack the
medical and military forces attempting to treat the Strata Crea-ture
for radiation poisoning.
Classification:Unknown
Planet:Dutha
Species:Duthan
Individuals:Patient Bowab, His Excellency the Lord Scrennagle of
Dutha
Duthans have a centaur-like body. The torso from the waist up
resembles that of an Earth-human, but the musculature of the arms,
shoulders and chest are subtly different. The hands are five-digi
ted, each comprised of three fingers and two opposable thumbs. The
head is carried erect above a very thick neck, which seems
dispro-portionately small.The face is dominated by two large, soft,
brown eyes that somehow make the slits, pro tuberan ces, and fleshy
petals which comprise the other features visually acceptable.
Classification:Unknowm
Planet:Keran
Species:Keranni
No Individual Names Known
No description given.
Classification:Unknown
Planet:Unknown
Species:Kreglinni
No Individual Names Known
No description given.
Classification:Various
Planet:Meatball
Species:CLCH/CLHG Drambon Rollers, Drambon Farmer Fish, Drambon
Strata Creatures, Drambon Thought Controlled Tools, SRJH Drambon
Healers or Physicians or Protectors
The planet was originally named by the crew of Descartes, but the
name was considered derogatory by one of the native intelligent
species. The planet is now referred to as Drambo.
HOSPITAL STATION
CHAPTER 1
MEDIC
The alien occupying O'Mara's sleeping compartment weighed roughly half a ton,
possessed six short, thick appendages which served both as arms or legs and had
a hide like a flexible armor plate. Coming as it did from Hudlar, a four-G world
with an atmospheric pressure nearly seven times Earth normal, such ruggedness of
physique was to be expected. But despite its enormous strength the being was
helpless, O'Mara knew, because it was barely six months old, it had just seen
its parents die in a construction accident, and its brain was sufficiently well
developed for the sight to have frightened it badly.
"I've b-b-brought the kid," said Waring, one of the section's tractorbeam
operators. He hated O'Mara, and with good reason, but he was trying not to
gloat. "C-C-Caxton sent me. He says your leg makes you unfit for normal duty, so
you can look after the young one until somebody arrives from its home planet.
He's on his way over n-now...
Waring trailed off. He began checking the seals of his spacesuit,
obviously in a hurry to get out before O'Mara could mention the accident. "I
brought some of its food with me," he ended quickly. "It's in the airlock."
O'Mara nodded without speaking. He was a young man cursed with the kind of
physique which ensured him winning every fight he had ever been in, and there
had been a great many of them recently, and a face which was as square, heavy
and roughly formed as was his over-muscled body. He knew that if he allowed
himself to show how much that accident had affected him, Waring would think that
he was simply putting on an act. Men who were put together as he was, O'Mara had
long ago discovered, were not supposed to have any of the softer emotions.
Immediately Waring departed he went to the airlock for the glorified paint-
sprayer with which Hudlarians away from their home planet were fed. While
checking the gadget and its spare food tanks he tried to go over the story he
would have to tell Caxton when the section chief arrived. Staring moodily
through the airlock port at the bits and pieces of the gigantic jigsaw puzzle
spread across fifty cubic miles of space outside, he tried to think. But his
mind kept ducking away from the accident and slipping instead into generalities
and events which were in the far past or future.
The vast structure which was slowly taking shape in Galactic Sector
Twelve, midway between the rim of the parent galaxy and the densely populated
systems of the Greater Magellan Cloud, was to be a hospital-a hospital to end
all hospitals. Hundreds of different environments would be accurately reproduced
here, any extreme of heat, cold, pressure, gravity, radiation or atmosphere
necessary for the patients and staff it y would contain. Such a tremendous and
complex structure was far beyond( the resources of any one planet, so that
hundreds of worlds had each fabricated sections of it and transported them to
the assembly point.
But fitting the jigsaw together was no easy job.
Each of the worlds concerned had their copies of the master plan. But
errors occurred despite this-probably through the plan having to be translated
into so many different languages and systems of measurement. Sections which
should have fitted snugly together very often had to be modified to make them
join properly, and this necessitated moving the sections together and apart
several times with massed tractor and pressor beams. This was very tricky work
for the beam operators, because while the weight of the sections out in space
was nil, their mass and inertia was tremendous.
And anyone unlucky enough to be caught between the joining faces of two
sections in the process of being fitted became, no matter how tough a life-form
they happened to be, an almost perfect representation of a two-dimensional body.
The beings who had died belonged to a tough species, physiological
classification FROB to be exact. Adult Hudlarians weighed in the region of two
Earth tons, possessed an incredibly hard but flexible tegument which, as well as
protecting them from their own native and external pressures, allowed them to
live and work comfortably in any atmosphere of lesser pressure down to and
including the vacuum of space. In addition they had the highest radiation
tolerance level known, which made them particularly invaluable during power pile
assembly.
The loss of two such valuable beings from his section would, in any case,
have made Caxton mad, quite apart from other considerations. O'Mara sighed
heavily, decided that his nervous system demanded a more positive release than
that, and swore. Then he picked up the feeder and returned to the bedroom.
Normally the Hudlarians absorbed food directly through their skin from the
thick, soupy atmosphere of their planet, but on any other world or in space a
concentrated food compound had to be sprayed onto the absorbent hides at certain
intervals. The young e-t was showing large bare patches and in other places the
previous food coating had worn very thin. Definitely, thought O'Mara, the infant
was due for another feed. He moved as close as seemed safe and began to spray
carefully.
The process of being painted with food seemed to be a pleasant one ( for
the young FROB. It ceased to cower in the corner and began blundering excitedly
about the small bedroom. For O'Mara it became a matter of trying to hit a
rapidly moving object while practicing violent evasive maneuvers himself, which
set his injured leg throbbing more painfully than ever. His furniture suffered,
too.
Practically the whole interior surface of his sleeping compartment was
covered with the sticky, sharp-smelling food compound, and also the exterior of
the now-quiescent young alien, when Caxton arrived.
"What's going on?" said the Section Chief.
Space construction men as a class were simple, uncomplicated personalities
whose reactions were easily predictable. Caxton was the type who always asked
what was going on even when, as now, he knew-and especially when such
unnecessary questions were meant simply to needle somebody. In the proper
circumstances the section chief was probably a quite likeable individual, O'Mara
thought, but between Caxton and himself those circumstances had yet to come
about.
O'Mara answered the question without showing the anger he felt, and ended,
". .. After this I think I'll keep the kid in space, and feed it there. .
"You will not!" Caxton snapped. "You'll keep it here with you, all the
time. But more about that later. At the moment I want to know about the
accident. Your side of it, that is."
His expression said that he was prepared to listen, but that he already
doubted every word that O'Mara would say in advance.
"Before you go any further," Caxton broke in after O'Mara had completed two
sentences, "you know that this project is under Monitor Corps jurisdiction.
Usually the Monitors let us settle any trouble that crops up in our own way, but
this case involves extra-terrestrials and they'll have to be brought in on it.
There'll be an investigation." He tapped the small, flat box hanging from his
chest. "It's only fair to warn you that I'm taping everything you say.
O'Mara nodded and began giving his account of the accident in a low
monotone. It was a very weak story, he knew, and stressing any particular
incident so as to point it up in his favor would make it sound even more
artificial. Several times Caxton opened his mouth to speak, but thought better
of it. Finally he said:
"But did anyone see you doing these things? Or even see the two e-ts
moving about in the danger area while the warning lights were burning? You have
a neat little story to explain this madness on their part- which, incidentally,
makes you quite a hero-but it could be that you switched on the lights after the
accident, that it was your negligence regarding the lights which caused it, and
that all this about the straying youngster is a pack of lies designed to get you
out of a very serious charge-"
"Waring saw me," O'Mara cut in.
Caxton stared at him intently, his expression changing from suppressed
anger to one of utter disgust and scorn. Despite himself O'Mara felt his face
heating up.
"Waring eh?" said the section chief tonelessly. "A nice touch, that. You
know, and we all know, that you have been riding Waring constantly, needling him
and playing on his disability to such an extent that he must hate you like
poison. Even if he did see you, the court would expect him to keep quiet about
it. And if he did not see you, they would think that he had and was keeping
quiet about it anyway. O'Mara, you make me sick."
Caxton wheeled and stamped toward the airlock. With one foot through the
inner seal he turned again.
"You're nothing but a troublemaker, O'Mara," he said angrily, "a surly,
quarrelsome lump of bone and muscle with just enough skill to make you worth
keeping. You may think that it was technical ability which got you these
quarters on your own. It wasn't, you're good but not that good! The truth is
that nobody else in my section would share accommodation with you..."
The section chief's hand moved to the cut-off switch on his recorder. His
voice, as he ended, became a quiet, deadly thing.
..... And O'Mara if you let any harm come to that youngster, if anything
happens to it at all, the Monitors won't even get the chance to try you.
The implications behind those final words were clear, O'Mara thought
angrily as the section chief left; he was sentenced to live with this organic
half-ton tank for a period that would feel like eternity no matter how short it
was. Everybody knew that exposing Hudlarians to space was like putting a dog out
for the night-there were no harmful effects at all. But what some people knew
and what they felt were two vastly different things and O'Mara was dealing here
with the personalities of simple, uncomplicated, over-sentimental and very angry
construction men.
When he had joined the project six months before, O'Mara found that he was
doomed again to the performance of a job which, while important in itself, gave
him no satisfaction and was far below his capabilities. Since school his life
had been a series of such frustrations. Personnel officers could not believe
that a young man with such square, ugly features and shoulders so huge that his
head looked moronically small by comparison could be interested in subtle
subjects like psychology or electronics. He had gone into space in the hope of
finding things different, but no. Despite constant efforts during interviews to
impress people with his quite considerable knowledge, they were too dazzled by
his muscle-power to listen, and his applications were invariably stamped
"Approved Suitable for Heavy, Sustained Labor."
On joining this project he had decided to make the best of what promised
to be another boring, frustrating job-he decided to become an unpopular
character. As a result his life had been anything but boring. But now he was
wishing that he had not been so successful at making himself disliked.
What he needed most at this moment was friends, and he hadn't a single
one.
O'Mara's mind was dragged back from the dismal past to the even less
pleasant present by the sharp all-pervading odor of the Hudlarian's food
compound. Something would have to be done about that, and quickly. He hurriedly
got into his lightweight suit and went through the lock.
II
His living quarters were in a tiny sub-assembly which would one day form the
theater surgical ward and adjoining storage compartments of the hospital's low-
gravity MSVK section. Two small rooms with a connecting section of corridor had
been pressurized and fitted with artificial gravity grids for O'Mara's benefit,
the rest of the structure remaining both airless and weightless. He drifted
along short, unfinished corridors whose ends were open to space, staring into
the bare, angular compartments which slid past. They were all full of trailing
plumbing and half-built machinery the purpose of which it was impossible to
guess without actually taking an MSVK educator tape. But all the compartments he
examined were either too small to hold the alien or they were open in one
direction to space. O'Mara swore with restraint but great feeling, pushed
himself out to one of the ragged edges of his tiny domain and glared around him.
Above, below and all around him out to a distance of ten miles floated
pieces of hospital, invisible except for the bright blue lights scattered over
them as a warning to ship traffic in the area. It was a little like being at the
center of a dense globular star cluster, O'Mara thought, and rather beautiful if
you were in a mood to appreciate it. He wasn't, because on most of these
floating sub-assemblies there were pressor-beam men on watch, placed there to
fend off sections which threatened to collide. These men would see and report it
to Caxton if O'Mara took his baby alien outside even for feeding.
The only answer apparently, he told himself disgustedly as he retraced his
way, was nose-plugs.
Inside the lock he was greeted by a noise like a tinny foghorn. It blared
out in long, discordant blasts with just enough interval in between to make him
dread the arrival of the next one. Investigation revealed bare patches of hide
showing through the last coat of food, so presumably his little darling was
hungry again. O'Mara went for the sprayer.
When he had about three square yards covered there was an interruption.
Dr. Pelling arrived.
The project doctor took off his helmet and gauntlets only, flexed the
stiffness out of his fingers and growled, "I believe you hurt your leg. Let's
have a look."
Pelling could not have been more gentle as he explored O'Mara's injured
leg, but what he was doing was plainly a duty rather than an act of friendship.
His voice was reserved as he said, "Severe bruising and a couple of pulled
tendons is all-you were lucky. Rest. I'll give you some stuff to rub on it. Have
you been redecorating?"
"What... ?" began O'Mara, then saw where the doctor was looking. "That's
food compound. The little so-and-so kept moving while I was spraying it. But
speaking of the youngster, can you tell me-"
"No, I can't," said Pelling. "My brain is overloaded enough with the ills
and remedies of my own species without my trying to stuff it with FROB
physiology tapes. Besides, they're tough-nothing can happen to them!" He sniffed
loudly and made a face. "Why don't you keep it outside?"
"Certain people are too soft-hearted," O'Mara replied bitterly. "They are
horrified by such apparent cruelties as lifting kittens by the scruff of the
neck. .
"Humph," said the doctor, looking almost sympathetic. "Well, that's your
problem. See you in a couple of weeks."
"Wait!" O'Mara called urgently, hobbling after the doctor with one empty
trouser leg flapping. "What if something does happen? And there has to be rules
about the care and feeding of these things, simple rules. You can't just leave
me to. . . to...
"I see what you mean," said Pelling. He looked thoughtful for a moment,
then went on, "There's a book kicking around my place somewhere, a sort of
Hudlarian first aid handbook. But it's printed in Universal
"I read Universal," said O'Mara.
Pelling looked surprised. "Bright boy. All right, I'll send it over." He
nodded curtly and left.
O'Mara closed the bedroom door in the hope that this might cut down the
intensity of the food smell, then lowered himself carefully into the living room
couch for what he told himself was a well-deserved rest. He settled his leg so
that it ached almost comfortably and began trying to talk himself into an
acceptance of the situation. The best he could achieve was a seething,
philosophical calm.
But he was so weary that even the effort of feeling angry became too much
for him. His eyelids dropped and a warm deadness began creeping up from his
hands and feet. O'Mara sighed, wriggled and prepared to sleep ...
The sound which blasted him out of his couch had the strident,
authoritative urgency of all the alarm sirens that ever were and a volume which
threatened to blow the bedroom door off its runners. O'Mara grabbed
instinctively for his spacesuit, dropped it with a curse as he realized what was
happening, then went for the sprayer.
Junior was hungry again...!
During the eighteen hours which followed it was brought home to O'Mara how
much he did not know about infant Hudlarians. He had spoken many times to its
parents via Translator, and the baby had been mentioned often, but somehow they
had not spoken of the important things. Sleep, for instance.
Judging from recent observation and experience, infant FROBs did not
sleep. In the all too short intervals between feeds they blundered ( around the
bedroom smashing all items of furniture which were not metal and bolted down-and
these they bent beyond recognition or usefulness-or they huddled in a corner
knotting and unknotting their tentacles. Probably this sight of a baby doing the
equivalent of playing with its fingers would have brought coos of delight from
an adult Hudlarian, but it merely made O'Mara sick and cross-eyed.
And every two hours, plus or minus a few minutes, he had to feed the
brute. If he was lucky it lay quiet, but more often he had to chase it around
with the sprayer. Normally FROBs of this age were too weak to move about-but
that was under Hudlar's crushing gravity-pull and pressure. Here in conditions
which were to it less than one quarter-G, the infant Hudlarian could move. And
it was having fun.
O'Mara wasn't: his body felt like a thick, clumsy sponge saturated with
fatigue. After each feed he dropped onto the couch and let his bone-weary body
dive blindly into unconsciousness. He was so utterly and completely spent, he
told himself after every spraying, that he could not possibly hear the brute the
next time it complained-he would be too deeply out. But always that blaring,
discordant foghorn jerked him at least half awake and sent him staggering like a
drunken puppet through the motions which would end that horrible, mind-wrecking
din.
After nearly thirty hours of it O'Mara knew he couldn't take much more. Whether
the infant was collected in two days or two months the result as far as he was
concerned would be the same; he would be a raving lunatic. Unless in a weak
moment he took a walk outside without his suit. Pelling would never have allowed
him to be subjected to this sort of punishment, he knew, but the doctor was an
ignoramus where the FROB life-form was concerned. And Caxton, only a little less
ignorant, was the simple, direct type who delighted in this sort of violent
practical joke, especially when he considered that the victim deserved
everything he got.
But just suppose the section chief was a more devious character than
O'Mara had suspected? Suppose he knew exactly what he was sentencing him to by
leaving the infant Hudlarian in his charge? O'Mara cursed tiredly, but he had
been at it so constantly for the last ten or twelve hours that bad language had
ceased to be an emotional safety valve. He shook his head angrily in a vain
attempt to dispel the weariness which clogged his brain.
Caxton wasn't going to get away with it.
He was the strongest man on the whole project, O'Mara knew, and his
reserves of strength must be considerable. All this fatigue and nervous
twitching was simply in his mind, he told himself insistently, and a couple of
days with practically no sleep meant nothing to his tremendous physique-even
after the shaking up he'd received in the accident. And anyway, the present
situation with the infant couldn't get any worse, so it must soon begin to
improve. He would beat them yet, he swore. Caxton would not drive him mad, or
even to the point of calling for help.
This was a challenge, he insisted with weary determination. Up to now he
had bemoaned the fact that no job had fully exploited his capabilities. Well,
this was a problem which would tax both his physical stamina and deductive
processes to the limit. An infant had been placed in his charge and he intended
taking care of it whether it was here for two weeks or two months. What was
more, he was going to see that the kid was a credit to him when its foster
parents arrived...
After the forty-eighth hour of the infant FROB's company and the fiftyseventh
since he had had a good sleep, such illogical and somewhat maudlin thinking did
not seem strange to O'Mara at all.
Then abruptly there came a change in what O'Mara had accepted as the order
of things. The FROB after complaining, was fed and refused to shut up!
O'Mara's first reaction was a feeling of hurt surprise; this was against
the rules. They cried, you fed them, they stopped crying-at least for a while.
This was so unfair that it left him too shocked and helpless to react.
The noise was bedlam, with variations. Long, discordant blasts of sound
beat over him. Sometimes the pitch and volume varied in an insanely arbitrary
manner and at others it had a grinding, staccato quality as if broken glass had
got into its vocal gears. There were intervals of quiet, varying between two
seconds and half a minute, during which O'Mara cringed waiting for the next
blast. He struck it out for as long as he could-a matter of ten minutes or so-
then he dragged his leaden body off the couch again.
"What the blazes is wrong with you?" O'Mara roared against the din. The
FROB was thoroughly covered by food compound so it couldn't be
hungry. (
Now that the infant had seen him the volume and urgency of its cries
increased. The external, bellows-like flap of muscle on the infant's back-used
for sound production only, the FROBs being non-breathers- continued swelling and
deflating rapidly. O'Mara jammed the palms of his hands against his ears, an
action which did no good at all, and yelled, "Shut up!"
He knew that the recently orphaned Hudlarian must still be feeling
confused and frightened, that the mere process of feeding it could not possibly
fulfill all of its emotional needs-he knew all this and felt a deep pity for the
being. But these feelings were in some quiet, sane and civilized portion of his
mind and divorced from all the pain and weariness and frightful onslaughts of
sound currently torturing his body. He was really two people, and while one of
him knew the reason for the noise and accepted it, the other-the purely physical
O'Mara-reacted instinctively and viciously to stop it.
"Shut up! SHUT UP!" screamed O'Mara, and started swinging with his fists
and feet.
Miraculously after about ten minutes of it, the Hudlarian stopped crying.
O'Mara returned to the couch shaking. For those ten minutes he had been in
the grip of a murderous, uncontrollable rage. He had punched and kicked savagely
until the pains from his hands and injured leg forced him to stop using those
members, but he had gone on kicking and screeching invective with the only other
weapons left to him, his good leg and tongue. The sheer viciousness of what he
had done shocked and sickened him.
It was no good telling himself that the Hudlarian was tough and might not
have felt the beating; the infant had stopped crying so he must have got through
to it somehow. Admittedly Hudlarians were hard and tough, but this was a baby
and babies had weak spots. Human babies, for instance, had a very soft spot on
the top of their heads..
When O'Mara's utterly exhausted body plunged into sleep his last coherent
thought was that he was the dirtiest, lowest louse that had ever been born.
Sixteen hours later he awoke. It was a slow, natural process which brought him
barely above the level of unconsciousness. He had a brief feeling of wonder at
the fact that the infant was not responsible for waking him before he drifted
back to sleep again. The next time he wakened was five hours later and to the
sound of Waring coming through the airlock.
"Dr. P-Pelling asked me to bring this," he said, tossing O'Mara a small
book. "And I'm not doing you a favor, understand-it's just that he said it was
for the good of the youngster. How is it doing?"
"Sleeping," said O'Mara.
Waring moistened his lips. "I'm-I'm supposed to check. C-C-Caxton says so.
"Ca-Ca-Caxton would," mimicked O'Mara.
He watched the other silently as Waring's face grew a deeper red. Waring
was a thin young man, sensitive, not very strong, and the stuff of which heroes
were made. On his arrival O'Mara had been overwhelmed with stories about this
tractor-beam operator. There had been an accident during the fitting of a power
pile and Waring had been trapped in a section which was inadequately shielded.
But he had kept his head and, following instructions radioed to him from an
engineer outside, had managed to avert a slow atomic explosion which
nevertheless would have taken the lives of everyone in his section. He had done
this while all the time fully convinced that the level of radiation in which he
worked would, in a few hours time, certainly cause his death.
But the shielding had been more effective than had been thought and Waring
did not die. The accident had left its mark on him, however, they told O'Mara.
He had blackouts, he stuttered, his nervous system had been subtly affected,
they said, and there were other things which O'Mara himself would see and was
urged to ignore. Because Waring had saved all their lives and for that he
deserved special treatment. That was why they made way for him wherever he went,
let him win all fights, arguments and games of skill or chance, and generally
kept him wrapped in a swathe of sentimental cottonwool.
And that was why Waring was a spoiled, insufferable, simpering brat.
Watching his white-lipped face and clenched fists, O'Mara smiled. He had
never let Waring win at anything if he could possibly help it, and the first
time the tractor-beam man had started a fight with him had also been the last.
Not that he had hurt him, he had been just tough enough to demonstrate that
fighting O'Mara was not a good idea.
"Go in and have a look," O'Mara said eventually. "Do what Ca-Ca Caxton
says.
They went in, observed the gently twitching infant briefly and came out.
Stammering, Waring said that he had to go and headed for the airlock. He didn't
often stutter these days, O'Mara knew; probably he was scared the subject of the
accident would be brought up.
"Just a minute," said O'Mara. "I'm running out of food compound, will you
bring-"
"G-get it yourself!"
O'Mara stared at him until Waring looked away, then he said quietly,
"Caxton can't have it both ways. If this infant has to be cared for so
thoroughly that I'm not allowed to either feed or keep it in airless conditions,
it would be negligence on my part to go away and leave it for a couple of hours
to get food. Surely you see that. The Lord alone knows what harm the kid might
come to if it was left alone. I've been made responsible for this infant's
welfare so I insist. .
"B-b-but it won't-"
"It only means an hour or so of your rest period every second or third
day," said O'Mara sharply. "Cut the bellyaching. And stop sputtering at me,
you're old enough to talk properly."
Waring's teeth came together with a click. He took a deep, shuddering
breath then with his jaws still clenched furiously together he exhaled. The
sound was like an airlock valve being cracked. He said:
"It... will. . . take. . . all of. . . my next two rest periods. The FROB
quarters... where the food is kept.. . are being fitted to the main assembly the
day after tomorrow. The food compound will have to be transferred before then."
"See how easy it is when you try," said O'Mara, grinning. "You were a bit
jerky at first there, but I understood every word. You're doing fine. And by the
way, when you're stacking the food tanks outside the airlock will you try not to
make too much noise in case you wake the baby?"
For the next two minutes Waring called O'Mara dirty names without
repeating himself or stuttering once.
"I said you were doing fine," said O'Mara reprovingly. "You don't have to
show off."
III
After Waring left, O'Mara thought about the dismantling of the Hudlarian's
quarters. With gravity grids set to four Gs and what few other amenities they
required the FROBs had been living in one of the key sections. If it was about
to be fitted to the main assembly then the completion of the hospital structure
itself could only be five or six weeks off. The final stages, he knew, would be
exciting. Tractor men at their safe positions- depressions actually on the
joining faces-tossing thousand-ton loads about the sky, bringing them together
gently while fitters checked alignment or adjusted or prepared the slowly
closing faces for joining. Many of them would disregard the warning lights until
the last possible moment, and take the most hair-raising risks imaginable, just
to save the time and trouble of having their sections pulled apart and rejoined
again for a possible re-fitting.
O'Mara would have liked to be in on the finish, instead of babysitting!
Thought of the infant brought back the worry he had been concealing from
Waring. It had never slept this long before-it must be twenty hours since it had
gone to sleep or he had kicked it to sleep. FROBs were tough, of course, but
wasn't it possible that the infant was not simply asleep but unconscious through
concussion...?
O'Mara reached for the book which Pelting had sent and began to read.
It was slow, heavy going, but at the end of two hours O'Mara knew a little
about the handling of Hudlarian babies, and the knowledge brought both relief
and despair. Apparently his fit of temper and subsequent kicking had been a good
thing-FROB babies needed constant petting and a quick calculation of the amount
of force used by an adult of the species administering a gentle pat to its
offspring showed that O'Mara's furious attack had been a very weak pat indeed.
But the book warned against the dangers of over-feeding, and O'Mara was
definitely guilty on this count. Seemingly the proper thing to do was to feed it
every five or six hours during its waking period and use physical methods of
soothing-patting, that was-if it appeared restless or still hungry. Also it
appeared that FROB infants required, at fairly frequent intervals, a bath.
On the home planet this involved something like a major sandblasting
operation, but O'Mara thought that this was probably due to the pressure and
stickiness of the atmosphere. Another problem which he would have to solve was
how to administer a hard enough consoling pat. He doubted very much if he could
fly into a temper every time the baby needed its equivalent of a nursing.
But at least he would have plenty of time to work out something, because
one of the things he had found out about them was that they were wakeful for two
full days at a stretch, and slept for five.
During the first five-day period of sleep O'Mara was able to devise methods of
petting and bathing his charge, and even had a couple of days free to relax and
gather his strength for the two days of hard labor ahead when the infant woke
up. It would have been a killing routine for a man of ordinary strength, but
O'Mara discovered that after the first two weeks of it he seemed to make the
necessary physical and mental adjustment to it. And at the end of four weeks the
pain and stiffness had gone out of his leg and he had no worries regarding the
baby at all.
Outside, the project neared completion. The vast, three-dimensional jigsaw
puzzle was finished except for a few unimportant pieces around the edges. A
Monitor Corps investigator had arrived and was asking questions-of everybody,
apparently, except O'Mara.
He couldn't help wondering if Waring had been questioned yet, and if he
had, what the tractor man had said. The investigator was a psychologist, unlike
the mere Engineer officers already on the project, and very likely no fool.
O'Mara thought that he, himself, was no fool either; he had worked things out
and by rights he should feel no anxiety over the outcome of the Monitor's
investigations. O'Mara had sized up the situation here and the people in it, and
the reactions of everyone were predictable. But it all depended on what Waring
told that Monitor.
You're turning yellow! O'Mara thought in angry self-disgust. Now that your pet
theories are being put to the test you're scared silly they won't work. You want
to crawl to Waring and lick his boots!
And that course, O'Mara knew, would be introducing a wild variable into
what should be a predictable situation, and it would almost certainly wreck
everything. Yet the temptation was strong nevertheless.
It was at the beginning of the sixth week of his enforced guardianship of the
infant, while he was reading up on some of the weird and wonderful diseases to
which baby FROBs were prone, his airlock telltale indicated a visitor. He got
off the couch quickly and faced the opening seal, trying hard to look as if he
hadn't a worry in the world.
But it was only Caxton.
"I was expecting the Monitor," said O'Mara.
Caxton grunted. "Hasn't seen you yet, eh? Maybe he figures it would be a
waste of time. After what we've told him he probably thinks the case is open and
shut. He'll have cuffs with him when he comes."
O'Mara just looked at him. He was tempted to ask Caxton if the Corpsman
had questioned Waring yet, but it was only a small temptation.
"My reason for coming," said Caxton harshly, "is to find out about the
water. Stores department tells me you've been requisitioning treble the amount
of water that you could conceivably use. You starting an aquarium or something?"
Deliberately O'Mara avoided giving a direct answer. He said, "It's time
for the baby's bath, would you like to watch?"
He bent down, deftly removed a section of floor plating and reached
inside.
"What are you doing?" Caxton burst out. "Those are the gravity grids,
you're not allowed to touch-"
Suddenly the floor took on a thirty degree list. Caxton staggered against
a wall, swearing. O'Mara straightened up, opened the inner seal of the airlock,
then started up what was now a stiff gradient toward the bedroom. Still
insisting loudly that O'Mara was neither allowed nor qualified to alter the
artificial gravity settings, Caxton followed.
Inside, O'Mara said, "This is the spare food sprayer with the nozzle
modified to project a high pressure jet of water." He pointed the instrument and
began to demonstrate, playing the jet against a small area of the infant's hide.
The subject of the demonstration was engaged in pushing what was left of one of
O'Mara's chairs into even more unrecognizable shapes, and ignored them.
"You can see," O'Mara went on, "the area of skin where the food compound
has hardened. This has to be washed at intervals because it clogs the being's
absorption mechanism in those areas, causing the food intake to drop. This makes
a young Hudlarian very unhappy and, ah, noisy...
O'Mara trailed off into silence. He saw that Caxton wasn't looking at the
infant but was watching the water which rebounded from its hide streaming along
the now steeply slanted bedroom door, across the living room and into the open
airlock. Which was just as well, because O'Mara's sprayer had uncovered a patch
of the youngster's hide which had a texture and color he had never seen before.
Probably there was nothing to worry about, but it was better not to have Caxton
see it and ask questions.
"What's that up there?" said Caxton, pointing toward the bedroom ceiling.
In order to give the infant the petting it deserved O'Mara had had to
knock together a system of levers, pulleys and counterweights and suspend the
whole ungainly mass from the ceiling. He was rather proud of the gadget; it
enabled him to administer a good, solid pat-a blow which would have instantly
killed a human being-anywhere on that half ton carcass. But he doubted if Caxton
would appreciate the gadget. Probably the section chief would swear that he was
torturing the baby and forbid its use.
O'Mara started out of the bedroom. Over his shoulder he said, "Just
lifting tackle."
He dried up the wet patches of floor with a cloth which he threw into the now
partly water filled airlock. His sandals and coveralls were wet so he threw them
in, also, then he closed the inner seal and opened the outer. While the water
was boiling off into the vacuum outside he readjusted the gravity grids so that
the floor was flat and the wails vertical again, then he retrieved his sandals,
coveralls and cloth which were now bone dry.
"You seem to have everything well organized," said Caxton grudgingly as he
fastened his helmet. "At least you're looking after the youngster better than
you did its parents. See it stays that way.
"The Monitor will be along to see you at hour nine tomorrow," he added,
and left.
O'Mara returned quickly to the bedroom for a closer look at the colored
patch. It was a pale bluish gray and in that area the smooth, almost steel-hard
surface of the skin had taken on a sort of crackle finish. O'Mara rubbed the
patch gently and the FROB wriggled and gave a blast of sound that was vaguely
interrogatory.
"You and me both," said O'Mara absently. He couldn't remember reading
about anything like this, but then he had not read all the book yet. The sooner
he did so the better.
The chief method of communicating between beings of different species was
by means of a Translator, which electronically sorted and classified all sense-
bearing sounds and reproduced them in the native language of its user. Another
method, used when large amounts of accurate data of a more subjective nature had
to be passed on, was the Educator tape system. This transferred bodily all the
sensory impressions, knowledge and personality of one being into the mind of
another. Coming a long way third both in popularity and accuracy was the written
language which was somewhat extravagantly called Universal.
Universal was of use only to beings who possessed brains linked to optical
receptors capable of abstracting knowledge from patterns of markings on a flat
surface-in short, the printed page. While there were many species with this
ability, the response to color in each species was very rarely matched. What
appeared to be a bluish-gray patch to O'Mara might look like anything from
yellow-gray to dirty purple to another being, and the trouble was that the other
being might have been the author of the book.
One of the appendices gave a rough color-equivalent chart, but it was a
tedious, time-consuming job checking back on it, and his knowledge of Universal
was not perfect anyway.
Five hours later he was still no nearer diagnosing the FROB's ailment, and the
single blue-gray patch on its hide had grown to twice its original size and been
joined by three more. He fed the infant, wondering anxiously whether that was
the right thing to do in a case like this, then returned quickly to his studies.
According to the handbook there were literally hundreds of mild, short-
lived diseases to which young Hudlarians were subject. This youngster had
escaped them solely because it had been fed on tanked food compound and had
avoided the air-borne bacteria so prevalent on its home planet. Probably this
disease was nothing worse than the Hudlarian equivalent of a dose of measles,
O'Mara told himself reassuringly, but it looked serious. At the next feeding the
number of patches had grown to seven and they were a deeper, angrier blue, also
the baby was continually slapping at itself with its appendages. Obviously the
colored patches itched badly. Armed with this new datum O'Mara returned to the
book.
And suddenly he found it. The symptoms were given as rough, discolored
patches on the tegument with severe itching due to unabsorbed food particles.
Treatment was to cleanse the irritated patches after each feed so as to kill the
itching and let nature take care of the rest. The disease was a very rare one on
Hudlar these days, the symptoms appeared with dramatic suddenness and it ran its
course and disappeared equally quickly. Provided ordinary care was taken of the
patient, the book stated, the disease was not dangerous.
O'Mara began converting the figures into his own time and size scale. As
accurately as he could come to it the colored patches should grow t about
eighteen inches across and he could expect anything up to twelve of them before
they began to fade. This would occur, calculating from the time he had noticed
the first spot, in approximately six hours.
He hadn't a thing to worry about.
Iv
At the conclusion of the next feeding O'Mara carefully sprayed the blue patches
clean, but still the young FROB kept slapping furiously at itself and quivering
ponderously. Like a kneeling elephant with six angrily waving trunks, he
thought. O'Mara had another look at the book, but it still maintained that under
ordinary conditions the disease was mild and short-lived, and that the only
palliative treatment possible was rest and seeing that the affected areas were
kept clean.
Kids, thought O'Mara distractedly, were a blasted worrisome thing...! All that
quivering and slapping looked wrong, common sense told him, and should be
stopped. Maybe the infant was scratching through sheer force of habit, though
the violence of the process made this seem doubtful, and a distraction of some
kind would make it stop. Quickly O'Mara chose a fifty-pound weight and used his
lifting tackle to swing it to the ceiling. He began raising and dropping it
rhythmically over the spot which he had discovered gave the infant the most
pleasure-an area two feet back of the hard, transparent membrane which protected
its eyes. Fifty pounds dropping from a height of eight feet was a nice gentle
pat to a Hudlarian.
Under the patting the FROB grew less violent in its movements. But as soon
as O'Mara stopped it began lashing at itself worse than ever, and even running
full tilt into walls and what was left of the furniture. During one frenzied
charge it nearly escaped into the living room, and the only thing which stopped
it was the fact that it was too big to go through the door. Up to that moment
O'Mara did not realize how much weight the FROB had put on in five weeks.
Finally sheer fatigue made him give up. He left the FROB threshing and
blundering about in the bedroom and threw himself onto the couch outside to try
to think.
According to the book it was now time for the blue patches to begin to
fade. But they weren't fading-they had reached the maximum number of twelve and
instead of being eighteen or less inches across they were nearly double that
size. They were so large that at the next feeding the absorption area of the
infant would have shrunk by a half, which meant that it would be further
weakened by not getting enough food. And everyone knew that itchy spots should
not be scratched if the condition was not to spread and become more serious...
A raucous foghorn note interrupted his thoughts. O'Mara had experience
enough to know by the sound that the infant was badly frightened, and by the
relative decrease in volume that it was growing weak as well.
He needed help badly, but O'Mara doubted very much if there was anyone available
who could furnish it. Telling Caxton about it would be useless-the section chief
would only call in Pelling and Pelling was much less informed on the subject of
Hudlarian children than was O'Mara, who had been specializing in the subject for
the past five weeks. That course would only waste time and not help the kid at
all, and there was a strong possibility that-despite the presence of a Monitor
investigator- Caxton would see to it that something pretty violent happened to
O'Mara for allowing the infant to take sick, for that was the way the section
chief would look at it.
Caxton didn't like O'Mara. Nobody liked O'Mara.
If he had been well-liked on the project nobody would have thought of
blaming him for the infant's sickness, or immediately and unanimously assuming
that he was the one responsible for the death of its parents. But he had made
the decision to appear a pretty lousy character, and he had been too damned
successful.
Maybe he really was a despicable person and that was why the role had come
so easy to him. Perhaps the constant frustration of never having the chance to
really use the brain which was buried in his ugly, muscle-bound body had
gradually soured him, and the part he thought he was playing was the real
O'Mara.
If only he had stayed clear of the Waring business. That was what
had them really mad at him. (
But this sort of thinking was getting him nowhere. The solution of his own
problems lay-in part, at least-in showing that he was responsible, patient, kind
and possessed the various other attributes which his fellow men looked on with
respect. To do that he must first show that he could be trusted with the care of
a baby.
He wondered suddenly if the Monitor could help. Not personally; a Corps
psychologist officer could hardly be expected to know about obscure diseases of
Hudlar children, but through his organization. As the Galaxy's police, maid-of-
all-work and supreme authority generally, the Monitor Corps would be able to
find at short notice a being who would know the necessary answers. But again,
that being would almost certainly be found on Hudlar itself, and the authorities
there already knew of the orphaned infant's position and help had probably been
on the way for weeks. It would certainly arrive sooner than the Monitor could
bring it. Help might arrive in time to save the infant. But again maybe it might
not.
The problem was still O'Mara's.
About as serious as a dose of measles.
But measles, in a human baby, could be very serious if the patient was
kept in a cold room or in some other environment which, although not deadly in
itself, could become lethal to an organism whose resistance was lowered by
disease or lack of food. The handbook had prescribed rest, cleansing and nothing
else. Or had it? There might be a large and well hidden assumption there. The
kicker was that the patient under discussion was residing on its home world at
the time of the illness. Under ordinary conditions like that the disease
probably was mild and short-lived.
But O'Mara's bedroom was not, for a Hudlarian baby with the disease,
anything like normal conditions.
With that thought came the answer, if only he wasn't too late to apply it.
Abruptly O'Mara pushed himself out of the couch and hurried to the spacesuit
locker. He was climbing into the heavy duty model when the communicator beeped
at him.
"O'Mara," Caxton's voice brayed at him when he had acknowledged, "the
Monitor wants to talk to you. It wasn't supposed to be until tomorrow but-"
"Thank you, Mr. Caxton," broke in a quiet, firmer voice. There was a
pause, then, "My name is Craythorne, Mr. O'Mara. I had planned to see you
tomorrow as you know, but I managed to clear up some other work which left me
time for a preliminary chat..
What, thought O'Mara fulminatingly, a damned awkward time you had to pick! He
finished putting on the suit but left the gauntlets and helmet off. He began
tearing into the panel which covered the air-supply controls.
To tell you the truth," the quiet voice of the Monitor went on, your case
is incidental to my main work here. My job is to arrange accommodation and so on
for the various life-forms who will shortly be arriving to staff this hospital,
and to do everything possible to avoid friction developing between them when
they do come. There are a lot of finicky details to attend to, but at the moment
I'm free. And I'm curious about you, O'Mara. I'd like to ask some questions."
This is one smooth operator! thought one half of O'Mara's mind. The other
half noted that the air-supply controls were set to suit the conditions he had
in mind. He left the panel hanging loose and began pulling up a floor section to
get at the artificial gravity grid underneath. A little absently he said,
"You'll have to excuse me if I work while we talk. Caxton will explain-"
"I've told him about the kid," Caxton broke in, "and if you think you're
fooling him by pretending to be the harassed mother type. . .
"I understand," said the Monitor. "I'd also like to say that forcing you
to live with an FROB infant when such a course was unnecessary comes under the
heading of cruel and unusual punishment, and that about ten years should be
knocked off your sentence for what you've taken this past five weeks-that is, of
course, if you're found guilty. And now, I always think it's better to see who
one is talking to. Can we have vision, please?"
The suddenness with which the artificial gravity grids switched from one
to two Gs caught O'Mara by surprise. His arms folded under him and his chest
thumped the floor. A frightened bawl from his patient in the next room must have
disguised the noise he made from his listeners because they didn't mention it.
He did the great-grand-daddy of all pressups and heaved himself to his knees.
He fought to keep from gasping. "Sorry, my vision transmitter is on the
blink."
The Monitor was silent just long enough to let O'Mara know that he knew he
was lying, and that he would disregard the lie for the moment. He said finally,
"Well, at least you can see me," and O'Mara's vision plate
lit up. (
It showed a youngish man with close-cropped hair whose eyes seemed twenty
years older than the rest of his features. The shoulder tabs of a Major were
visible on the trim, dark-green tunic and the collar bone bore a caduceus.
O'Mara thought that in different circumstances he would have liked this man.
"I've something to do in the next room," O'Mara lied again. "Be with you
in a minute.~~
He began the job of setting the anti-gravity belt on his suit to two Gs
repulsion, which would exactly counteract the floor's present attraction and
allow him to increase the pull to four Gs without too much discomfort to
himself. He would then reset the belt for three Gs, and that would give him back
a normal gravity apparent of one G.
At least that was what should have happened.
Instead the G-belt or the floor grids or both started producing half-G
fluctuations, and the room went mad. It was like being in an express elevator
which was constantly being started and stopped. The frequency of the surges
built up rapidly until O'Mara was being shaken up and down so hard his teeth
rattled. Before he could react to this a new and more devastating complication
occurred. As well as variations in strength the floor grids were no longer
acting at right angles to their surface, but yawed erratically from ten to
thirty degrees from the vertical. No storm tossed ship had ever pitched and
rolled as viciously as this. O'Mara staggered, grabbed frantically for the
couch, missed and was flung heavily against the wall. The next surge sent him
skidding against the opposite wall before he was able to switch off the G-belt.
The room settled down to a steady gravity-pull of two Gs again.
"Will this take long?" asked the Monitor suddenly.
O'Mara had almost forgotten the Major during the past hectic seconds. He
did his best to make his voice sound both natural and as if it was coming from
the next room as he replied, "It might. Could you call back later?"
"I'll wait," said the Monitor.
For the next few minutes O'Mara tried to forget the bruising he had
received despite the protection given him by the heavy spacesuit, and
concentrate on thinking his way out of this latest mess. He was beginning to see
what must have happened.
When two anti-gravity generators of the same power and frequency were used
close together, a pattern of interference was set up which affected the
stability of both. The grids in O'Mara's quarters were merely a temporary job
and powered by a generator similar to the one used in his suit, though normally
a difference in frequency was built in against the chance of such instability
occurring. But O'Mara had been fiddling with the grid settings constantly for
the past five weeks-every time the infant had a bath, to be exact-so that he
must have unknowingly altered the frequency.
He didn't know what he had done wrong and there wasn't enough time to try
fixing it if he had known. Gingerly, O'Mara switched on his G-belt again and
slowly began increasing power. It registered over three quarters of a G before
the first signs of instability appeared.
Four Gs less three-quarters made a little over three Gs. It looked, O'Mara
thought grimly, like he was going to have to do this the hard way...
V
O'Mara closed his helmet quickly, then strung a cable from his suit mike to the
communicator so that he would be able to talk without Caxton or the Monitor
realizing that he was sealed inside his suit. If he was to have time to complete
the treatment they must not suspect that there was anything out of the ordinary
going on here. Next came the final adjustments to the air-pressure regulator and
gravity grids.
Inside two minutes the atmosphere pressure in the two rooms had multiplied
six times and the gravity apparent was four Gs-the nearest, in fact, that O'Mara
could get to "ordinary conditions" for a Hudlarian. With shoulder muscles
straining and cracking with the effort-for his under-powered G-belt took only
three-quarters of a gravity off the four-G pull in the room-he withdrew the
incredibly awkward and ponderous thing which his arm had become from the grid
servicing space and rolled heavily onto his back.
He felt as if his baby was sitting on his chest, and large, black blotches
hung throbbing before his eyes. Through them he could see a section of ceiling
and, at a crazy angle, the vision panel. The face in it was becoming impatient.
"I'm back, Major," gasped O'Mara. He fought to control his breathing so
that the words would not be squeezed out too fast. "I suppose you want to hear
my side of the accident?"
"No," said the Monitor. "I've heard the tape Caxton made. What I'm curious
about is your background prior to coming here. I've checked up and there is
something which doesn't quite fit..
A thunderous eruption of noise blasted into the conversation. Despite the
deeper note caused by the increased air pressure O'Mara recognized the signal
for what it was; the FROB was angry and hungry.
With a mighty effort O'Mara rolled onto his side, then propped himself up
on his elbows. He stayed that way for a while gathering strength to roll over
onto his hands and knees. But when he finally accomplished this he found that
his arms and legs were swelling and felt as if they would burst from the
pressure of blood piling up in them. Gasping, he eased himself down flat onto
his chest. Immediately the blood rushed to the front of his body and his vision
began to red out.
He couldn't crawl on hands and knees nor wriggle on his stomach. Most
certainly, under three Gs, he could not stand up and walk. What else was there?
O'Mara struggled onto his side again and rolled back, but this time with
his elbows propping him up. The neck-rest of his suit supported his head, but
the insides of the sleeves were very lightly padded and his elbows hurt. And the
strain of holding up even part of his three times heavier than normal body made
his heart pound. Worst of all, he was beginning to black out again.
Surely there must be some way to equalize, or at least distribute, the
pressures in his body so that he could stay conscious and move. O'Mara tried to
visualize the layout of the acceleration chairs which had been used in ships
before artificial gravity came along. It had been a not-quite prone position, he
remembered suddenly, with the knees drawn up...
Inching along on his elbows, bottom and feet, O'Mara progressed snail-like
toward the bedroom. His embarrassment of riches where muscles were concerned was
certainly of use now-in these conditions any ordinary man would have been
plastered helplessly against the floor. Even so it took him fifteen minutes to
reach the food sprayer in the bedroom, and during practically every second of
the way the baby kept up its earsplitting racket. With the increased pressure
the noise was so tremendously loud and deep that every bone in O'Mara's body
seemed to vibrate to it.
"I'm trying to talk to you!" the Monitor yelled during a lull. "Can't you
keep that blasted kid shut up!"
"It's hungry," said O'Mara. "It'll quiet down when it's fed. .
The food sprayer was mounted on a trolley and O'Mara had fitted a pedal
control so as to leave both hands free for aiming. Now that his patient was
immobilized by four gravities he didn't have to use his hands. Instead he was
able to nudge the trolley into position with his shoulders and depress the pedal
with his elbow. The high-pressure jet ten4ed to bend floorward owing to the
extra gravity but he did finally manage to cover the infant with food. But
cleaning the affected areas of food compound was another matter. The water jet,
which handled very awkwardly from floor level, had no accuracy at all. The best
he could manage was to wash down the wide, vivid blue patch-formed from three
separate patches which had grown together-which covered nearly one quarter of
its total skin area.
After that O'Mara straightened out his legs and lowered his back gently to the
floor. Despite the three Gs acting on him, the strain of maintaining that half-
sitting position for the last half hour made him feel almost comfortable.
The baby had stopped crying.
"What I was about to say," said the Monitor heavily when the silence
looked like lasting for a few minutes, "was that your record on previous jobs
does not fit what I find here. Previously you were, as you are now, a restless,
discontented type, but you were invariably popular with your colleagues and only
a little less so with your superiors-this last being because your superiors were
sometimes wrong and you never were...
"I was every bit as smart as they were," said O'Mara tiredly, "and proved
it often. But I didn't look intelligent, I had mucker written all over me!"
It was strange, O'Mara thought, but he felt almost disinterested in his
own personal trouble now. He couldn't take his eyes off the angry blue patch on
the infant's side. The color had deepened and also the center of the patch
seemed to have swelled. It was as if the super-hard tegument had softened and
the FROB's enormous internal pressure had produced a swelling. Increasing the
gravity and pressure to the Hudlarian normal should, he hoped, halt that
particular development-if it wasn't a symptom of something else entirely.
O'Mara had thought of carrying his idea a step further and spraying the
air around the patient with food compound. On Hudlar the natives' food was
comprised of tiny organisms floating in their super-thick atmosphere, but then
again the handbook expressly stated that food particles must be kept away from
the affected areas of tegument, so that the extra gravity and pressure should be
enough...
Nevertheless," the Monitor was saying, "if a similar accident had happened
on one of your previous jobs, your story would have been believed. Even if it
had been your fault they would have rallied around to defend you from outsiders
like myself. )
"What caused you to change from a friendly, likeable type of personality
to this.. .
"I was bored," said O'Mara shortly.
There had been no sound from the infant yet, but he had seen the
characteristic movements of the FROB's appendages which foretold of an outburst
shortly to come. And it came. For the next ten minutes speech was, of course,
impossible.
O'Mara heaved himself onto his side and rolled back onto his now raw and
bleeding elbows. He knew what was wrong; the infant had missed its usual after-
feed nursing. O'Mara humped his way slowly across to the two counterweight ropes
of the gadget he had devised for petting the infant and prepared to remedy this
omission. But the ends of the ropes hung four feet above the floor.
Lying propped by one elbow and straining to raise the dead weight of his other
arm, O'Mara thought that the rope could just as easily have been four miles
away. Sweat poured off his face and body with the intensity of the effort and
slowly, trembling and wobbling so much that his gauntleted hand went past it
first time, he reached up and grabbed hold. Still gripping it tightly he lowered
himself gently back bringing the rope with him.
The gadget operated on a system of counterweights, so that there was no
extra pull needed on the controlling ropes. A heavy weight dropped neatly onto
the infant's back, administering a reassuring pat. O'Mara rested for a few
minutes, then struggled up to repeat the process with the other rope, the pull
on which would also wind up the first weight ready for use again.
After about the eighth pat he found that he couldn't see the end of the
rope he was reaching for, though he managed to find it all the same. His head
was being kept too high above the level of the rest of his body for too long a
time and he was constantly on the point of blacking out. The diminished flow of
blood to his brain was having other effects, too...
..... There, there," O'Mara heard himself saying in a definitely maudlin
voice. "You're all right now, pappy will take care of you. There now, shush . .
The funny thing about it was that he really did feel a responsibility and
a sort of angry concern for the infant. He had saved it once only to let this
happen! Maybe the three Gs which jammed him against the floor, making every
breath a day's work and the smallest movement an operation which called for all
the reserves of strength he possessed, was bringing back the memory of another
kind of pressure-the slow, inexorable movement together of two large, inanimate
and uncaring masses of metal.
The accident.
As fitter-in-charge of that particular shift O'Mara had just switched on
the warning lights when he had seen the two adult Hudlarians chasing after their
offspring on one of the faces being joined. He had called them through his
translator, urging them to get to safety and leave him to chase the youngster
clear-being much smaller than its parents the slowly closing faces would take
longer to reach it, and during those extra few minutes O'Mara would have been
able to herd it out of danger. But either their translators were switched off or
they were reluctant to trust the safety of their child to a diminutive human
being. Whatever the reason, they remained between the faces until it was too
late. O'Mara had to watch helplessly as they were trapped and crushed by the
joining structures.
The sight of the young one, still unharmed because of its smaller girth,
floundering about between the bodies of its late parents sent O'Mara into
belated action. He was able to chase it out of danger before the sections came
close enough to trap it, and had just barely made it himself. For a few heart-
stopping seconds back there O'Mara had thought he would have to leave a leg
behind.
This was no place for kids anyway, he told himself angrily as he looked at the
quivering, twitching body with the patches of vivid, scabrous blue. People
shouldn't be allowed to bring kids out here, even tough people like the
Hudlarians.
But Major Craythorne was speaking again.
"...Judging by what I hear going on over there," said the Monitor acidly,
"you're taking very good care of your charge. Keeping the youngster happy and
healthy will definitely be a point in your favor. .
Happy and healthy, thought O'Mara as he reached toward the rope yet again.
Healthy...
But there are other considerations," the quiet voice went on.
"Were you guilty of negligence in not switching on the warning lights until
after the accident occurred, which is what you are alleged to have done? And
your previous record notwithstanding, here you have been a surly, quarrelsome
bully and your behavior toward Waring especially. . .
The Monitor broke off, looked faintly disapproving, then went on, "A few
minutes ago you said that you did all these things because you were bored.
Explain that."
"Wait a minute, Major," Caxton broke in, his face appearing suddenly
behind Craythorne's on the screen. "He's stalling for some reason, I'm sure of
it. All those interruptions, this gasping voice he's using and this shush-a-bye-
baby stuff is just an act to show what a great little nursemaid he is. I think
I'll go over and bring him back here to answer you face to face-"
"That won't be necessary," said O'Mara quickly. "I'll answer any questions
you want, right now.
He had a horrible picture of Caxton's reaction if the other saw the infant
in its present state; the sight of it made O'Mara feel queasy and he was used to
it now. Caxton wouldn't stop to think, or wait for explanations, or ask himself
if it was fair to place an e-t in charge of a human who was completely ignorant
of its physiology or weaknesses. He would just react. Violently.
And as for the Monitor...
O'Mara thought that he might get out of the accident part, but if the kid
died as well he hadn't a hope. The infant had had a mild though uncommon disease
which should have responded to treatment days ago, and instead had become
progressively worse, so it would die anyway if O'Mara's last desperate try at
reproducing its home planet's conditions did not come off. What he needed now
was time. According to the book, about four to six hours of it.
Suddenly the futility of it all hit him. The infant's condition had not
improved-it heaved and twitched and generally looked to be the most desperately
ill and pitiable creature that had ever been born. O'Mara swore helplessly. What
he was trying to do now should have been tried days ago, his baby was as good as
dead, and continuing this treatment for another five or six hours would probably
kill or cripple him for life. And it would serve him right!
VI
The infant's appendages curled in the way O'Mara knew meant that it was going to
cry again, and grimly he began pushing himself onto his elbows for another
patting session. That was the very least he could do. And even though he was
convinced that going on was useless, the kid had to be given the chance. O'Mara
had to have time to finish the treatment without interruptions, and to insure
that he would have to answer this Monitor's questions in a full and satisfactory
manner. If the kid started crying again he wouldn't be able to do that.
For your kind cooperation," the Major was saying dryly. "First off, I want
an explanation for your sudden change of personality."
"I was bored," said O'Mara. "Hadn't enough to do. Maybe I'd become a bit
of a sorehead, too. But the main reason for setting out to be a lousy character
was that there was a job I could do here which could not be done by a nice guy.
I've studied a lot and think of myself as a pretty good rule-of-thumb
psychologist...
Suddenly came disaster. O'Mara's supporting elbow slipped as he was
reaching for the counterweight rope and he crashed back to the floor from a
distance of two-and-a-half feet. At three Gs this was equivalent to a fall of
seven feet. Luckily he was in a heavy duty suit with a padded helmet so he did
not lose consciousness. But he did cry out, and instinctively held onto the rope
as he fell.
That was his mistake.
One weight dropped, the other swung up too far. It hit the ceiling with a
crash and loosened the bracket which supported the light metal girder which
carried it. The whole structure began to sag, and slip, then was suddenly yanked
floorward by four Gs onto the infant below. In his dazed state O'Mara could not
guess at the amount of force expended on the infant-whether it was a harder than
usual pat, the equivalent of a sharp smack on the bottom, or something very much
more serious. The baby was very quiet afterward, which worried him.
For the third time," shouted the Monitor, "what the blazes is going on in
there?"
O'Mara muttered something which was unintelligible even to himself. Then
Caxton joined in.
"There's something fishy going on, and I bet it involves the kid! I'm going over
to see- "No wait!" said O'Mara desperately. "Give me six hours... "I'll see
you," said Caxton, "in ten minutes." "Caxton!" O'Mara shouted, "if you come
through my airlock you'll
kill me! I'll have the inner seal jammed open and if you open the outer one
you'll evacuate the place. Then the Major will lose his prisoner."
There was a sudden silence, then:
"What," asked the Monitor quietly, "do you want the six hours for?"
O'Mara tried to shake his head to clear it, but now that it weighed three
times heavier than normal he only hurt his neck. What did he want six hours for?
Looking around him he began to wonder, because both the food sprayer and its
connecting water tank had been wrecked by the fall of tackle from the ceiling.
He could neither feed, wash, nor scarcely see his patient for fallen wreckage,
so all he could do for six hours was watch and wait for a miracle.
"I'm going over," said Caxton doggedly.
"You're not," said the Major, still polite but with a no-nonsense tone. "I
want to get to the bottom of this. You'll wait outside until I've spoken with
O'Mara alone. Now O'Mara, what... is.. . happening?"
Flat on his back again O'Mara fought to gain enough breath to carry on an
extended conversation. He had decided that the best thing to do would be to tell
the Monitor the exact truth, and then appeal to him to back O'Mara up in the
only way possible which might save the infant-by leaving him alone for six
hours. But O'Mara was feeling very low as he talked, and his vision was so poor
that he couldn't tell sometimes whether his eyelids were open or shut. He did
see someone hand the Major a note, but Craythorne didn't read it until O'Mara
had finished speaking.
"You are in a mess," Craythorne said finally. He briefly looked
sympathetic, then his tone hardened again. "And ordinarily I should be forced to
do as you suggest and give you that six hours. After all, you have the book and
so you know more than we do. But the situation has changed in the last few
minutes. I've just had word that two Hudlarians have arrived, one of them a
doctor. You had better step down, O'Mara. You tried, but now let some skilled
help salvage what they can from the situation. For the kid's sake," he added.
It was three hours later. Caxton, Waring and O'Mara were facing the Major across
the Monitor's desk. Craythorne had just come in.
He said briskly, "I'm going to be busy for the next few days so we'll get
this business settled quickly. First, the accident. O'Mara, your case depends
entirely on Waring's corroboration for your story. Now there seems to be some
pretty devious thinking here on your part. I've already heard Waring's evidence,
but to satisfy my own curiosity I'd like to know what you think he said?"
"He backed up my story," said O'Mara wearily. "He had no choice."
He looked down at his hands, still thinking about the desperate sick
infant he had left in his quarters. He told himself again that he wasn't
responsible for what had happened, but deep inside he felt that if he had shown
more flexibility of mind and had started the pressure treatment sooner the kid
would have been all right now. But the result of the accident enquiry didn't
seem to matter now, one way or the other, and neither did the Waring business.
"Why do you think he had no choice?" prodded the Monitor sharply.
Caxton had his mouth open, looking confused. Waring would not meet
O'Mara's eyes and he was beginning to blush.
"When I came here," O'Mara said dully, "I was looking out for a secondary
job to fill my spare time, and hounding Waring was it. He is the reason for my
being an obnoxious type, that was the only way I could go to work on him. But to
understand that you have to go a bit further back. Because of that power pile
accident," O'Mara went on, "all the men of his section were very much in
Waring's debt-you've probably heard the details by now. Waring himself was a
mess. Physically he was below par-had to get shots to keep his blood-count up,
was just about strong enough to work his control console, and was fairly
wallowing in self-pity. Psychologically he was a wreck. Despite all Pelling's
assurances that the shots would only be necessary for a few more months he was
convinced that he had pernicious anemia. He also believed that he had been made
sterile, again despite everything the doctor told him, and this conviction made
him act and talk in a way which would give any normal man the creeps-because
that sort of thing is pathological and there wasn't anything like that wrong
with him. When I saw how things were I started to ridicule him every chance I
got. I hounded him unmercifully. So the way I see it he had no other choice but
to support my story. Simple gratitude demanded it."
"I begin to see the light," said the Major. "Go on."
"The men around him were very much in his debt," O'Mara continued. "But
instead of putting the brakes on, or giving him a good talking to, they
smothered him with sympathy. They let him win all fights, card games or
whatever, and generally treated him like a little tin god. I did none of these
things. Whenever he lisped or stuttered or was awkward about anything," O'Mara
went on, "whether it was due to one of his mental and self-inflicted
disabilities or a physical one which he honestly couldn't help, I jumped on him
hard with both feet. Maybe I was too hard sometimes, but remember that I was one
man trying to undo the harm that was being done by fifty. Naturally he hated my
guts, but he always knew exactly where he was with me. And I never pulled
punches. On the very few occasions when he was able to get the better of me, he
knew that he had won despite everything I could do to stop him-unlike his
friends who let him beat them at everything and in so doing made his winning
meaningless. That was exactly what he needed for what ailed him, somebody to
treat him as an equal and made no allowances at all. So when this trouble came,"
O'Mara ended, "I was pretty sure he would begin to see what I'd been doing for
him-consciously as well as subconsciously-and that simple gratitude plus the
fact that basically he is a decent type would keep him from withholding the
evidence which would clear me. Was I right?"
"You were," said the Major. He paused to quell Caxton who had jumped to
his feet, protesting, then continued, "Which brings us to the FROB infant.
"Apparently your baby caught one of the mild but rare diseases which can
only be treated successfully on the home planet," Craythorne went on. He smiled
suddenly. "At least, that was what they thought until a few hours ago. Now our
Hudlarian friends state that the proper treatment has already been initiated by
you and that all they have to do is wait for a couple of days and the infant
will be as good as new. But they're very annoyed with you, O'Mara," the Monitor
continued. "They say that you've rigged special equipment for petting and
soothing the kid and that you've done this much more often than is desirable.
The baby has been overfed and spoiled shamelessly, they say, so much so that at
the moment it prefers human beings to members of its own species-"
Suddenly Caxton banged the desk. "You're not going to let him get away
with this," he shouted, red-faced. "Waring doesn't know what he's saying
sometimes..
"Mr. Caxton," said the Monitor sharply, "All the evidence available proves
that Mr. O'Mara is blameless, both at the time of the accident and while he was
looking after the infant later. However, I am not quite finished with him here,
so perhaps you two would be good enough to leave..
Caxton stormed out, followed more slowly by Waring. At the door the
tractor-beam man paused, addressed one printable and three unprintable words to
O'Mara, grinned suddenly and left. The Major sighed.
"O'Mara," he said sternly, "you're out of a job again, and while I don't
as a rule give unasked for advice I would like to remind you of a few facts. In
a few weeks time the staff and maintenance engineers for this hospital will be
arriving and they will be comprised of practically every known species in the
galaxy. My job is to settle them in and keep friction from developing between
them so that eventually they will work together as a team. No text-book rules
have been written to cover this sort of thing yet, but before they sent me here
my superiors said that it would require a good rule-of-thumb psychologist with
plenty of common sense who was not afraid to take calculated risks. I think it
goes without saying that two such psychologists would be even better..."
O'Mara was listening to him all right, but he was thinking of that grin
he'd got from Waring. Both the infant and Waring were going to be all right now,
he knew, and in his present happy state of mind he could refuse nothing to
anybody. But apparently the Major had mistaken his abstraction for something
else.
"...Dammit I'm offering you a job! You fit here, can't you see that? This
is a hospital, man, and you've cured our first patient...
CHAPTER 2
SECTOR GENERAL
Like a sprawling, misshapen Christmas tree the lights of Sector Twelve General
Hospital blazed against the misty backdrop of the
stars. From its view-ports shone lights that were yellow and red-orange and
soft, liquid green, and others which were a searing actinic blue. There was
darkness in places also. Behind these areas of opaque metal plating lay sections
wherein the lighting was so viciously incandescent that the eyes of approaching
ships' pilots had to be protected from it, or compartments which were so dark
and cold that not even the light which filtered in from the stars could be
allowed to penetrate to their inhabitants.
To the occupants of the Telfi ship which slid out of hyper-space to hang
some twenty miles from this mighty structure, the garish display of visual
radiation was too dim to be detected without the use of instruments. The Telfi
were energy-eaters. Their ship's hull shone with a crawling blue glow of
radioactivity and its interior was awash with a high level of hard radiation
which was also in all respects normal. Only in the stern section of the tiny
ship were the conditions not normal. Here the active core of a power pile lay
scattered in small, sub critical and unshielded masses throughout the ship's
Planetary Engines room, and here it was too hot even for the Telfi.
The group-mind entity that was the Telfi spaceship Captain-and Crew-
energized its short-range communicator and spoke in the staccato clicking and
buzzing language used to converse with those benighted beings who were unable to
merge into a Telfi gestalt.
"This is a Telfi hundred-unit gestalt," it said slowly and distinctly.
"We have casualties and require assistance. Our Classification to one group is
VTXM, repeat VTXM. .
"Details, please, and degree of urgency," said a voice briskly as the
Telfi was about to repeat the message. It was translated into the same language
used by the Captain. The Telfi gave details quickly, then waited. Around it and
through it lay the hundred specialized units that were both its mind and
multiple body. Some of the units were blind, deaf and perhaps even dead cells
that received or recorded no sensory impressions whatever, but there were others
who radiated waves of such sheer, excruciating agony that the group-mind writhed
and twisted silently in sympathy. Would that voice never reply, they wondered,
and if it did, would it be able to help them...?
"You must not approach the Hospital nearer than a distance of five miles,"
said the voice suddenly. "Otherwise there will be danger to unshielded traffic
in the vicinity, or to beings within the establishment with low radiation
tolerance."
"We understand," said the Telfi.
"Very well," said the voice. "You must also realize that your race is too
hot for us to handle directly. Remote controlled mechanisms are already on the
way to you, and it would ease the problem of evacuation if you arranged to have
your casualties brought as closely as possible to the ship's largest entry port.
If this cannot be done, do not worry-we have mechanisms capable of entering your
vessel and removing them."
The voice ended by saying that while they hoped to be able to help the
patients, any sort of accurate prognosis was impossible at the present time.
The Telfi gestalt thought that soon the agony that tortured its mind and
wide-flung multiple body would be gone, but so also would nearly one quarter of
that body...
With that feeling of happiness possible only with eight hours sleep behind, a
comfortable breakfast within and an interesting job in front of one, Conway
stepped out briskly for his wards. They were not really his wards, of course-if
anything went seriously wrong in one of them the most he would be expected to do
would be to scream for help. But considering the fact that he had been here only
two months he did not mind that, or knowing that it would be a long time before
he could be trusted to deal with cases requiring other than mechanical methods
of treatment.
Complete knowledge of any alien physiology could be obtained within minutes by
Educator tape, but the skill to use that knowledge-especially in surgery-came
only with time. Conway was looking forward with conscious pride to spending his
life acquiring that skill.
At an intersection Conway saw an FGLJ he knew-a Tralthan intern who was
humping his elephantine body along on six spongy feet. The stubby legs seemed
even more rubbery than usual and the little OTSB who lived in symbiosis with it
was practically comatose. Conway said brightly, "Good morning," and received a
translated-and therefore necessarily emotionless-reply of "Drop dead." Conway
grinned.
There had been considerable activity in and about Reception last evening.
Conway had not been called, but it looked as though the Tralthan had missed both
his recreation and rest periods.
A few yards beyond the Tralthan he met another who was walking slowly
alongside a small DBDG like himself. Not entirely like himself, though-DBDG was
the one-group classification which gave the grosser physical attributes, the
number of arms, heads, legs, etc., and their placement. The fact that the being
had seven-fingered hands, stood only four feet tall and looked like a very
cuddly teddy bear-Conway had forgotten the being's system of origin, but
remembered being told that it came from a world which had suffered a sudden bout
of glaciation which had caused its highest life-form to develop intelligence and
a thick red fur coat-would not have shown up unless the Classification were
taken to two or three groups. The DBDG had his hands clasped behind his back and
was staring with vacant intensity at the floor. His hulking companion showed
similar concentration, but favored the ceiling because of the different position
of his visual organs. Both wore their professional insignia on golden armbands,
which meant that they were lordly Diagnosticians, no less. Conway refrained from
saying good morning to them as he passed, or from making undue noise with his
feet.
Possibly they were deeply immersed in some medical problem, Conway
thought, or equally likely, they had just had a tiff and were pointedly ignoring
each other's existence. Diagnosticians were peculiar people. It wasn't that they
were insane to begin with, but their job forced a form of insanity onto them.
At each corridor intersection annunciators had been pouring out an alien gabble
which he had only half heard in passing, but when it switched suddenly to Terran
English and Conway heard his own name being called, surprise halted him dead in
his tracks.
To Admittance Lock Twelve at once," the voice was repeating monotonously.
"Classification VTXM-23. Dr. Conway, please go to Admittance Lock Twelve at
once. A VTXM-23 . .
Conway's first thought was that they could not possibly mean him. This
looked as if he was being asked to deal with a case-a big one, too, because the
"23" after the classification code referred to the number of patients to be
treated. And that Classification, VTXM, was completely new to him. Conway knew
what the letters stood for, of course, but he had never thought that they could
exist in that combination. The nearest he could make of them was some form of
telepathic species-the V prefixing the classification showed this as their most
important attribute, and that mere physical equipment was secondary-who existed
by the direct conversion of radiant energy, and usually as a closely cooperative
group or gestalt. While he was still wondering if he was ready to cope with a
case like this, his feet had turned and were taking him toward Lock Twelve.
His patients were waiting for him at the lock, in a small metal box heaped
around with lead bricks and already loaded onto a power stretcher carrier. The
orderly told him briefly that the beings called themselves the Telfi, that
preliminary diagnosis indicated the use of the Radiation Theater, which was
being readied for him, and that owing to the portability of his patients he
could save time by calling with them to the Educator room and leaving them
outside while he took his Telfi physiology tape.
Conway nodded thanks, hopped onto the carrier and set it moving, trying to
give the impression that he did this sort of thing every day.
In Conway's pleasurable but busy life with the high unusual establishment
that was Sector General there was only one sour note, and he met it again when
he entered the Educator room: there was a Monitor in charge. Conway disliked
Monitors. The presence of one affected him rather like the close proximity of a
carrier of a contagious disease. And while Conway was proud of the fact that as
a sane, civilized and ethical being he could never bring himself actually to
hate anybody or anything, he disliked Monitors intensely. He knew, of course,
that there were people who went off the beam sometimes, and that there had to be
somebody who could take the action necessary to preserve the peace. But with his
abhorrence of violence in any form, Conway could not like the men who took that
action.
And what were Monitors doing in a hospital anyway?
The figure in neat, dark green coveralls seated before the Educator
control console turned quickly at his entrance and Conway got another shock. As
well as a Major's insignia on his shoulder, the Monitor wore the Staff and
Serpents emblem of a Doctor!
"My name is O'Mara," said the Major in a pleasant voice. "I'm the Chief
Psychologist of this madhouse. You, I take it, are Dr. Conway." He smiled.
Conway made himself smile in return, knowing that it looked forced, and
that the other knew it also.
"You want the Telfi tape," O'Mara said, a trifle less warmly. "Well,
Doctor, you've picked a real weirdie this time. Be sure you get it erased as
soon as possible after the job is done-believe me, this isn't one you'll want to
keep. Thumb-print this and sit over there."
While the Educator head-band and electrodes were being fitted, Conway tried to
keep his face neutral, and keep from flinching away from the Major's hard,
capable hands. O'Mara's hair was a dull, metallic gray in color, cut short, and
his eyes also had the piercing qualities of metal. Those eyes had observed his
reactions, Conway knew, and now an equally sharp mind was forming conclusions
regarding them.
"Well, that's it," said O'Mara when finally it was all over. "But before
you go, Doctor, I think you and I should have a little chat; a re-orientation
talk, let's call it. Not now, though, you've got a case-but very soon.
Conway felt the eyes boring into his back as he left.
He should have been trying to make his mind a blank as he had been told to
do, so the knowledge newly impressed there could bed down comfortably, but all
Conway could think about was the fact that a Monitor was a high member of the
hospital's permanent staff-and a doctor, to boot. How could the two professions
mix? Conway thought of the armband he wore which bore the Tralthan Black and Red
Circle, the Flaming Sun of the chlorine-breathing Illensa and intertwining
Serpents and Staff of Earth-all the honored symbols of Medicine of the three
chief races of the Galactic Union. And here was this Dr. O'Mara whose collar
said he was a healer and whose shoulder tabs said he was something else
entirely.
One thing was now sure: Conway would never feel really content here again
until he discovered why the Chief Psychologist of the hospital was a Monitor.
II
This was Conway's first experience of an alien physiology tape, and he noted
with interest the mental double vision which had increasingly begun to affect
his mind-a sure sign that the tape had "taken." By the time he had reached the
Radiation Theater, he felt himself to be two people-an Earth-human called Conway
and the great, five-hundred unit Telfi gestalt which had been formed to prepare
a mental record of all that was known regarding the physiology of that race.
That was the only disadvantage-if it was a disadvantage-of the Educator Tape
system. Not only was knowledge impressed on the mind undergoing "tuition," the
personalities of the entities who had possessed that knowledge was transferred
as well. Small wonder then that the Diagnosticians, who held in their mind
sometimes as many as ten different tapes, were a little bit queer.
A Diagnostician had the most important job in the hospital, Conway
thought, as he donned radiation armor and readied his patients for the
preliminary examination. He had sometimes thought in his more self-confident
moments of becoming one himself. Their chief purpose was to perform original
work in xenological medicine and surgery, using their tape-stuffed brains as a
jumping-off ground, and to rally round, when a case arrived for which there was
no physiology tape available, to diagnose and prescribe treatment.
Not for them were the simple, mundane injuries and diseases. For a
Diagnostician to look at a patient that patient had to be unique, hopeless and
at least three-quarters dead. When one did take charge of a case though, the
patient was as good as cured-they achieved miracles with monotonous regularity.
With the lower orders of doctor there was always the temptation, Conway
knew, to keep the contents of a tape rather than have it erased, in the hope of
making some original discovery that would bring them fame. In practical, level-
headed men like himself, however, it remained just that, a temptation.
Conway did not see his tiny patients even though he examined them individually.
He couldn't unless he went to a lot of unnecessary trouble with shielding and
mirrors to do so. But he knew what they were like, both inside and out, because
the tape had practically made him one of them. That knowledge, taken together
with the results of his examinations and the case history supplied him, told
Conway everything he wanted to know to begin treatment.
His patients had been part of a Telfi gestalt engaged in operating an
interstellar cruiser when there had been an accident in one of the power piles.
The small, beetle-like and-individually-very stupid beings were radiation
eaters, but that flare-up had been too much even for them. Their trouble could
be classed as an extremely severe case of over-eating coupled with prolonged
over-stimulation of their sensory equipment, especially of the pain centers. If
he simply kept them in a shielded container and starved them of radiation-a
course of treatment impossible on their highly radioactive ship-about seventy
percent of them could be expected to cure themselves in a few hours. They would
be the lucky ones, and Conway could even tell which of them came into that
category. Those remaining would be a tragedy because if they did not suffer
actual physical death their fate would be very much worse: they would lose the
ability to join minds, and that in a Telfi was tantamount to being a hopeless
cripple.
Only someone who shared the mind, personality and instincts of a Telfi,
could appreciate the tragedy it was.
It was a great pity, especially as the case history showed that it was
these individuals who had forced themselves to adapt and remain operative during
that sudden flare of radiation for the few seconds necessary to scatter the pile
and so save their ship from complete destruction. Now their metabolism had found
a precarious balance based on three times the Telfi normal energy intake. If
this intake of energy was interrupted for any lengthy period of time, say a few
more hours, the communications centers of their brains would suffer. They would
be left like so many dismembered hands and feet, with just enough intelligence
to know that they had been cut off. On the other hand, if their upped energy-
intake was continued they would literally burn themselves out within a week.
But there was a line of treatment indicated for these unfortunates, the
only one, in fact. As Conway prepared his servos for the work ahead he felt that
it was a highly unsatisfactory line-a matter of calculated risks, of cold,
medical statistics which nothing he could do would influence. He felt himself to
be little more than a mechanic.
Working quickly, he ascertained that sixteen of his patients were
suffering from the Telfi equivalent of acute indigestion. These he separated
into shielded, absorbent bottles so that re-radiation from their still "hot"
bodies would not slow the "starving" process. The bottles he placed in a small
pile furnace set to radiate at Telfi normal, with a detector in each which would
cause the shielding to fall away from them as soon as their excess radioactivity
had gone. The remaining seven would require special treatment. He had placed
them in another pile, and was setting the controls to simulate as closely as
possible the conditions which had obtained during the accident in their ship,
when the nearby communicator beeped at him. Conway finished what he was doing,
checked it, then said "Yes?"
"This is Enquiries, Dr. Conway. We've had a signal from the Telfi ship
asking about their casualties. Have you any news for them yet?"
Conway knew that his news was not too bad, considering, but he wished
intensely that it could be better. The breaking up or modification of a Telfi
gestalt once formed could only be likened to a death trauma to the entities
concerned, and with the empathy which came as a result of absorbing their
physiology tape Conway felt for them. He said carefully, "Sixteen of them will
be good as new in roughly four hours time. The other seven will be fifty percent
fatalities, I'm afraid, but we won't know which for another few days. I have
them baking in a pile at over double their normal radiation requirements, and
this will gradually be reduced to normal. Half of them should live through it.
Do you understand?"
"Got you." After a few minutes the voice returned. It said, "The Telfi say
that is very good, and thank you. Out."
He should have been pleased at dealing successfully with his first case,
but Conway somehow felt let down. Now that it was over his mind felt strangely
confused. He kept thinking that fifty percent of seven was three and a half, and
what would they do with the odd half Telfi? He hoped that four would pull
through instead of three, and that they would not be mental cripples. He thought
that it must be nice to be a Telfi, to soak up radiation all the time, and the
rich and varied impressions of a corporate body numbering perhaps hundreds of
individuals. It made his body feel somehow cold and alone. It was an effort to
drag himself away from the warmth of the Radiation Theater.
Outside he mounted the carrier and left it back at the admittance lock.
The right thing to do now was to report to the Educator room and have the Telfi
tape erased-he had been ordered to do that, in fact. But he did not want to go;
the thought of O'Mara made him intensely uncomfortable, even a little afraid.
Conway knew that all Monitors made him feel uncomfortable, but this was
different. It was O'Mara's attitude, and that little chat he had mentioned.
Conway had felt small, as if the Monitor was his superior in some fashion, and
for the life of him Conway could not understand how he could feel small before a
lousy Monitor!
The intensity of his feelings shocked him; as a civilized, well integrated
being he should be incapable of thinking such thoughts. His emotions had verged
upon actual hatred. Frightened of himself this time, Conway brought his mind
under a semblance of control. He decided to side-step the question and not
report to the Educator room until after he had done the rounds of his wards. It
was a legitimate excuse if O'Mara should query the delay, and the Chief
Psychologist might leave or be called away in the meantime. Conway hoped so.
His first call was on an AUGL from Chalderescol II, the sole occupant of
the ward reserved for that species. Conway climbed into the appropriate
protective garment-a simple diving suit in this instance-and went through the
lock into the tank of green, tepid water which reproduced the being's living
conditions. He collected the instruments from the locker inside, then loudly
signaled his presence. If the Chalder was really asleep down there and he
startled it the results could be serious. One accidental flick of that tail and
the ward would contain two patients instead of one.
The Chalder was heavily plated and scaled, and slightly resembled a forty-
foot-long crocodile except that instead of legs there was an apparently
haphazard arrangement of stubby fins and a fringe of ribbon-like tentacles
encircling its middle. It drifted limply near the bottom of the huge tank, the
only sign of life being the periodic fogging of the water around its gills.
Conway gave it a perfunctory examination-he was way behind time due to the Telfi
job-and asked the usual question. The answer came through the water in some
unimaginable form to Conway's translator attachment and into his phones as slow,
toneless speech.
"I am grievously ill," said the Chalder, "I suffer."
You lie, thought Conway silently, in all six rows of your teeth! Dr.
Lister, Sector General's Director and probably the foremost Diagnostician of the
day, had practically taken this Chalder apart. His diagnosis had been
hypochondria and the condition incurable. He had further stated that the signs
of strain in certain sections of the patient's body plating, and its discomfort
in those areas, were due simply to the big so-and-so's laziness and gluttony.
Anybody knew that an exoskeletal life-form could not put on weight except from
inside! Diagnosticians were not noted for their bedside manners.
The Chalder became really ill only when it was in danger of being sent
home, so the Hospital had acquired a permanent patient. But it did not mind.
Visiting as well as Staff medics and psychologists had given it a going over,
and continued to do so; also all the interns and nurses of all the multitudinous
races represented on the hospital's staff. Regularly and at short intervals it
was probed, pried into and unmercifully pounded by trainees of varying degrees
of gentleness, and it loved every minute of
it. The hospital was happy with the arrangement and so was the Chalder. Nobody
mentioned going home to it anymore.
III
Conway paused for a moment as he swam to the top of the great tank; he felt
peculiar. His next call was supposed to be on two methane breathing life-forms
in the lower temperature ward of his section, and he felt strongly loath to go.
Despite the warmth of the water and the heat of his exertions while swimming
around his massive patient he felt cold, and he would have given anything to
have a bunch of students come flapping into the tank just for the company.
Usually Conway did not like company, especially that of trainees, but now he
felt cut-off, alone and friendless. The feelings were so strong they frightened
him. A talk with a psychologist was definitely indicated, he thought, though not
necessarily with O'Mara.
The construction of the hospital in this section resembled a heap of
spaghetti-straight, bent and indescribably curved pieces of spaghetti. Each
corridor containing an Earth-type atmosphere, for instance, was paralleled
above, below and on each side-as well as being crossed above and below at
frequent intervals-by others having different and mutually deadly variations of
atmosphere, pressure and temperature. This was to facilitate the visiting of any
given patient-species by any other species of doctor in the shortest possible
time in case of emergency, because traveling the length of the hospital in a
suit designed to protect a doctor against his patient's environment on arrival
was both uncomfortable and slow. It had been found more efficient to change into
the necessary protective suit outside the wards being visited, as Conway had
done.
Remembering the geography of this section Conway knew that there was a
shortcut he could use to get to his frigid-blooded patients-along the water
filled corridor which led to the Chalder operating theater, through the lock
into the chlorine atmosphere of the Illensan PVSJs and up two levels to the
methane ward. This way would mean his staying in warm water for a little longer,
and he was definitely feeling cold.
A convalescent PVSJ rustled past him on spiny, membranous appendages in
the chlorine section and Conway found himself wanting desperately to talk to it,
about anything. He had to force himself to go on.
The protective suit worn by DBDGs like himself while visiting the methane
ward was in reality a small mobile tank. It was fitted with heaters inside to
keep its occupant alive and refrigerators outside so that the leakage of heat
would not immediately shrivel the patients to whom the slightest glow of radiant
heat-or even light-was lethal. Conway had no idea how the scanner he used in the
examinations worked-only those gadget-mad beings with the Engineering armbands
knew that-except that it wasn't by infrared. That also was too hot for them.
As he worked Conway turned the heaters up until the sweat rolled off him
and still he felt cold. He was suddenly afraid. Suppose he had caught something?
When he was outside in air again he looked at the tiny tell-tale that was
surgically embedded on the inner surface of his forearm. His pulse, respiration
and endocrine balance were normal except for the minor irregularities caused by
his worrying, and there was nothing foreign in his bloodstream. What was wrong
with him?
Conway finished his rounds as quickly as possible. He felt confused again. If
his mind was playing tricks on him he was going to take the necessary steps to
rectify the matter. It must be something to do with the Telfi tape he had
absorbed. O'Mara had said something about it, though he could not remember
exactly what at the moment. But he would go to the Educator room right away,
O'Mara or no O'Mara.
Two Monitors passed him while he was on the way, both armed. Conway knew
that he should feel his usual hostility toward them, also shock that they were
armed inside a hospital, and he did, but he also wanted to slap their backs or
even hug them: he desperately wanted to have people around, talking and
exchanging ideas and impressions so that he would not feel so terribly alone. As
they drew level with him Conway managed to get out a shaky "Hello." It was the
first time he had spoken to a Monitor in his life.
One of the Monitors smiled slightly, the other nodded. Both gave him odd
looks over their shoulders as they passed because his teeth were chattering so
much.
His intention of going to the Educator room had been clearly formed, but
now it did not seem to be such a good idea. It was cold and dark there with all
those machines and shaded lighting, and the only company might be O'Mara. Conway
wanted to lose himself in a crowd, and the bigger the better. He thought of the
nearby dining hall and turned toward it. Then at an intersection he saw a sign
reading "Diet Kitchen, Wards 52 to 68, Species DBDG, DBLF & FGLI." That made him
remember how terribly cold he felt...
The Dietitians were too busy to notice him. Conway picked an oven which
was fairly glowing with heat and lay down against it, letting the germ-killing
ultraviolet which flooded the place bathe him and ignoring the charred smell
given off by his light clothing. He felt warmer now, a little warmer, but the
awful sense of being utterly and completely alone would not leave him. He was
cut off, unloved and unwanted. He wished that he had never been born.
When a Monitor-one of the two he had recently passed whose curiosity had
been aroused by Conway's strange behavior-wearing a hastily borrowed heat suit
belonging to one of the Cook-Dietitians got to him a few minutes later, the big,
slow tears were running down Conway's cheeks...
"You," said a well-remembered voice, "are a very lucky and very stupid young
man.
Conway opened his eyes to find that he was on the Erasure couch and that
O'Mara and another Monitor were looking down at him. His back felt as though it
had been cooked medium rare and his whole body stung as if with a bad dose of
sunburn. O'Mara was glaring furiously at him, he spoke again.
"Lucky not to be seriously burned and blinded, and stupid because you
forgot to inform me on one very important point, namely that this was your first
experience with the Educator. .
O'Mara's tone became faintly self-accusatory at this point, but only
faintly. He went onto say that had he been thus informed he would have given
Conway a hypno-treatment which would have enabled the doctor to differentiate
between his own needs and those of the Telfi sharing his mind. He only realized
that Conway was a first-timer when he filed the thumb-printed slip, and dammit
how was he to know who was new and who wasn't in a place this size! And anyway,
if Conway had thought more of his job and less of the fact that a Monitor was
giving him the tape, this would never have happened.
Conway, O'Mara continued bitingly, appeared to be a self-righteous bigot
who made no pretense at hiding his feelings of defilement at the touch of an
uncivilized brute of a Monitor. How a person intelligent enough to gain
appointment to this hospital could also hold those sort of feelings was beyond
O'Mara's understanding.
Conway felt his face burning. It had been stupid of him to forget to tell
the psychologist that he was a first-timer. O'Mara could easily bring charges of
personal negligence against him-a charge almost as serious as carelessness with
a patient in a multi-environment hospital-and have Conway kicked out. But that
possibility did not weigh too heavily with him at the moment, terrible though it
was. What got him was the fact that he was being told off by a Monitor, and
before another Monitor!
The man who must have carried him here was gazing down at him, a look of
half-humorous concern in his steady brown eyes. Conway found that harder to take
even than O'Mara's abusiveness. How dare a Monitor feel sorry for him!
... And if you're still wondering what happened," O'Mara was saying in
withering tones, "you allowed-through inexperience, I admit- the Telfi
personality contained in the tape to temporarily overcome your own. Its need for
hard radiation, intense heat and light and above all the mental fusion necessary
to a group-mind entity, became your needs- transferred into their nearest human
equivalents, of course. For a while you were experiencing life as a single Telfi
being, and an individual Telfi- cut off from all mental contact with the others
of its group-is an unhappy beastie indeed."
O'Mara had cooled somewhat as his explanation proceeded. His voice was
almost impersonal as he went on, "You're suffering from little more than a bad
case of sunburn. Your back will be tender for a while and later it will itch.
Serves you right. Now go away. I don't want to see you again until hour nine the
day after tomorrow. Keep that hour free. That's an order-we have to have a
little talk, remember?"
Outside in the corridor Conway had a feeling of complete deflation coupled with
an anger that threatened to burst out of all control-an intensely frustrating
combination. In all his twenty-three years of life he
could not remember being subjected to such extreme mental discomfort. f He had
been made to feel like a small boy-a bad, maladjusted small
boy. Conway had always been a very good, well-mannered boy. It hurt.
He had not noticed that his rescuer was still beside him until the other
spoke.
"Don't go worrying yourself about the Major," the Monitor said
sympathetically. "He's really a nice man, and when you see him again you'll find
out for yourself. At the moment he's tired and a bit touchy. You see, there are
three companies just arrived and more coming. But they won't be much use to us
in their present state-they're in a bad way with combat fatigue, most of 'em.
Major O'Mara and his staff have to give them some psychological first aid
before-"
"Combat fatigue," said Conway in the most insulting tone of which he was
capable. He was heartily sick of people he considered his intellectual and moral
inferiors either ranting at him or sympathizing with him. "I suppose," he added,
"that means they've grown tired of killing people?"
He saw the Monitor's young-old face stiffen and something that was both
hurt and anger burn in his eyes. He stopped. He opened his mouth for an O'Mara-
type blast of invective, then thought better of it. He said quietly, "For
someone who has been here for two months you have, to put it mildly, a very
unrealistic attitude toward the Monitor Corps. I can't understand that. Have you
been too busy to talk to people or something?"
"No," replied Conway coldly, "but where I come from we do not discuss
persons of your type, we prefer pleasanter topics."
"I hope," said the Monitor, "that all your friends-if you have friends,
that is-indulge in backslapping." He turned and marched off.
Conway winced in spite of himself at the thought of anything heavier than
a feather hitting his scorched and tender back. But he was thinking of the
other's earlier words, too. So his attitude toward Monitors was unrealistic? Did
they want him, then, to condone violence and murder and befriend those who were
responsible for it? And he had also mentioned the arrival of several companies
of Monitors. Why? What for? Anxiety began to eat at the edges of his hitherto
solid block of self-confidence. There was something here that he was missing,
something important.
When he had first arrived at Sector General the being who had given
Conway his original instructions and assignments had added a little pep talk. It
had said that Dr. Conway had passed a great many tests to come here and that
they welcomed him and hoped he would be happy enough in his work to stay. The
period of trial was now over, and henceforth nobody would be trying to catch him
out, but if for any reason-friction with his own or any other species, or the
appearance of some xenological psychosis-he became so distressed that he could
no longer stay, then with great reluctance he would be allowed to leave.
He had also been advised to meet as many different entities as possible
and try to gain mutual understanding, if not their friendship. Finally he had
been told that if he should get into trouble through ignorance or any other
reason, he should contact either of two Earth-human beings who were called
O'Mara and Bryson, depending on the nature of his trouble, though a qualified
being of any species would, of course, help him on request.
Immediately afterward he had met the Surgeon-in-Charge of the wards to
which he had been posted, a very able Earth-human called Mannon. Dr. Mannon was
not yet a Diagnostician, though he was trying hard, and was therefore still
quite human for long periods during the day. He was the proud possessor of a
small dog which stuck so close to him that visiting extra-terrestrials were
inclined to assume a symbolic relationship. Conway liked Dr. Mannon a lot, but
now he was beginning to realize that his superior was the only being of his own
species toward whom he had any feeling of friendship.
That was a bit strange, surely. It made Conway begin to wonder about
himself.
After that reassuring pep-talk Conway had thought he was all set-
especially when he found how easy it was to make friends with the e-t members of
the Staff. He had not warmed to his human colleagues- with the one exception-
because of their tendency to be flippant or cynical regarding the very important
and worthwhile work he, and they, were doing. But the idea of friction
developing was laughable.
That was before today, though, when O'Mara had made him feel small and
stupid, accused him of bigotry and intolerance, and generally cut his ego to
pieces. This, quite definitely, was friction developing, and if such treatment
at the hands of Monitors continued Conway knew that he would be driven to leave.
He was a civilized and ethical human being-why were the Monitors in a position
to tell him off? Conway just could not understand it at all. Two things he did
know, however; he wanted to remain at the hospital, and to do that he needed
help.
IV
The name "Bryson" popped into his mind suddenly, one of the names he had been
given should he get into trouble. O'Mara, the other name, was out, but this
Bryson now...
Conway had never met anyone with that name, but by asking a passing
Tralthan he received directions for finding him. He got only as far as the door,
which bore the legend, "Captain Bryson, Monitor Corps, Chaplain," then he turned
angrily away. Another Monitor! There was just one person left who might help
him: Dr. Mannon. He should have tried him first.
But his superior, when Conway ran him down, was sealed in the LSVO theater
where he was assisting a Tralthan Surgeon-Diagnostician in a very tricky piece
of work. He went up to the observation gallery to wait until Mannon had
finished.
The LSVO came from a planet of dense atmosphere and negligible gravity. It
was a winged life-form of extreme fragility, which necessitated the theater
being at almost zero gravity and the surgeons strapped to their position around
the table. The little OTSB who lived in symbiosis with the elephantine Tralthan
was not strapped down, but held securely above the operative field by one of its
host's secondary tentacles-the OTSB life-form, Conway knew, could not lose
physical contact with its host for more than a few minutes without suffering
severe mental damage. Interested despite his own troubles, he began to
concentrate on what they were doing.
A section of the patient's digestive tract had been bared, revealing a
spongy, bluish growth adhering to it. Without the LSVO physiology tape Conway
could not tell whether the patient's condition was serious or not, but the
operation was certainly a technically difficult one. He could tell by the way
Mannon hunched forward over it and by the tightly-coiled tentacles of the
Tralthan not then in use. As was normal, the little OTSB with its cluster of
wire-thin, eye- and sucker-tipped tentacles was doing the fine, exploratory
work-sending infinitely detailed visual information of the field to its giant
host, and receiving back instructions based on that data. The Tralthan and Dr.
Mannon attended to the relatively crude work of clamping, tying-off and swabbing
out.
Dr. Mannon had little to do but watch as the super-sensitive tentacles of
the Tralthan's parasite were guided in their work by the host, but Conway knew
that the other was proud of the chance to do even that. The Tralthan combination
were the greatest surgeons the Galaxy had ever known. All surgeons would have
been Tralthans had not their bulk and operating procedure made it impossible to
treat certain forms of life.
Conway was waiting when they came out of the theater. One of the Tralthan's
tentacles flicked out and tapped Dr. Mannon sharply on the head-a gesture which
was a high compliment-and immediately a small bundle of fur and teeth streaked
from behind a locker toward the great being who was apparently attacking its
master. Conway had seen this game played out many times and it still seemed
wildly ludicrous to him. As Mannon's dog barked furiously at the creature
towering above both itself and its master, challenging it to a duel to the
death, the Tralthan shrank back in mock terror and cried, "Save me from this
fearsome beast!" The dog, still barking furiously, circled it, snapping at the
leathery tegument protecting the Tralthan's six, blocky legs. The Tralthan
retreated precipitously, the while calling loudly for aid and being very careful
that its tiny attacker was not splattered under one of its elephantine feet. And
so the sounds of battle receded down the corridor.
When the noise had diminished sufficiently for him to be heard, Conway
said, "Doctor, I wonder if you could help me. I need advice, or at least
information. But it's a rather delicate matter.
Conway saw Dr. Mannon's eyebrows go up and a smile quirk the corners of
his mouth. He said, "I'd be glad to help you, of course, but I'm afraid any
advice I could give you at the moment would be pretty poor stuff." He made a
disgusted face and flapped his arms up and down. "I've still got an LSVO tape
working on me. You know how it is-half of me thinks I'm a bird and the other
half is a little confused about it. But what sort of advice do you need?" he
went on, his head perking to one side in an oddly bird-like manner. "If it's
that peculiar form of madness called young love, or any other psychological
disturbance, I'd suggest you see O'Mara."
Conway shook his head quickly; anybody but O'Mara. He said, "No. It's more
of a philosophical nature, a matter of ethics, maybe..
"Is that all!" Mannon burst out. He was about to say something more when
his face took on a fixed, listening expression. With a sudden jerk of his thumb
he indicated a nearby wall annunciator. He said quietly, "The solution to your
weighty problems will have to wait-you're wanted."
..... Dr. Conway," the annunciator was saying briskly, "Go to room 87 and
administer pep-shots...
"But 87 isn't even in our section!" Conway protested. "What's going on
here...
Dr. Mannon had become suddenly grim. "I think I know," he said, "and I
advise you to keep a few of those shots for yourself because you are going to
need them." He turned abruptly and hurried off, muttering something about
getting a fast erasure before they started screaming for him, too.
Room 87 was the Casualty Section's staff recreation room, and when Conway
arrived its tables, chairs and even parts of its floor were asprawl with green-
clad Monitors, some of whom had not the energy to lift their heads when he came
in. One figure pushed itself out of a chair with extreme difficulty and weaved
toward him. It was another Monitor with a Major's insignia on his shoulders and
the Staff and Serpents on his collar. He said, "Maximum dosage. Start with me,"
and began shrugging out of his tunic.
Conway looked around the room. There must have been nearly a hundred of
them, all in stages of advanced exhaustion and their faces showing that tell-
tale gray coloration. He still did not feel well disposed toward Monitors, but
these were, after a fashion, patients, and his duty was clear.
"As a doctor I advise strongly against this," Conway said gravely. "It's
obvious that you've had pep-shots already-far too many of them. What you need is
sleep-"
"Sleep?" said a voice somewhere. "What's that?"
"Quiet, Teirnan," said the Major tiredly, then to Conway; "And as a doctor
I understand the risks. I suggest we waste no more time."
Rapidly and expertly Conway set about administering the shots. Dull eyed,
bone-weary men lined up before him and five minutes later left the room with a
spring in their step and their eyes too bright with artificial vitality. He had
just finished when he heard his name over the annunciator again, ordering him to
Lock Six to await instructions there. Lock Six, Conway knew, was one of the
subsidiary entrances to the Casualty section.
While he was hurrying in that direction Conway realized suddenly that he
was tired and hungry, but he did not get the chance to think about it for long.
The annunciators were giving out a call for all junior interns to report to
Casualty, and directions for adjacent wards to be evacuated where possible to
other accommodation. An alien gabble interspersed these messages as other
species received similar instructions.
Obviously the Casualty section was being extended. But why, and where were
all the casualties coming from? Conway's mind was a confused and rather tired
question mark.
V
At Lock Six a Tralthan Diagnostician was deep in conversation with two Monitors.
Conway felt a sense of outrage at the sight of the highest and the lowest being
so chummy together, then reflected with a touch of bitterness that nothing about
this place could surprise him anymore. There were two more Monitors beside the
Lock's direct vision panel.
"Hello, Doctor," one of them said pleasantly. He nodded toward the view
port. "They're unloading at Locks Eight, Nine and Eleven. We'll be getting our
quota any minute now.
The big transparent panel framed an awesome sight: Conway had never seen
so many ships together at one time. More than thirty sleek, silver needles,
ranging from ten-man pleasure yachts to the gargantuan transports of the Monitor
Corps wove a slowly, complicated pattern in and around each other as they waited
permission to lock-on and unload.
"Tricky work, that," the Monitor observed.
Conway agreed. The repulsion fields which protected ships against
collision with the various forms of cosmic detritus required plenty of space.
Meteorite screens had to be set up a minimum of five miles away from the ship
they protected if heavenly bodies large and small were to be successfully
deflected from them-further away if it was a bigger ship. But the ships outside
were a mere matter of hundreds of yards apart, and had no collision protection
except the skill of their pilots. The pilots would be having a trying time at
the moment.
But Conway had little time for sight-seeing before three Earth-human
interns arrived. They were followed quickly by two of the red-furred DBDGs and a
caterpillar-like DBLF, all wearing medical insignia. There came a heavy scrape
of metal against metal, the lock tell-tales turned from red to green indicating
that a ship was properly connected up, and the patients began to stream through.
Carried in stretchers by Monitors they were of two kinds only:
DBDGs of the Earth-human type and DBLF caterpillars. Conway's job, and that of
the other doctors present, was to examine them and route them through to the
proper department of Casualty for treatment. He got down to work, assisted by a
Monitor who possessed all the attributes of a trained nurse except the insignia.
He said his name was Williamson.
The sight of the first case gave Conway a shock-not because it was
serious, but because of the nature of the injuries. The third made him stop so
that his Monitor assistant looked at him questioningly.
"What sort of accident was this?" Conway burst out. "Multiple punctures,
but the edge of the wounds cauterized. Lacerated punctures, as if from fragments
thrown out by an explosion. How...
The Monitor said, "We kept it quiet, of course, but I thought here at
least the rumor would have got to everybody." His lips tightened and the look
that identified all Monitors to Conway deepened in his eyes. "They decided to
have a war," he went on, nodding at the Earth-human and DBLF patients around
them. "I'm afraid it got a little out of control before we were able to clamp
down."
Conway thought sickly, A war... ! Human beings from Earth, or an Earth-
seeded planet, trying to kill members of the species that had so much in common
with them. He had heard that there were such things occasionally, but had never
really believed any intelligent species could go insane on such a large scale.
So many casualties...
He was not so bound up in his thoughts of loathing and disgust at this
frightful business that he missed noticing a very strange fact-that the
Monitor's expression mirrored his own! If Williamson thought that way about war,
too, maybe it was time he revised his thinking about the Monitor Corps in
general.
A sudden commotion a few yards to his right drew Conway's attention. An
Earth-human patient was objecting strenuously to the DBLF intern trying to
examine him, and the language he was using was not nice. The DBLF was
registering hurt bewilderment, though possibly the human had not sufficient
knowledge of its physiognomy to know that, and trying to reassure the patient in
flat, Translated tones.
It was Williamson who settled the business. He swung around on the loudly
protesting patient, bent forward until their faces were only inches apart, and
spoke in a low, almost conversational tone which nevertheless sent shivers along
Conway's spine.
Listen, friend," he said. "You say you object to one of the stinking
crawlers that tried to kill you trying to patch you up, right? Well, get this
into your head, and keep it there-this particular crawler is a doctor here.
Also, in this establishment there are no wars. You all belong to the same army
and the uniform is a nightshirt, so lay still, shut up and behave. Otherwise
I'll clip you one.
Conway returned to work underlining his mental note about revising his
thinking regarding Monitors. As the torn, battered and burnt life forms flowed
past under his hands his mind seemed strangely detached from it all. He kept
surprising Williamson with expressions on his face that seemed to give the lie
to some of the things he had been told about Monitors. This tireless, quiet man
with the rock-steady hands-was he a killer, a sadist of low intelligence and
nonexistent morals? It was hard to believe. As he watched the Monitor covertly
between patients, Conway gradually came to a decision. It was a very difficult
decision. If he wasn't careful he would very likely get clipped.
O'Mara had been impossible, so had Bryson and Mannon for various reasons,
but Williamson now...
"Ah... er, Williamson," Conway began hesitantly, then finished with a
rush, "have you ever killed anybody?"
The Monitor straightened suddenly, his lips a thin, bloodless line. He
said tonelessly, "You should know better than to ask a Monitor that question,
Doctor. Or should you?" He hesitated, his curiosity keeping check on the anger
growing in him because of the tangle of emotion which must have been mirrored on
Conway's face, then said heavily, "What's eating you, Doc?"
Conway wished fervently that he had never asked the question, but it was
too late to back out now. Stammering at first, he began to tell of his ideals of
service and of his alarm and confusion on discovering that Sector General-an
establishment which he had thought embodied all his high ideals-employed a
Monitor as its Chief Psychologist, and probably other members of the Corps in
positions of responsibility. Conway knew now that the Corps was not all bad,
that they had rushed units of their Medical Division here to aid them during the
present emergency. But even so, Monitors...!
"I'll give you another shock," Williamson said dryly, "by telling you
something that is so widely known that nobody thinks to mention it. Dr. Lister,
the Director, also belongs to the Monitor Corps.
"He doesn't wear uniform, of course," the Monitor added quickly, "because
Diagnosticians grow forgetful and are careless about small things. The Corps
frowns on untidiness, even in a Lieutenant-General."
Lister, a Monitor! "But, why?" Conway burst out in spite of himself.
"Everybody knows what you are. How did you gain power here in the first place .
..
"Everybody does not know, obviously," Williamson cut in, "because you
don't, for one.
VI
The Monitor was no longer angry, Conway saw as they finished with their current
patient and moved onto the next. Instead there was an expression on the other's
face oddly reminiscent of a parent about to lecture an offspring on some of the
unpleasant facts of life.
"Basically," said Williamson as he gently peeled back a field dressing of
a wounded DBLF, "your trouble is that you, and your whole social group, are a
protected species."
Conway said, "What?"
"A protected species," he repeated. "Shielded from the crudities of
present-day life. From your social strata-on all the worlds of the Union, not
only on Earth-come practically all the great artists, musicians and professional
men. Most of you live out your lives in ignorance of the fact that you are
protected, that you are insulated from childhood against the grosser realities
of our interstellar so-called civilization, and that your ideas of pacifism and
ethical behavior are a luxury which a great many of us simply cannot afford. You
are allowed this luxury in the hope that from it may come a philosophy which may
one day make every being in the Galaxy truly civilized, truly good."
"I didn't know," Conway stammered. "And.., and you make us- me, I mean-
look so useless..."
"Of course you didn't know," said Williamson gently. Conway wondered why
it was that such a young man could talk down to him without giving offense; he
seemed to possess authority somehow. Continuing, he said, "You were probably
reserved, untalkative and all wrapped up in your high ideals. Not that there's
anything wrong with them, understand, it's just that you have to allow for a
little gray with the black and white. Our present culture," he went on,
returning to the main line of discussion,
"is based on maximum freedom for the individual. An entity may do anything he
likes provided it is not injurious to others. Only Monitors forgo this freedom."
"What about the 'Normals' reservations?" Conway broke in. At last the
Monitor had made a statement which he could definitely contradict. "Being
policed by Monitors and confined to certain areas of country is not what I'd
call freedom."
"If you think back carefully," Williamson replied, "I think you will find
that the Normals-that is, the group on nearly every planet which thinks that,
unlike the brutish Monitors and the spineless aesthetes of your own strata, it
is truly representative of its species-are not confined. Instead they have
naturally drawn together into communities, and it is in these communities of
self-styled Normals that the Monitors have to be most active. The Normals
possess all the freedom including the right to kill each other if that is what
they desire, the Monitors being present only to see that any Normal not sharing
this desire will not suffer in the process.
"We also, when a sufficiently high pitch of mass insanity overtakes one or
more of these worlds, allow a war to be fought on a planet set aside for that
purpose, generally arranging things so that the war is neither long nor too
bloody." Williamson sighed. In tones of bitter self-accusation he concluded, "We
underestimated them. This one was both."
Conway's mind was still balking at this radically new slant on things.
Before coming to the hospital he'd had no direct contact with Monitors, why
should he? And the Normals of Earth he had found to be rather romantic figures,
inclined to strut and swagger a bit, that was all. Of course, most of the bad
things he had heard about Monitors had come from them. Maybe the Normals had not
been as truthful or objective as they could have been...
"This is all too hard to believe," Conway protested. "You're suggesting
that the Monitor Corps is greater in the scheme of things than either the
Normals or ourselves, the professional class!" He shook his head angrily. "And
anyway, this is a fine time for a philosophical discussion!"
"You," said the Monitor, "started it."
There was no answer to that.
It must have been hours later that Conway felt a touch on his shoulder and
straightened to find a DBLF nurse behind him. The being was holding a
hypodermic. It said, "Pep-shot, Doctor?"
All at once Conway realized how wobbly his legs had become and how hard it
was to focus his eyes. And he must have been noticeably slowing down for the
nurse to approach him in the first place. He nodded and rolled up his sleeve
with fingers which felt like thick, tired sausages.
"Yipe!" he cried in sudden anguish. "What are you using, a six-inch nail?"
"I am sorry," said the DBLF, "but I have injected two doctors of my own
species before coming to you, and as you know our tegument is thicker and more
closely grained than yours is. The needle has therefore become blunted."
Conway's fatigue dropped away in seconds. Except for a slight tingling in
hands and feet and a grayish blotching which only others could see in his face
he felt as clear-eyed, alert and physically refreshed as if he had just come out
of a shower after ten hours sleep. He took a quick look around before finishing
his current examination and saw that here at least the number of patients
awaiting attention had shrunk to a mere handful, and the number of Monitors in
the room was less than half what it had been at the start. The patients were
being taken care of, and the Monitors had become patients.
He had seen it happening all around him. Monitors who had had little or no
sleep on the transport coming here, forcing themselves to carry on helping the
overworked medics of the hospital with repeated pep-shots and sheer, dogged
courage. One by one they had literally dropped in their tracks and been taken
hurriedly away, so exhausted that the involuntary muscles of heart and lungs had
given up with everything else. They lay in special wards with robot devices
massaging their hearts, giving artificial respiration and feeding them through a
vein in the leg. Conway had heard that only one of them had died.
Taking advantage of the lull, Conway and Williamson moved to the direct vision
panel and looked out. The waiting swarm of ships seemed only slightly smaller,
though he knew that these must be new arrivals. He could not imagine where they
were going to put these people-even the habitable corridors in the hospital were
beginning to overflow now, and there was constant re-arranging of patients of
all species to make more room. But that wasn't his problem, and the weaving
pattern of ships was an oddly restful sight...
"Emergency," said the wall annunciator suddenly. "Single ship, one
occupant, species as yet unknown requests immediate treatment. Occupant is in
only partial control of its ship, is badly injured and communications are
incoherent. Stand by at all admittance locks.. .
Oh, no, Conway thought, not at a time like this! There was a cold sickness
in his stomach and he had a horrible premonition of what was going to happen.
Williamson's knuckles shone white as he gripped the edge of the view port.
"Look!" he said in a flat, despairing tone, and pointed.
An intruder was approaching the waiting swarm of ships at an insane
velocity and on a wildly erratic course. A stubby, black and featureless torpedo
shape, it reached and penetrated the weaving mass of ships before Conway had
time to take two breaths. In milling confusion the ships scattered, narrowly
avoiding collision both with it and each other, and still it hurtled on. There
was only one ship in its path now, a Monitor transport which had been given the
all-clear to approach and was drifting in toward an admittance lock. The
transport was big, ungainly and not built for fast acrobatics-it had neither the
time nor the ability to get out of the way. A collision was certain, and the
transport was jammed with wounded...
But no. At the last possible instant the hurtling ship swerved. They saw
it miss the transport and its stubby torpedo shape foreshorten to a circle which
grew in size with heart-stopping rapidity. Now it was headed straight at them!
Conway wanted to shut his eyes, but there was a peculiar fascination about
watching that great mass of metal rushing at him. Neither Williamson nor himself
made any attempt to jump for a spacesuit- what was to happen was only split
seconds away.
The ship was almost on top of them when it swerved again as its injured
pilot sought desperately to avoid this greater obstacle, the hospital. But too
late, the ship struck.
A smashing double-shock struck up at them from the floor as the ship tore
through their double skin, followed by successively milder shocks as it
bludgeoned its way into the vitals of the great hospital. A cacophony of
screams-both human and alien-arose briefly, also whisflings, rustlings and
guttural jabbering as beings were maimed, drowned, gassed or decompressed. Water
poured into sections containing pure chlorine. A blast of ordinary air rushed
through a gaping hole in the compartment whose occupants had never known
anything but trans Plutonian cold and vacuum-the beings shriveled, died and
dissolved horribly at the first touch of it. Water, air and a score of different
atmospheric mixtures intermingled forming a sludgy, brown and highly corrosive
mixture that steamed and bubbled its way out into space. But long before that
had happened the air-tight seals had slammed shut, effectively containing the
terrible wound made by that bulleting ship.
VII
There was an instant of shocked paralysis, then the hospital reacted. Above
their heads the annunciator went into a quiet, controlled frenzy. Engineers and
Maintenance men of all species were to report for assignment immediately. The
gravity neutralizer grids in the LSVO and MSVK wards were failing-all medical
staff in the area were to encase the patients in protective envelopes and
transfer them to DBLF theater Two, where one-twentieth G conditions were being
set up, before they were crushed by their own weight. There was an untraced leak
in AUGL corridor Nineteen, and all DBDG's were warned of chlorine contamination
in the area of their dining hail. Also, Dr. Lister was asked to report himself,
please.
In an odd corner of his mind Conway noted how everybody else was ordered
to their assignments while Dr. Lister was asked. Suddenly he heard his name
being called and he swung around.
It was Dr. Mannon. He hurried up to Williamson and Conway and said, "I see
you're free at the moment. There's a job I'd like you to do." He paused to
receive Conway's nod, then plunged on breathlessly.
When the crashing ship had dug a hole half-way through the hospital,
Mannon explained, the volume sealed off by the safety doors was not confined
simply to the tunnel of wreckage it had created. The position of the doors was
responsible for this-the result being analogous to a great tree of vacuum
extending into the hospital structure, with the tunnel created by the ship as
its trunk and the open sections of corridors leading off it the branches. Some
of these airless corridors served compartments which themselves could be sealed
off, and it was possible that these might contain survivors.
Normally there would be no necessity to hurry the rescue of these beings,
they would be quite comfortable where they were for days, but in this instance
there was an added complication. The ship had come to rest near the center-the
nerve center, in fact-of the hospital, the section which contained the controls
for the artificial settings of the entire structure. At the moment there seemed
to be a survivor in that section somewhere-possibly a patient, a member of the
Staff or even the occupant of the wrecked ship-who was moving around and
unknowingly damaging the gravity control mechanisms. This state of affairs, if
continued, could create havoc in the wards and might even cause deaths among the
light-gravity life-forms.
Dr. Mannon wanted them to go in and bring the being concerned out before
it unwittingly wrecked the place.
"A PVSJ has already gone in," Mannon added, "but that species is awkward
in a spacesuit, so I'm sending you two as well to hurry things along. All right?
Hop to it, then."
Wearing gravity neutralizer packs they exited near the damaged section and
drifted along the Hospital's outer skin to the twenty-foot wide hole gouged in
its side by the crashing ship. The packs allowed a high degree of
maneuverability in weightless conditions, and they did not expect anything else
along the route they were to travel. They also carried ropes and magnetic
anchors, and Williamson-solely because it was part of the equipment issued with
the service Standard suit, he said-also carried a gun. Both had air for three
hours.
At first the going was easy. The ship had sheared a clean-edged tunnel
through ward bulkheads, deck plating and even through items of heavy machinery.
Conway could see clearly into the corridors they passed in their descent, and
nowhere was there a sign of life. There were grisly remnants of a high-pressure
life-form which would have blown itself apart even under Earth-normal
atmospheric conditions. When subjected suddenly to hard vacuum the process had
been that much more violent. And in one corridor there was disclosed a tragedy;
a near-human DBDG nurse-one of the red, bear-like entities-had been neatly
decapitated by the closing of an air-tight door which it had just failed to make
in time. For some reason the sight affected him more than anything else he had
seen that day.
Increasing amounts of "foreign" wreckage hampered their progress as they
continued to descend-plating and structural members torn from the crashing ship-
so that there were times when they had to clear a way through it with their
hands and feet.
Williamson was in the lead-about ten yards below Conway that was-when the
Monitor flicked out of sight. In the suit radio a cry of surprise was abruptly
cut off by the clang of metal against metal. Conway's grip on the projecting
beam he had been holding tightened instinctively in shocked surprise, and he
felt it vibrate through his gauntlets. The wreckage was shifting! Panic took him
for a moment until he realized that most of the movement was taking place back
the way he had come, above his head. The vibration ceased a few minutes later
without the debris around him significantly changing its position. Only then did
Conway tie his line securely to the beam and look around for the Monitor.
Knees bent and arms in front of his head Williamson lay face downward partially
embedded in a shelving mass of loose wreckage some twenty feet below. Faint,
irregular sounds of breathing in his phones told Conway that the Monitor's quick
thinking in wrapping his arms around his head had, by protecting his suit's
fragile face-plate, saved his life. But whether or not Williamson lived for long
or not depended on the nature of his other injuries, and they in turn depended
on the amount of gravitic attraction in the floor section which had sucked him
down.
It was now obvious that the accident was due to a square of deck in which
the artificial gravity grid was, despite the wholesale destruction of circuits
in the crash area, still operative. Conway was profoundly thankful that the
attraction was exerted only at right angles to the grid's surface and that the
floor section had been warped slightly. Had it been facing straight up then both
the Monitor and himself would have dropped, and from a distance considerably
greater than twenty feet.
Carefully paying out his safety line Conway approached the huddled form of
Williamson. His grip tightened convulsively on the rope when he came within the
field of influence of the gravity grid, then eased as he realized that its power
was at most only one and a half Gs. With a steady attraction now pulling him
downward toward the Monitor, Conway began lowering himself hand over hand. He
could have used his neutralizer pack to counteract that pull, of course, and
just drifted down, but that would have been risky. If he accidentally passed out
of the floor section's area of influence, then the pack would have flung him
upward again, with probably fatal results.
The Monitor was still unconscious when Conway reached him, and though he
could not tell for sure, owing to the other wearing a spacesuit, he suspected
multiple fractures in both arms. As he gently disengaged the limp figure from
the surrounding wreckage it was suddenly borne on him that Williamson needed
attention, immediate attention with all the resources the hospital could
provide. He had just realized that the Monitor had been the recipient of a large
number of pep-shots; his reserves of strength must be gone. When he regained
consciousness, if he ever did, he might not be able to withstand the shock.
VIII
Conway was about to call through for assistance when a chunk of ragged edged
metal spun past his helmet. He swung around just in time to duck another piece
of wreckage which was sailing toward him. Only then did he see the outlines of a
nonhuman, space suited figure which was partially hidden in a tangle of metal
about ten yards away. The being was throwing things at him!
The bombardment stopped as soon as the other saw that Conway had noticed
it. With visions of having found the unknown survivor whose blundering about was
playing hob with the hospital's artificial gravity system he hurried across to
it. But he saw immediately that the being was incapable of doing any moving
about at all, it was pinned down, but miraculously unhurt, by a couple of heavy
structural members. It was also making vain attempts to reach around to the back
of its suit with its only free appendage. Conway was puzzled for a moment, then
he saw the radio pack which was strapped to the being's back, and the lead
dangling loose from it. Using surgical tape he repaired the break and
immediately the flat, Translated tones of the being filled his ear-phones.
It was the PVSJ who had left before them to search the wrecked area for
survivors. Caught by the same trap which had snagged the unfortunate Monitor, it
had been able to use its gravity pack to check its sudden fall.
Overcompensating, it had crashed into its present position. The crash had been
relatively gentle, but it had caused some loose wreckage to subside, trapping
the being and damaging its radio.
The PVSJ-a chlorine-breathing Illensan-was solidly planted in the
wreckage: Conway's attempts to free it were useless. While trying, however, he
got a look at the professional insignia painted on the other's suit. The
Tralthan and Illensan symbols meant nothing to Conway, but the third one-which
was the nearest expression of the being's function in Earth-human terms-was a
crucifix. The being was a padre. Conway might have expected that.
But now Conway had two immobilized cases instead of one. He thumbed the
transmit switch of his radio and cleared his throat. Before he could speak the
harsh, urgent voice of Dr. Mannon was dinning in his ears.
"Dr. Conway! Corpsman Williamson! One of you, report quickly, please!"
Conway said, "I was just going to," and gave an account of his troubles to
date and requested aid for the Monitor and the PVSJ padre. Mannon cut him off.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, "but we can't help you. The gravity
fluctuations have been getting worse here, they must have caused a subsidence in
your tunnel, because it's solidly plugged with wreckage all the way above you.
Maintenance men have tried to cut a way through but-"
"Let me talk to him," broke in another voice, and there were the
magnified, fumbling noises of a mike being snatched out of someone's hand. "Dr.
Conway, this is Dr. Lister speaking," it went on. "I'm afraid that I must tell
you that the well-being of your two accident cases is of secondary importance.
Your job is to contact that being in the gravity control compartment and stop
him. Hit him on the head if necessary, but stop him-he's wrecking the hospital!"
Conway swallowed. He said, "Yes, sir," and began looking for a way to
penetrate further into the tangle of metal surrounding him. It looked hopeless.
Suddenly he felt himself being pulled sideways. He grabbed for the nearest solid
looking projection and hung on for dear life. Transmitted through the fabric of
his suit he heard the grinding, tearing jangle of moving metal. The wreckage was
shifting again. Then the force pulling him disappeared as suddenly as it had
come and simultaneously there came a peculiar, barking cry from the PVSJ. Conway
twisted around to see that where the Illensan had been a large hole led downward
into nothingness.
He had to force himself to let go of his handhold. The attraction which
had seized him had been due, Conway knew, to the momentary activating of an
artificial gravity grid somewhere below. If it returned while he was floating
unsupported... Conway did not want to think about that.
The shift had not affected Williamson's position-he still lay as Conway
had left him-but the PVSJ must have fallen through.
"Are you all right?" Conway called anxiously.
"I think so," came the reply. "I am still somewhat numb."
Cautiously, Conway drifted across to the newly-created opening and looked
down. Below him was a very large compartment, well-lit from a source somewhere
off to one side. Only the floor was visible about forty feet below, the walls
being beyond his angle of vision and this was thickly carpeted by a dark blue,
tubular growth with bulbous leaves. The purpose of this compartment baffled
Conway until he realized that he was looking at the AUGL tank minus its water.
The thick, flaccid growth covering its floor served both as food and interior
decoration for the AUGL patients. The PVSJ had been very lucky to have such a
springy surface to land on.
The PVSJ was no longer pinned down by wreckage and it stated that it felt
fit enough to help Conway with the being in the gravity control department. As
they were about to resume the descent Conway glanced toward the source of light
he had half-noticed earlier, and caught his breath.
One wall of the AUGL tank was transparent and looked out on a section
corridor which had been converted into a temporary ward. DBLF caterpillars lay
in the beds which lined one side, and they were by turns crushed savagely into
the plastifoam and bounced upward into the air by it as violent and random
fluctuations rippled along the gravity grids in the floor. Netting had been
hastily tied around the patients to keep them in the beds, but despite the
beating they were taking they were the lucky ones.
A ward was being evacuated somewhere and through his stretch of corridor there
crawled, wriggled and hopped a procession of beings resembling the contents of
some cosmic Ark. All the oxygen-breathing life forms were represented together
with many who were not, and human nursing orderlies and Monitors shepherded them
along. Experience must have taught the orderlies that to stand or walk upright
was asking for broken bones and cracked skulls, because they were crawling along
on their hands and knees. When a sudden surge of three or four Cs caught them
they had a shorter distance to fall that way. Most of them were wearing gravity
packs, Conway saw, but had given them up as useless in conditions where the
gravity constant was a wild variable.
He saw PVSJs in balloon-like chlorine envelopes being pinned against the
floor, flattened like specimens pressed under glass, then bounced into the air
again. And Tralthan patients in their massive, unwieldy harness- Tralthans were
prone to injury internally despite their great strength being dragged along.
There were DBDGs, DBLFs and CLSRs, also unidentifiable something's in spherical,
wheeled containers that radiated cold almost visibly. Strung out in a line,
being pushed, dragged or manfully inching along on their own, the beings crept
past, bowing and straightening up again like wheat in a strong wind as the
gravity grids pulled at them.
Conway could almost imagine he felt those fluctuations where he stood, but
knew that the crashing ship must have destroyed the grid circuits in its path.
He dragged his eyes away from that grim procession and headed downward again.
"Conway!" Mannon's voice barked at him a few minutes later. "That survivor
down there is responsible for as many casualties now as the crashed ship! A ward
of convalescent LSVOs are dead due to a threesecond surge from one-eighth to
four gravities. What's happening now?"
The tunnel of wreckage was steadily narrowing, Conway reported, the hull
and lighter machinery of the ship having been peeled away by the time it had
reached their present level. All that could remain ahead was the massive stuff
like hyperdrive generators and so on. He thought he must be very near the end of
the line now, and the being who was the unknowing cause of the devastation
around them.
"Good," said Mannon, "but hurry it up!"
"But can't the Engineers get through? Surely-"
"They can't," broke in Dr. Lister's voice. "In the area surrounding the
gravity grid controls there are fluctuations of up to ten Cs. It's impossible.
And joining up with your route from inside the hospital is out, too. It would
mean evacuating corridors in the neighboring area, and the corridors are all
filled with patients.. ." The voice dropped in volume as Dr. Lister apparently
turned away from the mike, and Conway overhead him saying, "Surely an
intelligent being could not be so panic-stricken that it... it... Oh, when I get
my hands on it-"
"It may not be intelligent," put in another voice. "Maybe it's a cub, from
the FGLI maternity unit...
"If it is I'll tan its little-"
A sharp click ended the conversation at that point as the transmitter was
switched off. Conway, suddenly realizing what a very important man he had
become, tried to hurry it up as best he could.
They dropped another level into a ward in which four MSVKs-fragile, tn-pedal
stork like beings-drifted lifeless among loose items of ward equipment.
Movements of the bodies and objects in the room seemed a little unnatural, as if
they had been recently disturbed. It was the first sign of the enigmatic
survivor they were seeking. Then they were in a great, metal-walled compartment
surrounded by a maze of plumbing and unshielded machinery. On the floor in a
bulge it had created for itself, the ship's massive hyper-drive generator lay
with some shreds of control room equipment strewn around it. Underneath was the
remains of a life form that was now unclassifiable. Beside the generator another
hole had been torn in the severely weakened floor by some other piece of the
ship's heavy equipment.
Conway hurried over to it, looked down, then called excitedly, "There it
is!"
They were looking into a vast room which could only be the grid control
center. Rank upon rank of squat, metal cabinets covered the floor, walls and
ceiling-this compartment was always kept airless and at zero gravity-with barely
room for even Earth-human Engineers to move between them. But Engineers were
seldom needed here because the devices in this all-important compartment were
self-repairing. At the moment this ability was being put to a severe test.
A being which Conway classified tentatively as AACL sprawled across three
of the delicate control cabinets. Nine other cabinets, all winking with red
distress signals, were within range of its six, python-like tentacles which
poked through seals in the cloudy plastic of its suit. The tentacles were at
least twenty feet long and tipped with a horny substance which must have been
steel-hard considering the damage the being had caused.
Conway had been prepared to feel pity for this hapless survivor, he had
expected to find an entity injured, panic-stricken and crazed with pain. Instead
there was a being who appeared unhurt and who was viciously smashing up gravity-
grid controls as fast as the built-in self repairing robots tried to fix them.
Conway swore and began hunting for the frequency of the other's suit
radio. Suddenly there was a harsh, high-pitched cheeping sound in his ear-
phones. "Got you!" Conway said grimly.
The cheeping sounds ceased abruptly as the other heard his voice and so
did all movement of those highly destructive tentacles. Conway noted the
wavelength, then switched back to the band used by the PVSJ and himself.
"It seems to me," said the chlorine-breather when he had told it what he
had heard, "that the being is deeply afraid, and the noises it made were of
fear-otherwise your Translator would have made you receive them as words in your
own language. The fact that these noises and its destructive activity stopped
when it heard your voice is promising, but I think that we should approach
slowly and reassure it constantly that we are bringing help. Its activity down
there gives me the impression that it has been hitting out at anything which
moves, so a certain amount of caution is indicated, I think."
"Yes, Padre," said Conway with great feeling.
"We do not know in what direction the being's visual organs are directed,"
the PVSJ went on, "so I suggest we approach from opposite sides."
Conway nodded. They set their radios to the new band and climbed carefully
down onto the ceiling of the compartment below. With just enough power in their
gravity neutralizers to keep them pressing gently against the metal surface they
moved away from each other onto opposite walls, down them, then onto the floor.
With the being between them now, they moved slowly toward it.
The robot repair devices were busy making good the damage wrecked by those six
anacondas it used for limbs but the being continued to lie quiescent. Neither
did it speak. Conway kept thinking of the havoc this entity had caused with its
senseless threshing about. The things he felt like saying to it were anything
but reassuring, so he let the PSVJ padre do the talking.
"Do not be afraid," the other was saying for the twentieth time. "If you
are injured, tell us. We are here to help you. .
But there was neither movement nor reply from the being.
On a sudden impulse Conway switched to Dr. Mannon's band. He said quickly,
"The survivor seems to be an AACL. Can you tell me what it's here for, or any
reason why it should refuse or be unable to talk to us?"
"I'll check with Reception," said Mannon after a short pause. "But are you
sure of that classification? I can't remember seeing an AACL here, sure it isn't
a Creppelian-"
"It isn't a Creppelian octopoid," Conway cut in. "There are six main
appendages, and it is just lying here doing nothing...
Conway stopped suddenly, shocked into silence, because it was no longer
true that the being under discussion was doing nothing. It had launched itself
toward the ceiling, moving so fast that it seemed to land in the same instant
that it had taken off. Above him now, Conway saw another control unit pulverized
as the being struck and others torn from their mounts as its tentacles sought
anchorage. In his phones Mannon was shouting about gravity fluctuations in a
hitherto stable section of the hospital, and mounting casualty figures, but
Conway was unable to reply.
He was watching helplessly as the AACL prepared to launch itself again.
..... We are here to help you," the PVSJ was saying as the being landed
with a soundless crash four yards from the padre. Five great tentacles anchored
themselves firmly, and a sixth lashed out in a great, curving blur of motion
that caught the PVSJ and smashed it against the wall. Life-giving chlorine
spurted from the PVSJ's suit, momentarily hiding in mist the shapeless, pathetic
thing which rebounded slowly into the middle of the room. The AACL began making
cheeping noises again.
Conway heard himself babbling out a report to Mannon, then Mannon shouting
for Lister. Finally the Director's voice came in to him. It said thickly,
"You've got to kill it, Conway."
You've got to kill it, Conway!
It was those words which shocked Conway back to a state of normality as
nothing else could have done. How very like a Monitor, he thought bitterly, to
solve a problem with a murder. And to ask a doctor, a person dedicated to the
preserving of life, to do the killing. It did not matter that the being was
insane with fear, it had caused a lot of trouble in the hospital, so kill it.
Conway had been afraid, he still was. In his recent state of mind he might
have been panicked into using this kill-or-be-killed law of the jungle. Not now,
though. No matter what happened to him or the hospital he would not kill an
intelligent fellow being, and Lister could shout himself blue in the face . .
It was with a start of surprise that Conway realized that both Lister and
Mannon were shouting at him, and trying to counter his arguments. He must have
been doing his thinking aloud without knowing it. Angrily he tuned them out.
But there was still another voice gibbering at him, a slow, whispering,
unutterably weary voice that frequently broke off to gasp in pain. For a wild
moment Conway thought that the ghost of the dead PVSJ was continuing Lister's
arguments, then he caught sight of movement above him.
Drifting gently through the hole in the ceiling was the space suited
figure of Williamson. How the badly injured Monitor had got there at all was
beyond Conway's understanding-his broken arms made control of his gravity pack
impossible, so that he must have come all the way by kicking with his feet and
trusting that a still-active gravity grid would not pull him in a second time.
At the thought of how many times those multiple fractured members must have
collided with obstacles on the way down, Conway cringed. And yet all the Monitor
was concerned with was trying to coax Conway into killing the AACL below him.
Close below him, with the distance lessening every second...
Conway felt the cold sweat break out on his back. Helpless to stop
himself, the injured Monitor had cleared the rent in the ceiling and was
drifting slowly floorward, directly on top of the crouching AACL! As Conway
stared fascinated one of the steel-hard tentacles began to uncurl preparatory to
making a death-dealing swipe.
Instinctively Conway launched himself in the direction of the floating
Monitor, there was no time for him to feel consciously brave-or stupid-about the
action. He connected with a muffled crash and hung on, wrapping his legs around
Williamson's waist to leave his hands free for the gravity pack controls. They
spun furiously around their common center of gravity, walls, ceilings and floor
with its deadly occupant whirling around so fast that Conway could barely focus
his eyes on the controls. It seemed years before he finally had the spin checked
and he had them headed for the hole in the ceiling and safety. They had almost
reached it when Conway saw the hawser-like tentacle come sweeping up at him...
X
Something smashed into his back with a force that knocked the breath out of him.
For a heart-freezing moment he thought his air-tanks had gone, his suit torn
open and that he was already sucking frenziedly at vacuum. But his gasp of pure
terror brought air rushing into his lungs. Conway had never known canned air to
taste so good.
The AACL's tentacle had only caught him a glancing blow-his back wasn't
broken-and the only damage was a wrecked suit radio.
"Are you all right?" Conway asked anxiously when he had Williamson settled
in the compartment above. He had to press his helmet against the other's-that
was the only way he could make himself heard now.
For several minutes there was no reply, then the weary, pain-wrecked near-
whisper returned.
"My arms hurt. I'm tired," it said haltingly. "But I'll be OK when... they
take me... inside." Williamson paused, his voice seemed to gather strength from
somewhere and he went on, "That is if there is anybody left alive in the
hospital to treat me. If you don't stop our friend down there..."
Sudden anger flared in Conway. "Dammit, do you never give up?" he burst
out. "Get this, I'm not going to kill an intelligent being! My radio's gone so I
don't have to listen to Lister and Mannon yammering at me, and all I've got to
do to shut you up is pull my helmet away from yours. ~
The Monitor's voice had weakened again. He said, "I can still hear Mannon
and Lister. They say the wards in Section Eight have been hit now-that's the
other low-gravity section. Patients and doctors are pinned flat to the floor
under three Cs. A few more minutes like that and they'll never get up-MSVKs
aren't at all sturdy, you know...
"Shut up!" yelled Conway. Furiously, he pulled away from contact.
When his anger had abated enough for him to see again, Conway observed
that the Monitor's lips were no longer moving. Williamson's eyes were closed,
his face gray and sweaty with shock and he did not seem to be breathing. The
drying chemicals in his helmet kept the faceplate from fogging, so that Conway
could not tell for sure but the Monitor could very easily be dead. With
exhaustion held off by repeated pep-shots, then his injuries on top of that,
Conway had expected him to be dead long since. For some peculiar reason Conway
felt his eyes stinging.
He had seen so much death and dismemberment over the last few hours that
his sensitivity to suffering in others had been blunted to the point where he
reacted to it merely as a medical machine. This feeling of loss, of bereavement,
for the Monitor must be simply a resurgence of that sensitivity, and temporary.
Of one thing he was sure, however, nobody was going to make this medical machine
commit a murder. The Monitor Corps, Conway now knew, was responsible for a lot
more good than bad, but he was not a Monitor.
Yet O'Mara and Lister were both Monitors and Doctors, one of them renowned
throughout the Galaxy~ Are you better than they are? a little voice nagged in
his mind somewhere. And you're all alone now, it went on, with the hospital
disorganized and people dying all over the place because of that being down
there. What do you think your chances of survival are? The way you came is
plugged with wreckage and nobody can come to your aid, so you're going to die,
too. Isn't that so?
Desperately Conway tried to hang on to his resolution, to draw it tightly around
him like a shell. But that insistent, that cowardly voice in his brain was
putting cracks in it. It was with a sense of pure relief that he saw the
Monitor's lips moving again. He touched helmets quickly.
..... Hard for you, a Doctor," the voice came faintly, "but you've got to.
Just suppose you were that being down below, driven mad with fear and pain
maybe, and for a moment you became sane and somebody told you what you had done-
what you were doing, and the deaths you had caused.. ." The voice wavered, sank,
then returned. "Wouldn't you want to die rather than go on killing.. .
"But I can't . . .
"Wouldn't you want to die, in its place?"
Conway felt the defensive shell of his resolution begin to disintegrate
around him. He said desperately, in a last attempt to hold firm, to stave off
the awful decision, "Well, maybe, but I couldn't kill it even if I tried- it
would tear me to pieces before I got near it. .
"I've got a gun," said the Monitor.
Conway could not remember adjusting the firing controls, or even taking
the weapon from the Monitor's holster. It was in his hand and trained on the
AACL below, and Conway felt sick and cold. But he had not given in to Williamson
completely. Near at hand was a sprayer of the fast-setting plastic which, when
used quickly enough, could sometimes save a person whose suit had been holed.
Conway planned to wound the being, immobilize it, then re-seal its suit with
cement. It would be a close thing and risky to himself, but he could not
deliberately kill the being.
Carefully he brought his other hand up to steady the gun and took aim. He
fired.
When he lowered it there was not much left except shredded twitching
pieces of tentacles scattered all over the room. Conway wished now that he had
known more about guns, known that this one shot explosive bullets, and that it
had been set for continuous automatic fire...
Williamson's lips were moving again. Conway touched helmets out of pure
reflex. He was past caring about anything anymore.
It's all right, Doctor," the Monitor was saying. "It isn't anybody..
"It isn't anybody now," Conway agreed. He went back to examining the
Monitor's gun and wished that it wasn't empty. If there had been one bullet
left, just one, he knew how he would have used it.
"It was hard, we know that," said Major O'Mara. The rasp was no longer in his
voice and the iron-gray eyes were soft with sympathy, and something akin to
pride. "A doctor doesn't have to make a decision like that usually until he's
older, more balanced, mature, if ever. You are, or were, just an over-idealistic
kid-a bit on the smug and self-righteous side maybe-who didn't even know what a
Monitor really was."
O'Mara smiled. His two big, hard hands rested on Conway's shoulders in an
oddly fatherly gesture. He went on, "Doing what you forced yourself to do could
have ruined both your career and your mental stability. But it doesn't matter,
you don't have to feel guilty about a thing. Everything's all right."
Conway wished dully that he had opened his face-plate and ended it all
before those Engineers had swarmed into the gravity grid control room and
carried Williamson and himself off to O'Mara. O'Mara must be mad. He, Conway,
had violated the prime ethic of his profession and killed an intelligent being.
Everything most definitely was not all right.
"Listen to me," O'Mara said seriously. "The Communications boys managed to
get a picture of the crashed ship's control room, with the occupant in it,
before it hit. The occupant was not your AACL, understand? It was an AMSO, one
of the bigger life-forms who are in the habit of keeping a non-intelligent AACL-
type creature as pets. Also, there are no AACLs listed in the hospital, so the
beastie you killed was simply the equivalent of a fear-maddened dog in a
protective suit." O'Mara shook Conway's shoulder until his head wobbled. "Now do
you feel better?"
Conway felt himself coming alive again. He nodded wordlessly.
"You can go," said O'Mara, smiling, "and catch up on your sleep. As for
the reorientation talk, I'm afraid I haven't the time to spare. Remind me about
it sometime, if you still think you need it. .
During the fourteen hours in which Conway slept, the intake of wounded dropped
to a manageable trickle, and news came that the war was over. Monitor engineers
and maintenance men succeeded in clearing the wreckage and repairing the damaged
outer hull. With pressure restored, the internal repair work proceeded rapidly,
so that when Conway awoke and went in search of Dr. Mannon he found patients
being moved into a section which only hours ago had been a dark, airless tangle
of wreckage.
He tracked his superior down in a side ward off the main FGLI Casualty
section. Mannon was working over a badly burned DBLF whose caterpillar-like body
was dwarfed by a table which was designed to take the more massive Tralthan
FGLIs. Two other DBLFs, under sedation, showed as white mounds on a similarly
outsize bed against the wall, and another lay twitching slightly on a stretcher-
carrier near the door.
"Where the blazes have you been?" Mannon said in a voice too tired to be
angry. Before Conway could reply he went on impatiently, "Oh, don't tell me.
Everybody is grabbing everybody else's staff, and junior interns have to do as
they're told. .
Conway felt his face going red. Suddenly he was ashamed of that fourteen
hours sleep, but was too much of a coward to correct Mannon's wrong assumption.
Instead he said, "Can I help, sir?"
"Yes," said Mannon, waving toward his patients. "But these are going to be
tricky. Punctured and incised wounds, deep. Metallic fragments still within the
body, abdominal damage and severe internal hemorrhage. You won't be able to do
much without a tape. Go get it. And come straight back, mind!"
A few minutes later he was in O'Mara's office absorbing the DBLF
physiology tape. This time he didn't flinch from the Major's hands. While the
headband was being removed he asked, "How is Corpsman Williamson?"
"He'll live," said O'Mara dryly. "The bones were set by a Diagnostician.
Williamson won't dare die . .
Conway rejoined Mannon as quickly as possible. He was experiencing the
characteristic mental double-vision and had to resist the urge to crawl on his
stomach, so he knew that the DBLF tape was taking. The caterpillar-like
inhabitants of Kelgia were very close to Earth-humans both in basic metabolism
and temperament, so there was less of the confusion he had encountered with the
earlier Telfi tape. But it gave him an affinity for the beings he was treating
which was actually painful.
The concept of gun, bullet and target was a very simple one-just point,
pull the trigger, and the target is dead or disabled. The bullet didn't think at
all, the pointer didn't think enough, and the target.. . suffered.
Conway had seen too many disabled targets recently, and lumps of metal
which had plowed their way into them leaving red craters in torn flesh, bone
splinters and ruptured blood vessels. In addition there was the long, painful
process of recovery. Anyone who would inflict such damage on a thinking, feeling
entity deserved something much more painful than the Monitor corrective
psychiatry.
A few days previously Conway would have been ashamed of such thoughts-and
he was now, a little. He wondered if recent events had initiated in him a
process of moral degeneration, or was it that he was merely beginning to grow
up?
Five hours later they were through. Mannon gave his nurse instructions to
keep the four patients under observation, but told her to get something to eat
first. She was back within minutes carrying a large pack of sandwiches and
bearing the news that their dining hall had been taken over by Tralthan Male
Medical. Shortly after that Dr. Mannon went to sleep in the middle of his second
sandwich. Conway loaded him onto the stretcher-carrier and took him to his room.
On the way out he was collared by a Tralthan Diagnostician who ordered him to a
DBDG casualty section.
This time Conway found himself working on targets of his own species and
his maturing, or moral degeneration, increased. He had begun to think that the
Monitor Corps was too damned soft with some people.
Three weeks later Sector General was back to normal. All but the most seriously
wounded patients had been transferred to their local planetary hospitals. The
damage caused by the colliding spaceship had been repaired. Tralthan Male
Medical had vacated the dining hall, and Conway no longer had to snatch his
meals off assorted instrument trolleys. But if things were back to normal for
the hospital as a whole, such was not the case with Conway personally.
He was taken off ward duty completely and transferred to a mixed group of
Earth-humans and e-ts-most of whom were senior to himself-taking a course of
lectures in Ship Rescue. Some of the difficulties experienced in fishing
survivors out of wrecked ships, especially those which contained still-
functioning power sources, made Conway open his eyes. The course ended with an
interesting, if back-breaking, practical which he managed to pass, and was
followed by a more cerebral course in e-t comparative philosophy. Running at the
same time was a series on contamination emergencies: what to do if the methane
section sprung a leak and the temperature threatened to rise above minus one-
forty, what to do if a chlorine-breather was exposed to oxygen, or a water-
breather was strangling in air, or vice-versa. Conway had shuddered at the idea
of some of his fellow students trying to give him artificial respiration-some of
whom weighed half a ton!-but luckily there was no practical at the end of that
course.
Every one of the lecturers stressed the importance of rapid and accurate
classification of incoming patients, who very often were in no condition to give
this information themselves. In the four-letter classification system the first
letter was a guide to the general metabolism, the second to the number and
distribution of limbs and sense organs, and the rest to a combination of
pressure and gravity requirements, which also gave an indication of the physical
mass and form of protective tegument a being possessed. A, B and C first letters
were water-breathers. D and F warm-blooded oxygen-breathers into which
classification most of the intelligent races fell. C to K were also oxygen-
breathing, but insectile, light-gravity beings. L and M were also light-gravity,
but bird-like. The chlorine-breathers were contained in the 0 and P
classifications. After that came the weirdies-radiation-eaters, frigid-blooded
or crystalline beings, entities capable of changing physical shape at will, and
those possessing various forms of extra-sensory powers. Telepathic species such
as the Telfi were given the prefix V. The lecturers would flash a three-second
picture of an e-t foot or a section of tegument onto the screen, and if Conway
could not rattle off an accurate classification from this glimpse, sarcastic
words would be said.
It was all very interesting stuff, but Conway began to worry a little when
he realized that six weeks had passed without him even seeing a patient. He
decided to call O'Mara and ask what for-in a respectful, roundabout way, of
course.
"Naturally you want back to the wards," O'Mara said, when Conway finally
arrived at the point. "Dr. Mannon would like you back, too. But I may have a job
for you and don't want you tied up anywhere else. But don't feel that you are
simply marking time. You are learning some useful stuff, Doctor. At least, I
hope you are. Off."
HOSPITAL STATION.93
As Conway replaced the intercom mike he was thinking that a lot of the
things he was learning had regard to Major O'Mara himself. There wasn't a course
of lectures on the Chief Psychologist, but there might well have been, because
every lecture had O'Mara creeping into it somewhere. And he was only beginning
to realize how close he had come to being kicked out of the hospital for his
behavior during the Telfi episode.
O'Mara bore the rank of Major in the Monitor Corps, but Conway had learned
that within the hospital it was difficult to draw a limiting line to his
authority. As Chief Psychologist he was responsible for the mental health of all
the widely varied individuals and species on the staff, and the avoidance of
friction between them.
Given even the highest qualities of tolerance and mutual respect in its
personnel, there were still occasions when friction occurred. Potentially
dangerous situations arose through ignorance or misunderstanding, or a being
could develop a xenophobic neurosis which might affect its efficiency, or mental
stability, or both. An Earth-human doctor, for instance, who had a subconscious
fear of spiders would not be able to bring to bear on an Illensan patient the
proper degree of clinical detachment necessary for its treatment. So it was
O'Mara's job to detect and eradicate such signs of trouble-or if all else
failed-remove the potentially dangerous individual before such friction became
open conflict. This guarding against wrong, unhealthy or intolerant thinking was
a duty which he performed with such zeal that Conway had heard him likened to a
latter-day Torquemada.
E-ts on the staff whose home-planet histories did not contain an
equivalent of the Inquisition likened him to other things, and often called him
them to his face. But in O'Mara's book Justifiable Invective was not indicative
of wrong thinking, so there were no serious repercussions.
O'Mara was not responsible for the psychological shortcomings of patients
in the hospital, but because it was so often impossible to tell when a purely
physical pain left off and a psychosomatic one began, he was consulted in these
cases also.
The fact that the Major had detached him from ward duty could mean either
promotion or demotion. If Mannon wanted him back, however, then the job which
O'Mara had in mind for him must be of greater importance. So Conway was pretty
certain that he was not in any trouble with O'Mara, which was a very nice way to
feel. But curiosity was killing him.
Then next morning he received orders to present himself at the office of
the Chief Psychologist. .
CHAPTER 3
TROUBLE WITH EMILY
It must have been one of the big colonial transports of the type which carried
four generations of colonists between the stars before the hyper-drive made such
gargantuan ships obsolete, Conway thought, as he stared at the great tear-drop
shape framed in the direct vision port beside O'Mara's desk. With the exception
of the pilot's greenhouse, its banks of observation galleries and view ports
were blocked off by thick metal plating, and braced solidly from the outside to
withstand considerable internal pressure. Even beside the tremendous bulk of
Sector General it looked huge.
"You are to act as liaison between the hospital here and the doctor and
patient from that ship," said Chief Psychologist O'Mara, watching him closely.
"The doctor is quite a small life-form. The patient is a dinosaur.
Conway tried to keep the astonishment he felt from showing in his face.
O'Mara was analyzing his reactions, he knew, and perversely he wanted to make
the other's job as difficult as possible. He said simply, "What's wrong with
it?"
"Nothing," said O'Mara.
"It must be psychological, then.. .
O'Mara shook his head.
"Then what is a healthy, sane and intelligent being doing in a hos-"
"It isn't intelligent."
Conway breathed slowly in and out. O'Mara was obviously playing guessing
games with him again-not that Conway minded that, provided he was given a
sporting chance to guess the right answers. He looked again at the great mass of
the converted transport, and meditated.
Putting hyper-drive engines into that great sow of a ship had cost money,
and the extensive structural alterations to the hull a great deal more. It
seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to for a...
"I've got it!" said Conway grinning. "It's a new specimen for us to take
apart and investigate. .
"Good Lord, no!" cried O'Mara, horrified. He shot a quick, almost
frightened look at a small sphere of plastic which was half hidden by some books
on his desk, then went on seriously, "This whole business has been arranged at
the highest level-a sub-assembly of the Galactic Council, no less. As to what
exactly it is all about neither I nor anyone else in Sector General knows.
Possibly the doctor who accompanied the patient and who has charge of it may
tell you sometime. .
O'Mara's tone at that point implied that he very much doubted it.
However, all that the hospital and yourself are required to do is
cooperate.
Apparently the being who was the doctor in the case came from a race which had
been only recently discovered, O'Mara went on to explain, which had tentatively
been given the classification VUXG: that was, they were a life-form possessing
certain psi faculties, had the ability to convert practically any substance into
energy for their physical needs and could adapt to virtually any environment.
They were small and well-nigh indestructible.
The VUXG doctor was telepathic, but ethics and the privacy taboo forbade
it using this faculty to communicate with a non-telepathic life form, even if
its range included the Earth-human frequency. For that reason the Translator
would be used exclusively. This doctor belonged to a species long-lived both as
individuals and in recorded history, and in all that vast sweep of time there
had been no war.
They were an old, wise and humble race, O'Mara concluded; intensely
humble. So much so that they tended to look down on other races who were not so
humble as they. Conway would have to be very tactful because this extreme, this
almost overbearing humility might easily be mistaken for something else.
Conway looked closely at O'Mara. Was there not a faintly sardonic glean in
those keen, iron-gray eyes and a too carefully neutral expression on that
square-chiseled competent face? Then with a feeling of complete bafflement he
saw O'Mara wink.
Ignoring it, Conway said, "This race, they sound stuck up to me."
He saw O'Mara's lips twitch, then a new voice broke in on the proceedings
with dramatic suddenness. It was a flat, toneless, Translated voice which
boomed, "The sense of the preceding remark is not clear to me. We are stuck-
adhering-up where?" There was a short pause, then, "While I admit that my own
mental capabilities are very low, at the same time I would suggest in all
humility that the fault may not altogether lie with me, but be due in part to
the lamentable tendency for you younger and more impractical races to make
sense-free noises when there is no necessity for a noise to be made at all."
It was then that Conway's wildly searching eyes lit on the transparent
plastic globe on O'Mara's desk. Now that he was really looking at it he could
see several lengths of strapping attached to it, together with the unmistakable
shape of a Translator pack. Inside the container there floated a something...
"Dr. Conway," said O'Mara dryly, "meet Dr. Arretapec, your new boss."
Mouthing silently, he added, "You and your big mouth!"
The thing in the plastic globe, which resembled nothing so much as a
withered prune floating in a spherical gob of syrup, was the VUXG doctor! Conway
felt his face burning. It was a good thing that the Translator dealt only with
words and did not also transfer their emotional- in this instance sarcastic-
connotations, otherwise he would have been in a most embarrassing position.
"As the closest cooperation is required," O'Mara went on quickly, and the
mass of the being Arretapec is slight, you will wear it while on duty." O'Mara
deftly suited actions to his words and strapped the container onto Conway's
shoulder. When he had finished he added, "You can go, Dr. Conway. Detailed
orders, when and where necessary, will be given to you direct by Dr. Arretapec."
It could only happen here, Conway thought wryly as they left. Here he was
with an e-t doctor riding on his shoulder like a quivering, transparent
dumpling, their patient a healthy and husky dinosaur, and the purpose of the
whole business was something which his colleague was reluctant to clarify.
Conway had heard of blind obedience but blind cooperation was a new-and he
thought, rather stupid-concept.
On the way to Lock Seventeen, the point where the hospital was joined to the
ship containing their patient, Conway tried to explain the organization of
Sector Twelve General Hospital to the extra-terrestrial doctor. Dr. Arretapec
asked some pertinent questions from time to time, so presumably he was
interested.
Even though he had been expecting it, the sheer size of the converted
transport's interior shocked Conway. With the exception of the two levels
nearest the ship's outer skin, which at the moment housed the artificial gravity
generators, the Monitor Corps engineer had cut away everything to leave a great
sphere of emptiness some two thousand feet in diameter. The inner surface of
this sphere was a wet and muddy shambles. Great untidy heaps of uprooted
vegetation were piled indiscriminately about, most of it partially trampled into
the mud. Conway also noticed that quite a lot of it was withered and dying.
After the gleaming, aseptic cleanliness which he was used to Conway found
that the sight was doing peculiar things to his nervous system. He began looking
around for the patient.
His gaze moved out and upward across the acres of mud and tumbled
vegetation until, high above his head on the opposite side of the sphere the
swamp merged into a small, deep lake. There were shadowy movements and swirling
below its surface. Suddenly a tiny head mounted on a great sinuous neck broke
the surface, looked around, then submerged again with a tremendous splash.
Conway surveyed the distance to the lake and the quality of the terrain
between it and himself. He said, "It's a long way to walk, I'll get an
antigravity belt. .
"That will not be necessary," said Arretapec. The ground abruptly flung
itself away from them and they were hurtling toward the distant lake.
Classification VUXG, Conway reminded himself when he got his breath back;
possessing certain psi faculties.
They landed gently near the edge of the lake. Arretapec told Conway that it
wanted to concentrate its thinking processes for a few minutes and requested him
to keep both quiet and still. A few seconds later an itching started deep inside
his ear somewhere. Conway manfully refrained from poking at it with his finger
and instead kept all his attention on the surface of the lake.
Suddenly a great gray-brown, mountainous body broke the surface, a long
tapering neck and tail slapping the water with explosive violence. For an
instant Conway thought that the great beast had simply bobbed to the surface
like a rubber ball but then he told himself that the bed of the lake must have
shelved suddenly under the monster, giving an optically similar effect. Still
threshing madly with neck, tail and four massive columnar legs the giant reptile
gained the lake's edge and floundered onto, or rather into, the mud, because it
sank over its knee joints. Conway estimated that the said knee-joints were at
least ten feet from ground level, that the thickest diameter of the great body
was about eighteen feet and that from head to tail the brute measured well over
one hundred feet. He guessed its weight at about 80,000 pounds. It possessed no
natural body armor but the extreme end of its tail, which showed surprising
mobility for such a heavy member, had an osseous bulge from which spouted two
wicked, forward-curving bony spikes.
As Conway watched, the great reptile continued to churn up the mud in
obvious agitation. Then abruptly it fell onto its knees and its great neck
curved around and inward until its head muzzled underneath its own underbelly.
It was a ridiculous but oddly pathetic posture.
"It is badly frightened," said Arretapec. "These conditions do not
adequately simulate its true environment.~~
Conway could understand and sympathize with the beast. The ingredients of
its environment were no doubt accurately reproduced but rather than being
arranged in a lifelike manner they had just been thrown together into a large
muddy stew. Probably not deliberately, he thought, there must have been some
trouble with the artificial gravity grids on the way out to account for this
jumbled landscape. He said:
"Is the mental state of the patient of importance to the purpose of your
work?"
"Very much so," said Arretapec.
"Then the first step is to make it a little more happy with its lot," said
Conway, and went down on his haunches. He took a sample of the lake water, the
mud and several of the varieties of vegetation nearby. Finally he straightened
up and said, "Is there anything else we have to do here?"
"I can do nothing at present," Arretapec replied. The Translated voice was
toneless and utterly without emotion, naturally, but from the spacing of the
words Conway thought that the other sounded deeply disappointed.
Back at the entry lock Conway made determined tracks toward the dining hall
reserved for warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing life-forms. He was hungry.
Many of his colleagues were in the hall-DBLF caterpillars who were slow
everywhere but in the operating theater, Earth-human DBDGs like himself and the
great, elephantine Tralthan-classification FGLI-who, with the little OTSB life-
form who lived in symbiosis with it, was well on the way to joining the ranks of
the lordly Diagnosticians. But instead of engaging in conversation all around,
Conway concentrated on gaining all the data possible on the planet of origin of
the reptilian patient.
For greater ease of conversation he had taken Arretapec out of its plastic
container and placed it on the table in a space between the potatoes and gravy
dish. At the end of the meal Conway was startled to find that the being had
dissolved-ingested-a two inch hole in the table!
"When in deep cogitation," Arretapec replied when Conway rather
exasperatedly wanted to know why, "the process of food-gathering and ingestion
is automatic and unconscious with us. We do not indulge in eating as a pleasure
as you obviously do, it dilutes the quality of our thinking. However, if I have
caused damage...
Conway hastily reassured him that a plastic tablecloth was relatively
valueless in the present circumstances, and beat a quick retreat from the place.
He did not try to explain how catering officers could feel rather peeved over
their relatively valueless property.
After lunch Conway picked up the analysis of his test samples, then headed
for the Maintenance Chief's office. This was occupied by one of the Nidian teddy
bears wearing an armband with gold edging, and an Earth-human in Monitor green
whose collar bore a Colonel's insignia over an Engineering flash. Conway
described the situation and what he wanted done, if such a thing was possible.
"It is possible," said the red teddy bear after they had gone into a
huddle of Conway's data sheets, "but-"
"O'Mara told me expense is no object," Conway interrupted, nodding toward
the tiny being on his shoulder. "Maximum cooperation, he said."
"In that case we can do it," the Monitor Colonel put in briskly. He was
regarding Arretapec with an expression close to awe. "Let's see, transports to
bring the stuff from its home planet-quicker and cheaper in the long run than
synthesizing its food here. And we'll need two full companies of the Engineers'
Division with their robots to make its house a happy home, instead of the
twenty-odd men responsible for bringing it here." His eyes became unfocused as
rapid calculations went on behind them, then: "Three days."
Even allowing for the fact that hyper-drive travel was instantaneous,
Conway thought that that was very fast indeed. He said so.
The Colonel acknowledged the compliment with the thinnest of smiles. He
said, "What is all this in aid of, you haven't told us yet?"
Conway waited for a full minute to give Arretapec plenty of time to answer
the question, but the VUXG kept silent. He could only mumble "I don't know" and
leave quickly.
The next door they entered was boldly labeled "Dietitian-in-Chief- Species DBDG,
DBLF and FGLJ. Dr. K. W. HARDIN." Inside, the white-haired and distinguished
head of Dr. Hardin raised itself from some charts he was studying and bawled,
"And what's biting you.. .
While Conway was impressed by and greatly respected Dr. Hardin, he was no
longer afraid of him. The Chief Dietitian was a man who was quite charming to
strangers, Conway had learned; with acquaintances he tended to be a little on
the abrupt side, and toward his friends he was downright rude. As briefly as
possible Conway tried to explain what was biting him.
"You mean I have to go around replanting the stuff it's eaten, so that it
doesn't know but that it grew naturally?" Hardin interrupted at one point. "Who
the blazes do you think I am? And how much does this dirty great cow eat,
anyway?"
Conway gave him the figures he had worked out.
"Three and a half tons of palm fronds a day!" Hardin roared, practically
climbing his desk. "And tender green shoots of... Ye Gods! And they tell me
dietetics is an exact science. Three and a half tons of shrubbery, exact!
Hah...!"
They left Hardin at that point. Conway knew that everything would be all
right because the dietitian had shown no signs of becoming charming.
To the VUXG Conway explained that Hardin had not been non cooperative, but
had just sounded that way. He was keen to help as had been the other two.
Arretapec replied to the effect that members of such immature and short-lived
races could not help behaving in an insane fashion.
A second visit to their patient followed. Conway brought a C-belt along with him
this time and so was independent of Arretapec's telejortive ability. They
drifted around and above the great, ambulating mountain of flesh and bone, but
not once did Arretapec so much as touch the creature. Nothing whatever happened
except that the patient once again showed signs of agitation and Conway suffered
a periodic itch deep inside his ear. He sneaked a quick look at the tell-tale
which was surgically embedded in his forearm to see if there was anything
foreign in his bloodstream, but everything was normal. Maybe he was just
allergic to dinosaurs.
Back in the hospital proper Conway found that the frequency and violence
of his yawns was threatening to dislocate his jaw, and he realized that he had
had a hard day. The concept of sleep was completely strange to Arretapec, but
the being raised no objections to Conway indulging in it if it was necessary to
his physical well-being. Conway gravely assured it that it was, and headed for
his room by the shortest route.
What to do with Dr. Arretapec bothered him for a while. The VUXG was an
important personage; he could not very well leave it in a storage closet or in a
corner somewhere, even though the being was tough enough to be comfortable in
much more rugged surroundings. Nor could he simply put it out for the night
without gravely hurting its feelings-at least, if the positions had been
reversed his feelings would have been hurt. He wished O'Mara had given
instructions to cover this contingency. Finally he placed the being on top of
his writing desk and forgot about it.
Arretapec must have thought deeply during the night, because there was a
three inch hole in the desktop next morning.
III
During the afternoon of the second day a row started between the two doctors. At
least Conway considered it a row; what an entirely alien mind like Arretapec's
chose to think of it was anybody's guess.
It started when the VUXG requested Conway to be quiet and still while it
went into one of its silences. The being had gone back to the old position on
Conway's shoulder, explaining that it could concentrate more effectively while
at rest rather than with part of its mind engaged in levitating. Conway had done
as he was told without comment though there were several things he would have
liked to say: What was wrong with the patient? What was Arretapec doing about
it? And how was it being done when neither of them so much as touched the
creature? Conway was in the intensely frustrating position of a doctor
confronted with a patient on whom he is not allowed to practice his craft: he
was eaten up with curiosity and it was bothering him. Yet he did his best to
stand still.
But the itching started inside his ear again, worse than ever before. He
barely noticed the geysers of mud and water flung up by the dinosaur as it
threshed its way out of the shallows and onto the bank. The gnawing, unlocalized
itch built up remorselessly until with a sudden yell of fright he slapped at the
side of his head and began poking frantically at his ear. The action brought
immediate and blessed relief, but...
"I cannot work if you fidget," said Arretapec, the rapidity of the words
the only indication of their emotional content. "You will therefore leave me at
once.
"I wasn't fidgeting," Conway protested angrily. "My ear itched and
I-"
"An itch, especially one capable of making you move as this one has done,
is a symptom of a physical disorder which should be treated," the VUXG
interrupted. "Or it is caused by a parasitic or symbiotic life-form dwelling,
perhaps unknown to you, on your body.
"Now, I expressly stated that my assistant should be in perfect physical
health and not a member of a species who either consciously or unconsciously
harbored parasites-a type, you must understand, which are particularly prone to
fidget-so that you can understand my displeasure. Had it not been for your
sudden movement I might have accomplished something, therefore go.
"Why you supercilious-"
The dinosaur chose that moment to stagger into the shallow water again, lose its
footing and come the great grand-daddy of all bellyflops. Falling mud and spray
drenched Conway and a small tidal wave surged over his feet. The distraction was
enough to make him pause, and the pause gave him time to realize that he had not
been personally insulted. There were many intelligent species who harbored
parasites-some of them actually necessary to the health of the host body, so
that in their case the slang expression being lousy also meant being in tiptop
condition. Maybe Arretapec had meant to be insulting, but he could not be sure.
And the VUXG was, after all, a very important person...
"What exactly might you have accomplished?" Conway asked sarcastically. He
was still angry, but had decided to fight on the professional rather than the
personal level. Besides, he knew that the Translator would take the insulting
edge off his words. "What are you trying to accomplish, and how do you expect to
do it merely by-from what I can see, anyway-just looking at the patient?"
"I cannot tell you," Arretapec replied after a few seconds. "My purpose
is.. . is vast. It is for the future. You would not understand."
"How do you know? If you told me what you were doing maybe I could help."
"You cannot help."
"Look," said Conway exasperated, "you haven't even tried to use the full
facilities of the hospital yet. No matter what you are trying to do for your
patient, the first step should have been a thorough examination- immobilization,
followed by X rays, biopsies, the lot. This would have given you valuable
physiological data upon which to work-"
"To state the matter simply," Arretapec broke in, "you are saying that in
order to understand a complicated organism or mechanism, one must first be
broken down into its component parts that they might be understood individually.
My race does not believe that an object must be destroyed-even in part-before it
can be understood. Your crude methods of investigation are therefore worthless
to me. I suggest that you leave."
Seething, Conway left.
His first impulse was to storm into O'Mara's office and tell the Chief
Psychologist to find somebody else to run errands for the VUXG. But O'Mara had
told him that his present assignment was important, and O'Mara would have unkind
things to say if he thought that Conway was throwing his hand in simply out of
pique because his curiosity had not been satisfied or his pride hurt. There were
lots of doctors-the assistants to Diagnosticians, particularly-who were not
allowed to touch their superior's patients, or was it just that Conway resented
a being like Arretapec being his superior...?
If Conway went to O'Mara in his present frame of mind there was real
danger of the psychologist deciding that he was temperamentally unsuited for his
position. Quite apart from the prestige attached to a post at Sector General,
the work performed in it was both stimulating and very much worthwhile. Should
O'Mara decide that he was unfit to remain here and pack him off to some
planetary hospital, it would be the greatest tragedy of Conway's life.
But if he could not go to O'Mara, where could he go? Ordered off one job
and not having another, Conway was at loose ends. He stood at a corridor
intersection for several minutes thinking, while beings representing a cross-
section of all the intelligent races of the galaxy strode undulated or skittered
past him, then suddenly he had it. There was something he could do, something
which he would have done anyway if everything had not happened with such a rush.
The hospital library had several items on the prehistoric periods of
Earth, both taped and in the old-fashioned and more cumbersome book form. Conway
heaped them on a reading desk and prepared to make an attempt to satisfy his
professional curiosity about the patient in this roundabout fashion.
The time passed very quickly.
Dinosaur, Conway discovered at once, was simply a general term applied to the
giant reptiles. The patient, except for its larger size and bony enlargement of
the tip of the tail, was identical in outward physical characteristics to the
brontosaurus which lived among the swamps of the Jurassic Period. It also was
herbivorous, but unlike their patient had no means of defense against the
carnivorous reptiles of its time. There was a surprising amount of physiological
data available as well, which Conway absorbed greedily.
The spinal column was composed of huge vertebrae, and with the exception
of the caudal vertebrae all were hollow-this saving of osseous material making
possible a relatively low body weight in comparison with its tremendous size. It
was oviparous. The head was small, the brain case one of the smallest found
among the vertebrates. But in addition to this brain there was a well-developed
nerve center in the region of the sacral vertebrae which was several times as
large as the brain proper. It was thought that the brontosaur grew slowly, their
great size being explained by the fact that they could live two hundred or more
years.
Their only defense against contemporary rivals was to take to and remain
in the water-they could pasture under water and required only brief mouthfuls of
air, apparently. They became extinct when geologic changes caused their swampy
habitats to dry up and leave them at the mercy of their natural enemies.
One authority stated that these saurians were nature's biggest failure.
Yet they had flourished, said another, through three geologic periods- the
Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous-which totaled 140 million years, a long time
indeed for a "failure" to be around, considering the fact that Man had existed
only for approximately half a million years...!
Conway left the library with the conviction that he had discovered something
important, but what exactly it was he could not say; it was an intensely
frustrated feeling. Over a hurried meal he decided that he badly needed more
information and there was only one person who might be able to give it to him.
He would see O'Mara again.
"Where is our small friend?" said the psychologist sharply when Conway
entered his office a few minutes later. "Have you had a fight or something?"
Conway gulped and tried to keep his voice steady as he replied, "Dr.
Arretapec wished to work with the patient alone for a while, and I've been doing
some research on dinosaurs in the library. I wondered if you had anymore
information for me?"
"A little," O'Mara said. He looked steadily at Conway for several very
uncomfortable seconds, then grunted, "Here it is. .
The Monitor Corps survey vessel which had discovered Arretapec's home
planet had, after realizing the high stage of civilization reached by the
inhabitants, given them the hyper-drive. One of the first planets visited had
been a raw, young world devoid of intelligent life, but one of its life-forms
had interested them-the giant saurian. They had told the Galactic powers-that-be
that given the proper assistance they might be able to do something which would
benefit civilization as a whole, and as it was impossible for any telepathic
race to tell a lie or even understand what a lie is, they were given the
assistance asked for and Arretapec and his patient had come to Sector General.
There was one other small item as well, O'Mara told Conway. Apparently the
VUXG's psi faculties included a sort of precognitive ability. This latter did
not appear to be of much use because it did not work with individuals but only
with populations, and then so far in the future and in such a haphazard manner
that it was practically useless.
Conway left O'Mara feeling more confused than ever.
He was still trying to make the odd bits and pieces of information add up
to something which made sense, but either he was too tired or too stupid. And
definitely he was tired; these past two days his brain had been just so much
thick, weary fog...
There must be an association between the two factors, Arretapec's coming
and this unaccountable weariness, Conway thought: he was in good physical
condition and no amount of muscular or mental exertion had left him feeling this
way before. And had not Arretapec said something about the itching sensations he
had felt being symptomatic of a disorder?
All of a sudden his job with the VUXG doctor was no longer merely
frustrating or annoying. Conway was beginning to feel anxiety for his own
personal safety. Suppose the itching was due to some new type of bacteria which
did not show up on his personal tell-tale? He had thought something like this
when his fidgeting had caused Arretapec to send him away, but for the rest of
the day he had been subconsciously trying to convince himself that it was
nothing because the intensity of the sensations had diminished to practically
zero. Now he knew that he should have had one of the senior physicians look into
it. He should, in fact, do it now.
But Conway was very tired. He promised himself that he would get Dr.
Mannon, his previous superior, to give him a going over in the morning. And in
the morning he would have to get on the right side of Arretapec again. He was
still worrying about the strange new disease he might have caught and the
correct method of apologizing to a VUXG life-form when he fell asleep.
Iv
Next morning there was another two-inch hollow eaten in the top of his desk and
Arretapec was nestling inside it. As soon as Conway demonstrated that he was
awake by sitting up, the being spoke:
"It had occurred to me since yesterday," the VUXG said, "that I have
perhaps been expecting too much in the way of self-control, emotional stability,
and the ability to endure or to discount minor physical irritants in a member of
a species which is-relatively, you understand-of low mentality. I will therefore
do my utmost to bear these points in mind during our future relations together."
It took a few seconds for Conway to realize that Arretapec had apologized
to him. When he did he thought that it was the most insulting apology he had
ever had tendered to him, and that it spoke well for his self-control that he
did not tell the other so. Instead he smiled and insisted that it was all his
fault. They left to see their patient again.
The interior of the converted transport had changed out of all
recognition. Instead of a hollow sphere covered with a muddy shambles of soil,
water and foliage, three-quarters of the available surface was now a perfect
representation of a Mesozoic landscape. Yet it was not exactly the same as the
pictures Conway had studied yesterday, because they had been of a distant age of
Earth and this flora had been transplanted from the patient's own world, but the
differences were surprisingly small. The greatest change was in the sky.
Where previously it had been possible to look up at the opposite side of
the hollow sphere, now one looked up into a blue-white mist in which burned a
very lifelike sun. The hollow center of the ship had been almost filled with
this semi-opaque gas so that now it would take a keen eye and a mind armed with
foreknowledge for a person to know that he was not standing on a real planet
with a real sun in the foggy sky above him. The engineers had done a fine job.
"I had not thought such an elaborate and lifelike reconstruction possible
here," said Arretapec suddenly. "You are to be commended. This should have a
very good effect on the patient."
The life-form under discussion-for some peculiar reason the engineers insisted
on calling it Emily-was contentedly shredding the fronds from the top of a
thirty foot high palm-like growth. The fact of its being on dry land instead of
pasturing under water was indicative of its state of mind, Conway knew, because
the old-time brontosaur invariably took to the water when threatened by enemies,
that being its only defense. Apparently this neo-brontosaurus hadn't a care in
the world.
"Essentially it is the same as fitting up a new ward for the treatment of
any extra-terrestrial patient," said Conway modestly, "the chief difference here
being the scale of the work undertaken."
"I am nevertheless impressed," said Arretapec.
First apologies and now compliments, Conway thought wryly. As they moved
closer and Arretapec once again warned him to keep quiet and still, Conway
guessed that the VUXG's change of manner was due to the work of the engineers.
With the patient now in ideal surroundings the treatment, whatever form it was
taking, might have an increased chance of success .
Suddenly Conway began to itch again. It started in the usual place deep
inside his right ear, but this time it spread and built up in intensity until
his whole brain seemed to be crawling with viciously biting insects. He felt
cold sweat break on him, and remembered his fears of the previous evening when
he had resolved to go to Mannon. This wasn't imagination, this was serious,
perhaps deadly serious. His hands flew to his head with a panicky, involuntary
motion, knocking the container holding Arretapec to the ground.
"You are fidgeting again. . ." began the VUXG.
"I ... I'm sorry," Conway stammered. He mumbled something incoherent about
having to leave, that it was important and couldn't wait, then fled in disorder.
Three hours later he was sitting in Dr. Mannon's DBDG examination room while
Mannon's dog alternately growled fiercely at him or rolled on its back and
looked appealing in vain attempts to entice him to play with it. But Conway had
no inclination for the ritual pummeling and wrestling that the dog and himself
enjoyed when he had the time for it. All his attention was focused on the bent
head of his former superior and on the charts lying on Mannon's desk. Suddenly
the other looked up.
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said in the peremptory manner
reserved for students and patients suspected of malingering. A few seconds later
he added, "Oh, I've no doubt you've felt these sensations- tiredness, itching,
and so on-but what sort of case are you working on at the moment?"
Conway told him. A few times during the narration Mannon grinned.
"I take it this is your first long-term-er-exposure to a telepathic life-
form and that I am the first you've mentioned this trouble to?" Mannon s tone
was of one making a statement rather than of asking a question. "And, of course,
although you feel this itching sensation intensely when close to the VUXG and
the patient, it continues in a weaker form at other times."
Conway nodded. "I felt it for a while just five minutes ago.
"Naturally, there is attenuation with distance," Mannon said. "But as
regards yourself, you have nothing to worry about. Arretapec is-all unknowingly,
you understand-simply trying to make a telepath out of you. I'll explain..
Apparently prolonged contact with some telepathic life-forms stimulated a
certain area in the human brain which was either the beginnings of a telepathic
function that would evolve in the future, or the atrophied remnant of something
possessed in the primitive past and since lost.
The result was troublesome but a quite harmless irritation. On very rare
occasions however, Mannon added, this proximity produced in the human a sort of
artificial telepathic faculty-that was, he could sometimes receive thoughts from
the telepath to whom he had been exposed, but of no other being. The faculty was
in all cases strictly temporary, and disappeared when the being responsible for
bringing it about left the human.
"But these cases of induced telepathy are extremely rare," Mannon
concluded, "and obviously you are getting only the irritant by-product,
otherwise you might know what Arretapec is playing at simply by reading his
mind..
While Dr. Mannon had been talking, and relieved of the worry that he had caught
some strange new disease, Conway's mind had been working furiously. Vaguely, as
odd events with Arretapec and the brontosaurus returned to his mind and were
added to scraps of the VUXG's conversations and his own studying of the life-and
extinction-of Earth's long gone race of giant reptiles, a picture was forming in
his mind. It was a crazy-or at least cockeyed-picture, and it was still
incomplete, but what else could a being like Arretapec be doing to a patient
like the brontosaurus, a patient who had nothing at all wrong with it?
"Pardon?" Conway said. He had become aware that Mannon had said something
which he had not caught.
"I said if you find out what Arretapec is doing, let me know," Mannon
repeated.
"Oh, I know what it's doing," said Conway. "At least I think I do- and I
understand why Arretapec does not want to talk about it. The ridicule if it
tried and failed, why even the idea of its trying is ridiculous. What I don't
know is why it is doing it..
"Dr. Conway," said Mannon in a deceptively mild voice, "if you don't tell
me what you're talking about I will, as our cruder-minded interns so succinctly
put it, have your guts for garters."
Conway stood up quickly. He had to get back to Arretapec without further
delay. Now that he had a rough idea of what was going on there were things he
must see to-urgent safety precautions that a being such as the VUXG might not
think of. Absently, he said, "I'm sorry, sir, I can't tell you. You see, from
what you've told me there is a possibility that my knowledge derives directly
from Arretapec's mind, telepathically, and is therefore privileged information.
I've got to rush now, but thanks very much."
Once outside Conway practically ran to the nearest communicator and called
Maintenance. The voice which answered he recognized as belonging to the engineer
Colonel he had met earlier. He said quickly, "Is the hull of that converted
transport strong enough to take the shock of a body of approximately eight
thousand pounds moving at, uh, anything between twenty and one hundred miles an
hour, and what safety measures can you take against such an occurrence?"
There was a long, loaded silence, then, "Are you kidding? It would go
through the hull like so much plywood. But in the event of a major puncture like
that the volume of air inside the ship is such that there would be plenty of
time for the maintenance people to get into suits. Why do you ask?"
Conway thought quickly. He wanted a job done but did not want to tell why.
He told the Colonel that he was worried about the gravity grids which maintained
the artificial gravity inside the ship. There were so many of them that if one
section should accidentally reverse its polarity and fling the brontosaurus away
from it instead of holding it down...
Rather testily the Colonel agreed that the gravity grids could be switched
to repulsion, also focused into pressor or attractor beams, but that the
changeover did not occur simply because somebody breathed on them. There were
safety devices incorporated which...
"All the same," Conway broke in, "I would feel much safer about things if
you could fix all the gravity grids so that at the approach of a heavy falling
body they would automatically switch over to repulsion- just in case the worst
happens. Is that possible?"
"Is this an order?" said the Colonel, "or are you just the worrying type?"
"It's an order, I'm afraid," said Conway.
"Then it's possible." A sharp click put a full stop to the conversation.
Conway set out to rejoin Arretapec again to become an ideal assistant to
his chief in that he would have answers ready before the questions were asked.
Also, he thought wryly, he would have to maneuver the VUXG into asking the
proper questions so that he could answer them.
On the fifth day of their association, Conway said to Arretapec, "I have been
assured that your patient is not suffering from either a physical condition or
one requiring psychiatric correction, so that I am led to the conclusion that
you are trying to effect some change in the brain structure by telepathic, or
some related means. If my conclusions are correct, I have information which
might aid or at least interest you:
"There was a giant reptile similar to the patient which lived on my own
planet in primitive times. From remains unearthed by archaeologists we know that
it possessed, or required, a second nerve center several times as big as the
brain proper in the region of the sacral vertebrae, presumably to handle
movements of the hind legs, tail and so on. If such was the case here you might
have two brains to deal with instead of one."
As he waited for Arretapec to reply Conway gave thanks that the VUXG
belonged to a highly ethical species which did not hold with using their
telepathy on non-telepaths, otherwise the being would have known that Conway
knew that their patient had two nerve-centers-that he knew because while
Arretapec had been slowly eating another hole in his desk one night and Conway
and the patient had been asleep, a colleague of Conway's had surreptitiously
used an X-ray scanner and camera on the unsuspecting dinosaur.
"Your conclusions are correct," said Arretapec at last, "and your
information is interesting. I had not thought it possible for one entity to
possess two brains. However this would explain the unusual difficulty of
communication I have with this creature. I will investigate."
Conway felt the itching start inside his head again, but now that he knew
what it was he was able to take it without "fidgeting." The itch died away and
Arretapec said, "I am getting a response. For the first time I am getting a
response." The itching sensation began inside his skull again and slowly built
up, and up...
It wasn't just like ants with red-hot pincers chewing at his brain cells,
Conway thought agonizedly as he fought to keep from moving and distracting
Arretapec now that the being appeared to be getting somewhere; it felt as though
somebody was punching holes in his poor, quivering brain with a rusty nail. It
had never been like this before, this was sheer torture.
Then suddenly there was a subtle change in the sensations. Not a
lessening, but of something added. Conway had a brief, blinding glimpse of
something-it was like a phrase of great music played on a damaged recording, or
the beauty of a masterpiece that is cracked and disfigured almost beyond
recognition. He knew that for an instant, through the distorting waves of pain,
he had actually seen into Arretapec's mind.
Now he knew everything...
The VUXG continued to have responses all that day, but they were erratic,
violent and uncontrolled. After one particular dramatic response had caused the
panicky dinosaur to level a couple of acres of trees, then sent it charging into
the lake in terror, Arretapec called a halt.
"It is useless," said the doctor. "The being will not use what I am trying
to teach it for itself, and when I force the process it becomes afraid."
There was no emotion in the flat, Translated tones, but Conway who had had
a glimpse of Arretapec's mind knew the bitter disappointment that the other
felt. He wished desperately that he could help, but he knew that he could do
nothing directly of assistance-Arretapec was the one who had to do the real work
in this case, he could only prod things along now and then. He was still
wracking his brain for an answer to the problem when he turned in that night,
and just before he went to sleep he thought he found it.
Next morning they tracked down Dr. Mannon just as he was entering the DBLF
operating theater. Conway said, "Sir, can we borrow your dog?"
"Business or pleasure?" said Mannon suspiciously. He was very attached to
his dog, so much so that non-human members of the staff suspected a symbiotic
relationship.
"We won't hurt it at all," said Conway reassuringly.
"Thanks." He took the lead from the appendage of the Tralthan intern
holding it, then said to Arretapec, "Now back to my room...
Ten minutes later the dog, barking furiously, was dashing around Conway's
room while Conway himself hurled cushions and pillows at it. Suddenly one
connected fairly, bowling it over. Paws scrabbling and skidding on the plastic
flooring it erupted into frantic burst of high-pitched yelps and snarls.
Conway found himself whipped off his feet and suspended eight feet up in
mid-air.
"I did not realize," boomed the voice of Arretapec from his position on
the desk, "that you had intended this to be a demonstration of Earth human
sadism. I am shocked, horrified. You will release this unfortunate animal at
once."
Conway said, "Put me down and I'll explain. .
On the eighth day they returned the dog to Dr. Mannon and went back to work on
the dinosaur. At the end of the second week they were still working and
Arretapec, Conway and their patient were being talked, whistled, cheeped and
grunted about in every language in use at the hospital. They were in the dining
hall one day when Conway became aware that the annunciator which had been
droning out messages in the background was now calling his name.
O'Mara on the intercom," it was saying monotonously, "Doctor Conway,
please. Would you contact Major O'Mara on the intercom as soon as possible. .
"Excuse me," Conway said to Arretapec, who was nestling on the plastic
block which the catering superintendent had rather pointedly placed at Conway's
table, and headed for the nearest communicator.
"It isn't a life-and-death matter," said O'Mara when he called and asked
what was wrong. "I would like to have some things explained to me. For instance:
"Dr. Hardin is practically frothing at the mouth because the food
vegetation which he plants and replenishes so carefully has now got to be
sprayed with some chemical which will render it less pleasant to taste, and why
is a certain amount of the vegetation kept at its full flavor but in storage?
What are you doing with a tri-di projector? And where does Mannon's dog fit into
this?" O'Mara paused, reluctantly, for breath, then went on, "And Colonel
Skempton says that his engineers are run ragged setting up tractor and pressor
beam mounts for you two-not that he minds that so much, but he says that if all
that gadgetry was pointed outward instead of inward that hulk you're messing
around in could take on and lick a Federation cruiser.
"And his men, well.. ." O'Mara was holding his tone to a conversational
level, but it was obvious that he was having trouble doing so. Quite a few of
them are having to consult me professionally. Some
of them, the lucky ones perhaps, just don't believe their eyes. The others would
much prefer pink elephants."
There was a short silence, then O'Mara said, "Mannon tells me that you
climbed onto your ethical high horse and wouldn't say a thing when he asked you.
I was wondering-"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Conway awkwardly.
"But what the blinding blue blazes are you doing?" O'Mara erupted, then,
"Well, good luck with it anyway. Off."
Conway hurried to rejoin Arretapec and take up the conversation where it had
been left off. As they were leaving a little later, Conway said, "It was stupid
of me not to take the size factor into consideration. But now that we have-"
"Stupid of us, friend Conway," Arretapec corrected in its toneless voice.
"Most of your ideas have worked out successfully so far. You have been of
invaluable assistance to me, so that I sometimes think that you have guessed my
purpose. I am hoping that this idea, also, will work."
"We'll keep our fingers crossed."
On this occasion Arretapec did not, as it usually did, point out that
firstly it did not believe in luck and secondly that it possessed no fingers.
Arretapec was definitely growing more understanding of the ways of humans. And
Conway now wished that the high-minded VUXG would read his mind, just so that
the being would know how much he was with it in this, how much he wanted
Arretapec's experiment to succeed this afternoon.
Conway could feel the tension mounting in him all the way to the ship.
When he was giving the engineers and maintenance men their final instructions
and making sure that they knew what to do in any emergency, he knew that he was
joking a bit too much and laughing a little too heartily. But then everyone was
showing signs of strain. A little later, however, as he stood less than fifty
yards from the patient and with equipment festooning him like a Christmas tree-
an anti-gravity pack belted around his waist, a tri-di projector locus and
viewer strapped to his chest and his shoulders hung with a heavy radio pack-his
tension had reached the point of immobility and outward calm of the spring which
can be wound no tighter.
"Projector crew ready," said a voice.
"The food's in place," came another.
"All tractor and pressor beam men on top line," reported a third.
"Right, Doctor," Conway said to the hovering Arretapec, and ran a suddenly
dry tongue around drier lips. "Do your stuff."
He pressed a stud on the locus mechanism on his chest and immediately
there sprang into being around and above him the immaterial image of a Conway
who was fifty feet high. He saw the patient's head go up, heard the low-pitched
whinnying sound that it made when agitated or afraid and which contrasted so
oddly with its bulk, and saw it backing ponderously toward the water's edge. But
Arretapec was radiating furiously at the brontosaur's two small, almost
rudimentary brains-sending out great waves of calm and reassurance-and the great
reptile grew quiet. Very slowly so as not to alarm it, Conway went through the
motions of reaching behind him, picking something up and placing it well in
front of him. Above and around him his fifty-foot image did the same.
But where the image's great hand came down there was a bundle of greenery,
and when the solid-seeming but immaterial hand moved upward the bundle followed
it, kept in position at the apex of three delicately manipulated pressor beams.
The fresh, moist bundle of plants and palm fronds was placed close to the still
uneasy dinosaur, apparently by the hand which then withdrew. After what seemed
like an eternity to the waiting Conway the massive, sinuous neck arched
downward. It began poking at the greenery. It began to nibble...
Conway went through the same motions again, and again. All the time he and
his fifty-foot image kept edging closer.
The brontosaur, he knew, could at a pinch eat the vegetation which grew
around it, but since Dr. Hardin's sprayer had gone into operation it wasn't very
nice stuff. But it could tell that these tidbits were the real, old stuff; the
fresh, juicy, sweet-smelling food that it used to know which had so
unaccountably disappeared of late. Its nibbles became hungry gobbling.
Conway said, "All right. Stage Two..
Using the tiny viewer which showed his image's relationship to the dinosaur as a
guide, Conway reached forward again. High up and invisible on the opposite wall
of the hull another pressor beam went into operation, synchronizing its
movements with the hand which was now apparently stroking the patient's great
neck, and administering a firm but gentle pressure. After an initial instant of
panic the patient went back to eating, and occasionally shuddering a little.
Arretapec reported that it was enjoying the sensation.
"Now," said Conway, "We'll start playing rough."
Two great hands were placed against its side and massed pressors toppled
it over with a ground-shaking crash. In real terror now it threshed and heaved
madly in a vain attempt to get its ponderous and ungainly body upright on its
feet. But instead of inflicting mortal damage, the great hands continued only to
stroke and pat. The brontosaur had quieted and was showing signs of enjoying
itself again when the hands moved to a new position. Tractor and pressor beams
both seized the recumbent body, yanked it upright and toppled it onto the
opposite side.
Using the anti-gravity belt to increase his mobility, Conway began hopping
over and around the brontosaur, with Arretapec, who was in rapport with the
patient, reporting constantly on the effects of the various stimuli. He stroked,
patted, pummeled and pushed at the giant reptile with blown-up, immaterial hands
and feet. He yanked its tail and he slapped its neck, and all the time the
tractor and pressor crews kept perfect time with him...
Something like this had occurred before, not to mention other things
which, it was rumored, had driven one engineer to drink and at least four off
it. But it was not until the size factor had been taken into consideration as it
had today with this monster tri-di projection that there had been such promising
results. Previously it had been as if a mouse were manhandling a St. Bernard
during the past week or so-no wonder the brontosaurus had been in a frenzy of
panic when all sorts of inexplicable things had been happening to it and the
only reason it could see for them was two tiny creatures that were just barely
visible to it!
But the patient's species had roamed its home planet for a hundred million
years, and it personally was immensely long-lived. Although its two brains were
tiny it was really much smarter than a dog, so that very soon Conway had it
trying to sit and beg.
And two hours later the brontosaurus took off.
It rose rapidly from the ground, a monstrous, ungainly and indescribable object
with its massive legs making involuntary walking movements and the great neck
and tail hanging down and waving slowly. Obviously it was the brain in the
sacral area and not the cranium which was handling the levitation, Conway
thought, as the great reptile approached the bunch of palm fronds which were
balanced tantalizingly two hundred feet above its head. But that was a detail,
it was levitating, that was the main thing. Unless- "Are you helping?" Conway
said sharply to Arretapec.
The reply was flat and emotionless by necessity, but had the VUXG been
human it would have been a yell of sheer triumph.
"Good old Emily!" somebody shouted in Conway's phones, probably one of the
beam operators, then, "Look, she's passing it!"
The brontosaur had missed the suspended bundle of foliage and was still
rising fast. It made a clumsy, convulsive attempt to reach it in passing, which
had set up a definite spin. Further wild movements of neck and tail were
aggravating it.
"Better get her down out of there," said a second voice urgently. "That
artificial sun could scorch her tail off."
And that spin is making it panicky," agreed Conway. "Tractor beam men...!"
But he was too late. Sun, earth and sky were careening in wild, twisting
loops around a being which had been hitherto accustomed to solid ground under
its feet. It wanted down or up, or somewhere. Despite Arretapec's frantic
attempts to soothe it, it teleported again.
Conway saw the great mountain of flesh and bone go hurtling off at a
tangent, at least four times faster than its original speed. He yelled, "H
sector men! Cushion it down, gently."
But there was neither time nor space for the pressor beam men to slow it
down gently. To keep it from crashing fatally to the surface-also through the
underlying plating and out into space outside-they had to slow it down steadily
but firmly, and to the brontosaurus that necessarily sharp braking must have
felt like a physical blow. It teleported again.
"C-sector, it's coming at you!"
But at C it was a repetition of what happened with H, the beast panicked
and shot off in another direction. And so it went on, with the great reptile
rocketing from one side of the ship's interior to the other until...
"Skempton here," said a brisk authoritative voice. "My men say the pressor
beam mounts were not designed to stand this sort of thing. Insufficiently
braced. The hull plating has sprung in eight places."
"Can't you-"
"We're sealing the leaks as fast as we can, Skempton cut in, answering
Conway's question before he could ask it. "But this battering is shaking the
ship apart...
Dr. Arretapec joined in at that point.
"Doctor Conway," the being said, "while it is obvious that the patient has
shown a surprising aptitude with its new talent, its use is uncontrolled because
of its fear and confusion. This traumatic experience will cause irreparable
damage, I am convinced, to the being's thinking processes...
"Conway, look out!"
The reptile had come to a halt near ground level a few hundred yards away, then
shot off at right angles toward Conway's position. But it was traveling a
straight line inside a hollow sphere, and the surface was curving up to meet it.
Conway saw the hurtling body lurch and spin as the beam operators sought
desperately to check its velocity. Then suddenly the mighty body was ripping
through the low, thickly-growing trees, then it was plowing a wide, shallow
furrow through the soft, swampy ground and with a small mountain of earth-
uprooted vegetation piling up in front of it, Conway was right in its path.
Before he could adjust the control of his anti-gravity pack the ground
came up and fell on him. For a few minutes he was too dazed to realize why it
was he couldn't move, then he saw that he was buried to the waist in a sticky
cement of splintered branches and muddy earth. The heavings and shudderings he
felt in the ground were the brontosaurus climbing to its feet. He looked up to
see the great mass towering over him, saw it turn awkwardly and heard the
sucking and crackling noises as the massive, pile-driver legs drove almost knee
deep into the soil and underbrush.
Emily was heading for the lake again, and between the water and it was
Conway...
He shouted and struggled in a frenzied attempt to attract attention,
because the anti-gray and radio were smashed and he was stuck fast. The great
reptilian mountain rolled up to him, the immense, slowly-waving neck was cutting
off the light and one gigantic forefoot was poised to both kill and bury him in
one operation, then Conway was yanked suddenly upward and to the side to where a
prune in a gob of syrup was floating in the air.
"In the excitement of the moment," Arretapec said, "I had forgotten that
you require a mechanical device to teleport. Please accept my apologies."
"Q-quite all right," said Conway shakily. He made an effort to steady his
jumping nerves, then caught sight of a pressor beam crew on the surface below
him. He called suddenly, "Get another radio and projector locus here, quick!"
Ten minutes later he was bruised, battered but ready to continue again. He
stood at the water's edge with Arretapec hovering at his shoulder and his fifty-
foot image again rising above him. The VUXG doctor, in rapport with the
brontosaur under the surface of the lake, reported that success or failure hung
in the balance. The patient had gone through what was to it a mind-wrecking
experience, but the fact that it was now in what it felt to be the safety of
underwater-where it had hitherto sought refuge from hunger and attacks of its
enemies-was, together with the mental reassurances of Arretapec, exerting a
steadying influence.
At times hopefully, at others in utter despair, Conway waited. Sometimes
the strength of his feelings made him swear. It would not have been so bad,
meant so much to him, if he hadn't caught that glimpse of what Arretapec's
purpose had been, or if he had not grown to like the rather prim and over-
condescending ball of goo so much. But any being with a mind like that who
intended doing what it hoped to do had a right to be condescending.
Abruptly the huge head broke surface and the enormous body heaved itself
onto the bank. Slowly, ponderously, the hind legs bent double and the long,
tapering neck stretched upward. The brontosaurus wanted to play again.
Something caught in Conway's throat. He looked to where a dozen bundles of
succulent greenery lay ready for use, with one already being maneuvered toward
him. He waved his arm abruptly and said, "Oh, give it the whole lot, it deserves
them. .
..... So that when Arretapec saw the conditions on the patient's world," Conway
said a little stiffly, "and its precognitive faculty told him what the
brontosaur's most likely future would be, it just had to try to change it."
Conway was in the Chief Psychologist's office making a preliminary, verbal
report and the intent faces of O'Mara, Hardin, Skempton and the hospital's
Director encircled him. He felt anything but comfortable as, clearing his
throat, he went on, "But Arretapec belongs to an old, proud race, and being
telepathic added to its sensitivity-telepaths really feel what others think
about them. What Arretapec proposed doing was so radical, it would leave itself
and its race open to such ridicule if it failed, that it just had to be
secretive. Conditions on the brontosaur's planet indicated that there would be
no rise of an intelligent life-form after the great reptiles became extinct, and
geologically speaking that extinction would not be long delayed. The patient's
species had been around for a long time-that armored tail and amphibious nature
had allowed it to survive more predatory and specialized contemporaries-but
climatic changes were imminent and it could not follow the sun toward the
equator because the planetary surface was composed of a large number of island
continents. A brontosaurus could not cross an ocean. But if these giant reptiles
could be made to develop the psi faculty of teleportation, the ocean barrier
would disappear and with it the danger from the encroaching cold and shortage of
food. It was this which Dr. Arretapec succeeded in doing."
O'Mara broke in at that point: "If Arretapec gave the brontosaurus the
teleportive ability by working directly on its brain, why can't the same be done
for us?"
"Probably because we've managed fine without it," replied Conway. "The
patient, on the other hand, was shown and made to understand that this faculty
was necessary for its survival. Once this is realized the ability will be used
and passed on, because it is latent in nearly all species. Now that Arretapec
has proved the idea possible his whole race will want to get in on it. Fostering
intelligence on what would otherwise be a dead planet is the sort of big project
which appeals to those high-minded types...
Conway was thinking of that single, precognitive glimpse he had had into
Arretapec's mind, of the civilization which would develop on the brontosaur's
world and the monstrous yet strangely graceful beings that it would contain in
some far, far, future day. But he did not mention these thoughts aloud. Instead
he said, "Like most telepaths Arretapec was both squeamish and inclined to
discount purely physical methods of investigation. It was not until I introduced
him to Dr. Mannon's dog, and pointed out that a good way to get an animal to use
a new ability was to teach it tricks with it, that we got anywhere. I showed
that trick where I throw cushions at the dog and after wrestling with them for a
while it arranges them in a heap and lets me throw it on top of them, thus
demonstrating that simple-minded creatures don't mind-within limits, that is-a
little roughhousing-"
"So that," said O'Mara, gazing reflectively at the ceiling, "is what you
do in your spare time..
Colonel Skempton coughed. He said, "You're playing down your own part in
this. Your foresight in stuffing that hulk with tractor and pressor beams...
"There's just one other thing before I see it off," Conway broke in
hastily. "Arretapec heard some of the men calling the patient Emily. It would
like to know why."
"It would," said O'Mara disgustedly. He pursed his lips then went on,
"Apparently one of the maintenance men with an appetite for early fiction-the
Bronte sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne to be exact- dubbed our patient Emily
Brontosaurus. I must say that I feel a pathological interest in a mind which
thinks like that. . ." O'Mara looked as though there was a bad smell in the
room.
Conway groaned in sympathy. As he turned to go, he thought that his last
and hardest job might be in explaining what a pun was to the high-minded Dr.
Arretapec.
Next day Arretapec and the dinosaur left, the Monitor transport officer whose
job it was to keep the hospital supplied heaved a great sigh of relief, and
Conway found himself on ward duty again. But this time he was something more
than a medical mechanic. He had been placed in charge of a section of the
Nursery, and although he had to use data, drugs and case-histories supplied by
Thornnastor, the Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology, there was nobody
breathing directly down his neck. He could walk through his section and tell
himself that these were his wards. And O'Mara had even promised him an
assistant...!
It has been apparent since you first arrived here," the Major had told
him, "that you mix more readily with e-ts than with members of your own species.
Saddling you with Dr. Arretapec was a test, which you passed with honors, and
the assistant I'll be giving you in a few days might be another."
O'Mara had paused then, shook his head wonderingly and went on, "Not only
do you get on exceptionally well with e-ts, but I don't hear a single whisper on
the grapevine of you chasing the females of our species . .
"I don't have the time," said Conway seriously. "I doubt if I ever will."
"Oh, well, misogyny is an allowable neurosis," O'Mara had replied, then
had gone onto discuss the new assistant. Subsequently Conway had returned to his
wards and worked much harder than if there had been a Senior Physician breathing
down his neck. He was too busy to hear the rumors which began to go around
regarding the odd patient who had been admitted to Observation Ward Three.
CHAPTER 4
VISITOR AT LARGE
Despite the vast resources of medical and surgical skill available, resources
which were acknowledged second to none anywhere in the civilized Galaxy, there
had to be times when a case arrived in Sector General for which nothing whatever
could be done. This particular patient was of classification SRTT, which was a
physiological type never before encountered in the hospital. It was amoebic,
possessed the ability to extrude any limbs, sensory organs or protective
tegument necessary to the environment in which it found itself, and was so
fantastically adaptable that it was difficult to imagine how one of these beings
could ever fall sick in the first place.
The lack of symptoms was the most baffling aspect of the case. There was
in evidence none of the visually alarming growths of malfunctionings to which so
many of the extraterrestrial species were prone, nor were there any bacteria
present in what could be considered harmful quantities. Instead the patient was
simply melting-quietly, cleanly and without fuss or bother, like a piece of ice
left in a warm room, its body was literally turning to water. Nothing that was
tried had any effect in halting the process and, while they continued their
attempts at finding a cure with even greater intensity, the Diagnosticians and
lesser doctors in attendance had begun to realize a little sadly that the run of
medical miracles produced with such monotonous regularity by Sector Twelve
General Hospital was due to be broken.
And it was for that reason alone that one of the strictest rules of the
hospital was temporarily relaxed.
"I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning," said Dr. Conway, trying
hard not to stare at the iridescent and not quite atrophied wings of his new
assistant. "At Reception, where the problems of admittance are dealt with."
Conway waited to see if the other had any comments, and continuing to walk
in the direction of the stated objective while doing so. Rather than walk beside
his companion he maintained a two-yard lead-not out of any wish to give offense
but for the simple reason that he was afraid of inflicting severe physical
damage on his assistant if he strayed any closer than that.
The new assistant was a GLNO-six-legged, exoskeletal and insect like, with
the empathic faculty-from the planet Cinruss. The gravity pull of its home world
was less than one-twelfth Earth-normal, which was the reason for an insect
species growing to such size and becoming dominant, so that it wore two anti-G
belts to neutralize the attraction which would otherwise have mashed it into
ruin against the corridor floor. One neutralizer belt would have been adequate
for this purpose, but Conway did not blame the being one bit for wanting to play
safe. It was a spindly, awkward-looking and incredibly fragile life-form, and
its name was Dr. Prilicla.
Prilicla had previous experience both in planetary and in the smaller
multi-environment hospitals and so was not completely green, Conway had been
told, but it would naturally feel at a loss before the size and complexity of
Sector General. Conway was to be its guide and mentor for a while and then, when
his present period of duty in charge of the nursery was complete, he would hand
over Prilicla. Apparently the hospital's Director had decided that light-gravity
life-forms with their extreme sensitivity and delicacy of touch would be
particularly suited to the care and handling of the more fragile e-t embryos.
It was a good idea, Conway thought as he hastily interposed himself
between Prilicla and a Tralthan intern who lumbered past on six elephantine
feet, if the low-gravity life-form in question could survive the association
with its more massive and clumsy colleagues.
"You understand," said Conway as he guided the GLNO toward Reception's
control room, "that getting some of the patients into the place is a problem in
itself. It isn't so bad with the small ones, but Tralthans, or a forty-foot-long
AUGL from Chalderescol. . ." Conway broke off suddenly and said, "Here we are.
Through a wide, transparent wall section could be seen a room containing
three massive control desks, only one of which was currently occupied. The being
before it was a Nidian, and a group of indicator lights showed that it had just
made contact with a ship approaching the hospital.
Conway said, "Listen. .
"Identify yourself, please," said the red teddy bear in its staccato,
barking speech, which was filtered through Conway's Translator as flat and
toneless English and which came to Prilicla as equally unemotionless Cinrusskin.
"Patient, visitor or Staff, and species?"
"Visitor," came the reply, "and Human."
There was a second's pause, then: "Give your physiological classification
please," said the red-furred receptionist with a wink toward the two watchers.
"All intelligent races refer to their own species as human and think of all
others as being nonhuman, so that what you call yourself has no meaning. .
Conway only half heard the conversation after that because he was so engrossed
in trying to visualize what a being with that classification could look like.
The double-T meant that both its shape and physical characteristics were
variable, R that it had high heat and pressure tolerance, and the S in that
combination. . . If there had not actually been one waiting outside, Conway
would not have believed such a weird beastie could exist.
And the visitor was an important person, apparently, because the
receptionist was now busily engaged in passing on the news of its arrival to
various beings within the hospital-most of whom were Diagnosticians, no less.
All at once Conway was intensely curious to see this highly unusual being, but
thought that he would not be showing a very good example to Prilicla if he
dashed off on a rubbernecking expedition when they had work to do elsewhere.
Also, his assistant was still very much an unknown quantity where Conway was
concerned-Prilicla might be one of those touchy individuals who held that to
look at a member of another species for no other reason than to satisfy mere
curiosity was a grievous insult...
"If it would not interfere with more urgent duties," broke in the flat,
translated voice of Prilicla, "I would very much like to see this visitor."
Bless you! thought Conway, but outwardly pretended to mull over the
latter. Finally he said, "Normally I could not allow that, but as the lock where
the SRTT is entering is not far from here and there is some time to spare before
we are due at our wards, I expect it will be all right to indulge your curiosity
just this once. Please follow me, Doctor."
As he waved goodbye to the furry receptionist, Conway thought that it was
a very good thing that Pricilla's Translator was incapable of transferring the
strongly ironic content of those last words, so that the other was not aware
what a rise Conway was taking out of him. And then suddenly he stopped in his
mental tracks. Prilicla, he realized uncomfortably, was an empath. The being had
not said very much since they had met a short time ago, but everything that it
had said had backed up Conway's feelings in the particular matter under
discussion. His new assistant was not a telepath-it could not read thoughts-but
it was sensitive to feelings and emotions and would therefore have been aware of
Conway's curiosity.
Conway felt like kicking himself for forgetting that empathic faculty, and
wryly wondered just who had been taking the rise out of which.
He had to console himself with the thought that at least he was agreeable,
and not like some of the people he had been attached to recently like Dr.
Arretapec.
Lock Six, where the SRTT was to be admitted, could have been reached in a few
minutes if Conway had used the shortcut through the water filled corridor
leading to the AUGL operating room and across the surgical ward of the chlorine-
breathing PVSJs. But it would have meant donning one of the lightweight diving
suits for protection, and while he could climb in and out of such a suit in no
time at all, he very much doubted if the ultra-leggy Prilicla could do so. They
therefore had to take the long way round, and hurry.
At one point a Tralthan wearing the gold-edged armband of a Diagnostician
and an Earth-human maintenance engineer overtook them, the FGLI charging along
like a runaway tank and the Earthman having to trot to keep up. Conway and
Prilicla stood aside respectfully to allow the Diagnostician to pass-as well as
to avoid being flattened-and then continued. A scrap of overheard conversation
identified the two beings as part of the arriving SRTT's reception committee,
and from the somewhat caustic tone of the Earth-human's remarks it was obvious
that the visitor had arrived earlier than expected.
When they turned a corner a few seconds later and came within sight of the
great entry lock Conway saw a sight which made him smile in spite of himself.
Three corridors converged on the antechamber of Lock Six on this level as well
as two others on upper and lower levels which reached it via sloping ramps, and
figures were hurrying along each one. As well as the Tralthan and Earthman who
had just passed them there was another Tralthan, two of the DBLF caterpillars
and a spiny, membranous Illensan in a transparent protective suit-who had just
emerged from the adjacent chlorine-filled corridor of the PVSJ section-all
heading for the inner seal of the big Lock, already swinging open on the
expected visitor. To Conway it seemed to be a wildly ludicrous situation, and he
had a sudden mental picture of the whole crazy menagerie of them coming together
with a crash in the same spot at the same time.
Then while he was still smiling at the thought, comedy changed swiftly and
without warning to tragedy.
As the visitor entered the antechamber and the seal closed behind it Conway saw
something that was a little like a crocodile with horn-tipped tentacles and a
lot like nothing he had ever seen before. He saw the being shrink away from the
figures hurrying to meet it, then suddenly dart toward the PVSJ-who was, Conway
was to remember later, both the nearest and the smallest. Everybody seemed to be
shouting at once then, so much so that Conway's and presumably everyone else's
Translators went into an ear-piercing squeal of oscillation through sheer
overload.
Faced by the teeth and hard-tipped tentacles of the charging visitor the
Illensan PVSJ, no doubt thinking of the flimsiness of the envelope which held
its life-saving chlorine around it, fled back into the intercorridor lock for
the safety of its own section. The visitor, its way suddenly blocked by a
Tralthan booming unheard reassurances at it, turned suddenly and scuttled for
the same airlock.
All such locks were fitted with rapid action controls in case of
emergency, controls which caused one door to open and the other to shut
simultaneously instead of waiting for the chamber to be evacuated and refilled
with the required atmosphere. The PVSJ, with the berserk visitor close behind it
and its suit already torn by the SRTT's teeth so that it was in imminent danger
of dying from oxygen poisoning, rightly considered his case to be an emergency
and activated the rapid-action controls. It was perhaps too frightened to notice
that the visitor was not completely into the lock, and that when the inner door
opened the outer one would neatly cut the visitor in two...
There was so much shouting and confusion around the lock that Conway did
not see who the quick-thinking person was who saved the visitor's life by
pressing yet another emergency button, the one which caused both doors to open
together. This action kept the SRTT from being cut in two, but there was now a
direct opening into the PVSJ section from which billowed thick, yellow clouds of
chlorine gas. Before Conway could react, contamination detectors in the corridor
walls touched off the alarm siren and simultaneously closed the air-tight doors
in the immediate vicinity, and they were all neatly trapped.
For a wild moment Conway fought the urge to run to the air-tight doors and beat
on them with his fists. Then he thought of plunging through that poisonous fog
to another intersection lock which was on the other side of it. But he could see
a maintenance man and one of the DBLF caterpillars in it already, both so
overcome with chlorine that Conway doubted if they could live long enough to put
on the suits. Could he, he wondered sickly, get over there? The lock chamber
also contained helmets good for ten minutes or so-that was demanded by the
safety regulations-but to do it he would have to hold his breath for at least
three minutes and keep his eyes jammed shut, because if he got a single whiff of
that gas or it got at his eyes he would be helplessly disabled. But how could he
pass that heaving, struggling mass of Tralthan legs and tentacles spread across
the corridor floor while groping about with his eyes shut...
The fear-filled chaos of his thoughts was interrupted by Prilicla, who
said, "Chlorine is lethal to my species. Please excuse me.
Prilicla was doing something peculiar to itself. The long, many jointed
legs were waving and jerking about as though performing some weird ritual dance
and two of the four manipulatory appendages-whose possession was the reason for
its species' fame as surgeons-were doing complicated things with what looked
like rolls of transparent plastic sheeting. Conway did not see exactly how it
happened but suddenly his GLNO assistant was swathed in a loose, transparent
cover through which protruded its six legs and two manipulators-its body, wings
and other two members, which were busily engaged in spraying sealing solution on
the
leg openings, were completely covered by it. The loose covering bellied out and
became taut, proving that it was air-tight.
"I didn't know you had.. ." Conway began, then with a surge of hope
bursting up within him he gabbled, "Listen. Do exactly as I tell you. You've got
to get me a helmet, quickly..
But the hope died just as suddenly before he finished giving the GLNO his
instructions. Prilicla could doubtless find a helmet for him, but how could the
being ever hope to make it to the lock where they were kept through that
struggling mass on the floor between. One blow could tear off a leg or cave in
that flimsy exoskeleton like an eggshell. He couldn't ask the GLNO to do it, it
would be murder.
He was about to cancel all previous instructions and tell the GLNO to stay
put and save itself when Prilicla dashed across the corridor floor, ran
diagonally up the wall and disappeared into the chlorine fog traveling along the
ceiling. Conway reminded himself that many insect life-forms possessed sucker-
tipped feet and began to feel hopeful again, so much so that other sensations
began to register.
Close beside him the wall annunciator was informing everyone in the hospital
that there was contamination in the region of Lock Six, while below it the
intercom unit was emitting red light and harsh buzzing sounds as somebody in
Maintenance Division tried to find out whether or not the contaminated area was
occupied. The drifting gas was almost on him as Conway snatched at the intercom
mike.
"Quiet and listen!" he shouted. "Conway here, at Lock Six. Two FGLIs, two
DBLFs, one DBDG all with chlorine poisoning not yet fatal. One PVSJ in damaged
protective suit with oxy-poisoning and possibly other injuries, and one up
there-"
A sudden stinging sensation in the eyes made Conway drop the mike
hurriedly. He backed away until stopped by the airtight door and watched the
yellow mist creep nearer. He could see practically nothing of what was going on
down the corridor now, and an agonizing eternity seemed to go by before the
spindly shape of Prilicla came swinging along the ceiling above him.
The helmet which Prilicla brought was in a reality a mask, a mask with a self-
contained air supply which, when in position, adhered firmly along the edge of
the hair line, cheeks and lower jaw. Its air was good only for a very limited
time-ten minutes or so-but with it on and the danger of death temporarily
removed, Conway discovered that he could think much more clearly.
His first action was to go through the still open intersection lock. The
PVSJ inside it was motionless and with the gray blush, the beginning of a type
of skin cancer, spreading over its body. To the PVSJ life-form oxygen was
vicious stuff. As gently as possible he dragged the Illensan into its own
section and to a nearby storage compartment which he remembered being there.
Pressure in this section was slightly greater than that maintained for warm-
blooded oxygen-breathers so that where the PVSJ was concerned the air here was
reasonably pure. Conway shut it in the compartment, after first grabbing an
armful of the woven plastic sheets, in this section the equivalent of bed linen.
There was no sign of the SRTT.
Back in the other corridor he explained to Prilicla what he wanted done-
the Earth-human he had seen earlier had succeeded in donning his suit, but was
blundering about, eyes streaming and coughing violently and was obviously
incapable of giving any assistance. Conway picked his way around the weakly
moving or unconscious bodies to the seal of Lock Six and opened it. There was a
neatly racked row of air-bottles on the wall inside. He lifted down two of them
and staggered out.
Prilicla had one unconscious form already covered with a sheet. Conway
cracked the valve of an air-bottle and slid it under the covering, then watched
as the plastic sheet bellied and rippled slightly with the air being released
underneath it. It was the crudest possible form of oxygen tent, Conway thought,
but the best that could be done at the moment. He left for more bottles.
After the third trip Conway began to notice the warning signs. He was
sweating profusely, his head was splitting and big black splotches were
beginning to blot out his vision-his air supply was running out. It was high
time he took off the emergency helmet, stuck his own head under a sheet like the
others and waited for the rescuers to arrive. He took a few steps toward the
nearest sheeted figure, and the floor hit him. His heart was banging
thunderously in his chest, his lungs were on fire and all at once he didn't even
have the strength to pull off the helmet...
Conway was forced from his state of deep and oddly comfortable
unconsciousness by pain: something was making strong and repeated attempts to
cave in his chest. He stuck it just as long as he could, then opened his eyes
and said, "Get off me, dammit, I'm all right!"
The hefty intern who had been enthusiastically engaged in giving Conway
artificial respiration climbed to his feet. He said, "When we arrived, daddy-
longlegs here said you had ceased to emote. I was worried about you for a
moment-well, slightly worried." He grinned and added, "If you can walk and talk,
O'Mara wants to see you.
Conway grunted and rose to his feet. Blowers and filtering apparatus had
been set up in the corridor and were rapidly clearing the air of the last
vestiges of chlorine and the casualties were being removed, some on tented
stretcher-carriers and others being assisted by their rescuers. He fingered the
raw area of forehead caused by the hurried removal of his helmet and took a few
great gulps of air just to reassure himself that the nightmare of a few minutes
ago was really over.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said feelingly.
"Don't mention it, Doctor," said the intern.
They found O'Mara in the Educator Room. The Chief Psychologist wasted no time on
preliminaries. He pointed to a chair for Conway and indicated a sort of
surrealistic wastepaper basket to Prilicla and barked, "What happened?"
The room was in shadow except for the glow of indicator lights on the
Educator equipment and a single lamp on O'Mara's desk. All Conway could see of
the psychologist as he began his story was two hard, competent hands projecting
from the sleeves of a dark green uniform and a pair of steady gray eyes in a
shadowed face. The hands did not move and the eyes never left him while Conway
was speaking.
When he was finished O'Mara sighed and was silent for several seconds,
then he said, "There were four of our top Diagnosticians at Lock Six just then,
beings this hospital could ill afford to lose. The prompt action you took
certainly saved at least three of their lives, so you're a couple of heroes. But
I'll spare your blushes and not belabor that point. Neither," he added dryly,
"will I embarrass you by asking what you were doing there in the first place."
Conway coughed. He said, "What I'd like to know is why the SRTT ran amok
like that. Because of the crowd running to meet it, I'd say, except that no
intelligent, civilized being would behave like that. The only visitors we allow
here are either government people or visiting specialists, neither of which are
the type to be scared at the sight of an alien life form. And why so many
Diagnosticians to meet it in the first place?"
"They were there," replied O'Mara, "because they were anxious to see what
an SRTT looked like when it was not trying to look like something else. This
data might have aided them in a case they are working on. Also, with a hitherto
unknown life-form like that it is impossible to guess at what made it act as it
did. And finally, it is not the type of visitor which we allow here, but we had
to break the rules this time because its parent is in the hospital, a terminal
case.
Conway said softly, "I see.
A Monitor Lieutenant came into the room at that point and hurried across
to O'Mara. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I've been able to find one item which may
help us with the search for the visitor. A DBLF nurse reports seeing a PVSJ
moving away from the area of the accident at about the right time. To one of the
DBLF caterpillars the PVSJs are anything but pretty, as you know, but the nurse
says that this one looked worse than usual, a real freak. So much so that the
DBLF was sure that it was a patient suffering from something pretty terrible-"
"You checked that we have no PVSJ suffering from the malady described?"
"Yes, sir. There is no such case."
O'Mara looked suddenly grim. He said, "Very good, Carson, you know what to
do next," and nodded dismissal.
Conway had been finding it hard to contain himself during the conversation, and
with the departure of the Lieutenant he burst out, "The thing I saw come out of
the air-lock had tentacles and.., and... Well, it wasn't anything like a PVSJ. I
know that an SRTT is able to modify its physical structure, of course, but so
radically and in such a short time...
Abruptly O'Mara stood up. He said, "We know practically nothing about this
life-form-its needs, capabilities or emotional response patterns-and it is high
time we found out. I'm going to build a fire under Colinson in Communications to
see what he can dig up; environment, evolutionary background, cultural and
social influences and so on. We can't have a visitor running around loose like
this, it's bound to make a nuisance of itself through sheer ignorance.
"But what I want you two to do is this," he went on. "Keep an eye open for
any odd-looking patients or embryos in the Nursery sections. Lieutenant Carson
has just left to get on the PA and make these instructions general. If you do
find somebody who may be our SRTT approach them gently. Be reassuring, make no
sudden moves and be sure to avoid confusing it, that only one of you talks at
once. And contact me immediately."
When they were outside again Conway decided that nothing further could be
done in the current work period, and postponing the rounds of their wards for
another hour, led the way to the vast room which served as a dining hall for all
the warm-blooded oxygen-breathers on the hospital's Staff. The place was, as
usual, crowded, and although it was divided up into sections for the widely
variant life-forms present, Conway could see many tables where three or four
different classifications had come together-with extreme discomfort for some-to
talk shop.
Conway pointed out a vacant table to Prilicla and began working toward it,
only to have his assistant-aided by its still functional wings- get there before
him and in time to foil two maintenance men making for the same spot. A few
heads turned during this fifty yard flight, but only briefly-the diners were
used to much stranger sights than that.
"I expect most of our food is suited to your metabolism," said Conway when
he was seated, "but do you have any special preferences?"
Prilicla had, and Conway nearly choked when he heard them. But it was not
the combination of well-cooked spaghetti and raw carrots that was so bad, it was
the way the GLNO set about eating the spaghetti when it arrived. With all four
eating appendages working furiously Prilicla wove it into a sort of rope which
was passed into the being's beak-like mouth. Conway was not usually affected by
this sort of thing, but the sight was definitely doing things to his stomach.
Suddenly Prilicla stopped. "My method of ingestion is disturbing you," it
said. "I will go to another table-"
"No, no," said Conway quickly, realizing that his feelings had been picked
up by the empath. "That won't be necessary, I assure you. But it is a point of
etiquette here that, whenever it is possible, a being dining in mixed company
uses the same eating tools as its host or senior at the table. Er, do you think
you could manage a fork?"
Prilicla could manage a fork. Conway had never seen spaghetti disappear so
fast.
From the subject of food the talk drifted not too unnaturally to the
hospital's Diagnosticians and the Educator Tape system without which these
august beings-and indeed the whole hospital-could not function.
Diagnosticians deservedly had the respect and admiration of everyone in
the hospital-and a certain amount of the pity as well. For it was not simply
knowledge which the Educator gave them, the whole personality of the entity who
had possessed that knowledge was impressed on their brains as well. In effect
the Diagnostician subjected himself or itself voluntarily to the most drastic
type of multiple schizophrenia, and with the alien other components sharing
their minds so utterly different in every respect that they often did not even
share the same system of logic.
Their one and only common denominator was the need of all doctors,
regardless of size, shape or number of legs, to cure the sick.
There was a DBDG Earth-human Diagnostician at a table nearby who was
visibly having to force himself to eat a perfectly ordinary steak. Conway
happened to know that this man was engaged on a case which necessitated using a
large amount of the knowledge contained in the Tralthan physiology tape which he
had been given. The use of this knowledge had brought into prominence within his
mind the personality of the Tralthan who had furnished the brain record, and
Tralthans abhorred meat in all its forms..
IV
After lunch Conway took Prilicla to the first of the wards to which they were
assigned, and on the way continued to reel off more statistics and background
information. The Hospital comprised three hundred and eighty-four levels and
accurately reproduced the environments of the sixty-eight different forms of
intelligent life currently known to the Galactic Federation. Conway was not
trying to cow Prilicla with the vastness of the great hospital nor to boast,
although he was intensely proud of the fact that he had gained a post in this
very famous establishment. It was simply that he was uneasy about his
assistant's means of protecting itself against the conditions it would shortly
meet, and this was his way of working around to the subject.
But he need not have worried, for Prilicla demonstrated how the light,
almost diaphanous, suit which had saved it at Lock Six could be strengthened
from inside by a scaled-down adaptation of the type of force-field used as
meteorite protection of interstellar ships. When necessary its legs could be
folded so as to be within the protective covering as well, instead of projecting
outside it as they had done at the lock.
While they were changing prior to entering the AUGL Nursery Ward, which
was their first call, Conway began filling in his assistant on the case history
of the occupants.
The fully-grown physiological type AUGL was a forty foot long, oviparous,
armored fish-like life-form native of Chalderescol II, but the beings now in the
ward for observation had been hatched only six weeks ago and measured only three
feet. Two previous hatchings by the same mother had, as had this one, been in
all respects normal and with the offspring seemingly in perfect health, yet two
months later they had all died. A PM performed on their home world gave the
cause of death as extreme calcification of the articular cartilage in
practically every joint in the body, but had been unable to shed any light on
the cause of death. Now Sector General was keeping a watchful eye on the latest
hatching, and Conway was hoping that it would be a case of third time lucky.
"At present I look them over every day," Conway went on, "and on every
third day take an AUGL tape and give them a thorough checkup. Now that you are
assisting me this will also apply to you. But when you take this tape I'd advise
you to have it erased immediately after the examination, unless you would like
to wander around for the rest of the day with half of your brain convinced that
you are a fish and wanting to act accordingly..."
"That would be an intriguing but no doubt confusing hybrid," agreed
Prilicla. The GLNO was now enclosed completely-with the exception of two
manipulators-in the bubble of its protective suit, which it had weighted
sufficiently for it not to be hampered by too much buoyancy. Seeing that Conway
was also ready, it operated the lock controls, and as they entered the great
tank of warm, greenish water that was the AUGL ward it added, "Are the patients
responding to treatment?"
Conway shook his head. Then realizing that the gesture probably meant
nothing to the GLNO he said, "We are still at the exploratory stage-treatment
has not yet begun. But I've had a few ideas, which I can't properly discuss with
you until we both take the AUGL tape tomorrow and am fairly certain that two of
our three patients will come through-in effect, one of them will have to be used
as a guinea-pig in order to save the others. The symptoms appear and develop
very quickly," he continued, "which is why I want such a close watch kept on
them. Now that the danger point is so close I think I'll make it three-hourly,
and we'll work out a timetable so's neither of us will miss too much sleep. You
see, the quicker we spot the first symptoms the more time we have to act and the
greater the possibility of saving all three of them. I'm very keen to do the
hat-trick."
Prilicla wouldn't know what a hat-trick was either, Conway thought, but the
being would quickly learn how to interpret his nods, gestures and figures of
speech-Conway had had to do the same in his early days with e-t superiors,
sometimes wondering fulminating why somebody did not make a tape on Alien
Esoterics to aid junior interns in his position. But these were only surface
thoughts. At the back of his mind, so steady and so sharp that it might have
been painted there, was the picture of a young, almost embryonic life-form whose
developing exoskeleton-the hundred or so flat, bony plates normally free to
slide or move on flexible hinges of cartilage so as to allow mobility and
breathing-was about to become a petrified fossil imprisoning, for a very short
time, the frantic consciousness within...
"How can I assist you at the moment?" asked Prilicla, bringing Conway's
mind back from near future to present time with a rush. The GLNO was eyeing the
three thin, streamlined shapes darting about the great tank and obviously
wondering how it was going to stop one long enough to examine it. It added,
"They're fast, aren't they?"
"Yes, and very fragile," said Conway. "Also they are so young that for
present purposes they can be considered mindless. They frighten easily and any
attempt to approach them closely sends them into such a panic that they swim
madly about until exhausted or injure themselves against the tank walls. What we
have to do is lay a minefield. .
Quickly Conway explained and demonstrated how to place a pattern of
anesthetic bulbs which dissolved in the water and how, gently and at a distance,
to maneuver their elusive patients through it. Later, while they were examining
the three small, unconscious forms and Conway saw how sensitive and precise was
the touch of Prilicla's manipulators and the corresponding sharpness of the
GLNQ's mind, his hopes for all three of the infant AUGLs increased.
They left the warm and to Conway rather pleasant environment of the AUGLs
for the "hot" ward of their section. This time the checking of the occupants was
done with the aid of remote-controlled mechanisms from behind twenty feet of
shielding. There was nothing of an urgent nature in this ward, and before
leaving Conway pointed out the complicated masses of plumbing surrounding it.
The maintenance division he explained, used the "hot" ward as a stand-by power
pile to light and heat the hospital.
Constantly in the background the wall annunciators kept droning out the
progress of the search for the SRTT visitor. It had not been found yet, and
cases of mistaken identity and of beings seeing things were mounting steadily.
Conway had not thought much about the SRTT since leaving O'Mara, but now he was
beginning to feel a little anxious at the thought of what the runaway visitor
might do in this section especially- not to mention what some of the infant
patients might do to it. If only he knew more about it, had some idea of its
militations. He decided to call O'Mara.
In reply to Conway's request the Chief Psychologist said, "Our latest
information is that the SRTT life-form evolved on a planet with an eccentric
orbit around its primary. Geologic, climatic and temperature changes were such
that a high degree of adaptability was necessary for survival. Before they
attained a civilization their means of defense was either to assume as
frightening an aspect as possible or to copy the physical form of their
attackers in the hope that they would escape detection in this way-protective
mimicry being the favorite method of avoiding danger, and so often used that the
process had become almost involuntary. There are some other items regarding mass
and dimensions at different ages. They are a very long-lived species-and this
not particularly helpful collection of data, which was digested from the report
of the survey ship which discovered the planet, ends by saying that all the
foregoing is for our information only and that these beings do not take sick."
O'Mara paused briefly, then added, "Hah!"
"I agree," said Conway.
"One item we have which might explain its panicking on arrival," O'Mara
went on, "is that it is their custom for the very youngest to be present at the
death of a parent rather than the eldest-there is an unusually strong emotional
bond between parent and last-born. Estimates of mass place our runaway as being
very young. Not a baby, of course, but definitely nowhere near maturity."
Conway was still digesting this when the Major continued, "As to its
limitations, I'd say that the Methane section is too cold for it and the
radioactive wards too hot-also that glorified turkish bath on level Eighteen
where they breathe super-heated steam. Apart from those, your guess is as good
as mine where it may turn up.
"It might help a little if I could see this SRTT's parent," Conway said.
"Is that possible?"
There was a lengthy pause, then: "Just barely," said O'Mara dryly. "The
immediate vicinity of that patient is literally crawling with Diagnosticians and
other high-powered talent... But come up after you've finished your rounds and
I'll try to fix it."
"Thank you, sir," said Conway and broke the circuit.
He still felt a vague uneasiness about the SRTT visitor, a dark
premonition that he had not yet finished with this e-t juvenile delinquent who
was the ultimate in quick-change artists. Maybe, he thought sourly, his current
duties had brought out the mother in him, but at the thought of the havoc which
that SRTT could cause-the damage to equipment and fittings, the interruption of
important and closely-timed courses of treatment and the physical injury,
perhaps even death, to the more fragile life-forms through its ignorant
blundering about-Conway felt himself go a little sick.
For the failure to capture the runaway had made plain one very disquieting
fact, and that was that the SRTT was not too young and immature not to know how
to work the intersection locks...
Half angrily, Conway pushed these useless anxieties to the back of his
mind and began explaining to Prilicla about the patients in the ward they were
going to visit next, and the protective measures and examinative procedures
necessary when handling them.
This ward contained twenty-eight infants of the FROB classification- low, squat,
immensely strong beings with a horny covering that was like flexible armor
plate. Adults of the species with their increased mass tended to be slow and
ponderous, but the infants could move surprisingly fast despite the condition of
four times Earth-normal gravity and pressure in which they lived. Heavy-duty
suits were called for in these conditions and the floor level of the ward was
never used by visiting physicians or nursing staff except in cases of the
gravest emergency. Patients for examination were raised from the floor by a grab
and lifting apparatus to the cupola set in the ceiling for this purpose, where
they were anesthetized before the grab was released. This was done with a long,
extremely strong needle which was inserted at the point where the inner side of
the foreleg joined the trunk-one of the very few soft spots on the FROB's body.
..... I expect you to break a lot of needles before you get the hang of it,"
Conway added, "but don't worry about that, or think that you are hurting them.
These little darlings are so tough that if a bomb went off beside them they
would hardly blink."
Conway was silent for a few seconds while they walked briskly toward the
FROB ward-Prilicla's six, multi-jointed and pencil-thin legs seeming to spread
out all over the place, but somehow never actually getting underfoot. He no
longer felt that he was walking on eggs when he was near the GLNO, or that the
other would crumple up and blow away if he so much as brushed against it.
Prilicla had demonstrated its ability to avoid all contacts likely to be
physically harmful to it in a way which, now that Conway was becoming accustomed
to it, was both dexterous and strangely graceful.
A man, he thought, could get used to working with anything.
"But to get back to our thick-skinned little friends," Conway resumed,
"physical toughness in that species-especially in the younger age groups-is not
accompanied by resistance to germ or virus infections. Later they develop the
necessary antibodies and as adults are disgustingly healthy, but in the infant
stage..
"They catch everything," Prilicla put in. "And as soon as a new disease is
discovered they get that, too."
Conway laughed. "I was forgetting that most e-t hospitals have their quota
of FROBs and that you may already have had experience with them. You will know
also that these diseases are rarely fatal to the infants, but that their cure is
long, complicated, and not very rewarding, because they straightaway catch
something else. None of our twenty-eight cases here are serious, and the reason
that they are here rather than at a local hospital is that we are trying to
produce a sort of shotgun serum which will artificially induce in them the
immunity to infection which will eventually be theirs in later life and so . . .
Stop!"
The word was sharp, low and urgent, a shouted whisper. Prilicla froze, its
sucker-tipped legs gripping the corridor floor, and stared along with Conway at
the being who had just appeared at the intersection ahead of them.
At first glance it looked like an Illensan. The shapeless, spiny body with the
dry, rustling membrane joining upper and lower appendages belonged unmistakably
to the PVSJ chlorine-breathers. But there were two eating tentacles which seemed
to have been transplanted from an FGLI, a furry breast pad which was pure DBLF
and it was breathing, as they were, an atmosphere rich in oxygen.
It could only be the runaway.
All the laws of physiology to the contrary Conway felt his heart battering
at the back of his throat somewhere as, remembering O'Mara's strict orders not
to frighten the being, he tried to think of something friendly and reassuring to
say. But the SRTT took off immediately it caught sign of them, and all Conway
could find to say was, "Quick, after it!"
At a dead run they reached the intersection and turned into the corridor
taken by the fleeing SRTT, Prilicla scuttling along the ceiling again to keep
out of the way of Conway's pounding feet. But the sight in front of them caused
Conway to forget all about being gentle and reassuring, and he yelled, "Stop,
you fool! Don't go in there...!"
The runaway was at the entrance to the FROB ward.
They reached the entry lock just too late and watched helplessly through
the port as the SRTT opened the inner seal and, gripped by the four times normal
gravity pull of the ward, was flung down out of sight. The inner door closed
automatically then, allowing Prilicla and Conway to enter the lock and prepare
for the environment within the ward.
Conway struggled frantically into the heavy duty suit which he kept in the
lock chamber and quickly set the repulsion of its anti-gravity belt to
compensate for the conditions inside. Prilicla, meanwhile, was doing similar
things to its own equipment. While checking the seals and fastenings of the
suit, and swearing at this very necessary waste of time, Conway could see
through the inner inspection window a sight which made him shudder.
The pseudo-Illensan shape of the SRTT lay plastered against the floor. It
was twitching slightly, and already one of the larger FROB infants was coming
pounding up to investigate this odd-looking object. One of the great, spatulate
feet must have trod on the recumbent SRTT, because it jerked away and began
rapidly and incredibly to change. The weak, membranous appendages of the PVSJ
seemed to dissolve into the main body which became the bony, lizard-like form
with the wicked, horn-tipped tentacles which they had seen first at Lock Six.
This was obviously the SRTT's most frightening manifestation.
But the infant FROB possessed nearly five times the other's mass and so
could hardly be expected to be frightened. It put down its massive head and
butted, sending the SRTT crashing against the wall plating twenty feet across
the ward. The FROB wanted to play.
Both doctors were out of the lock and onto the ceiling catwalk now, where
the view was much clearer. The SRTT was changing again, fast. The tentacled
lizard shape had not worked at all well for it in four-C conditions against
these infant behemoths and it was trying something else.
The FROB had closed in on it again and was watching fascinated.
V
Conway said urgently, "Doctor, can you handle the grab apparatus? Good! Then go
to it. . ." As Prilicla scurried along the catwalk to the control cupola Conway
set his anti-gravity controls to zero and called, "I'll direct you from below."
Weightless now, he kicked himself toward the floor.
But Conway was no stranger to the FROB infant-very probably it disliked or
was bored by this diminutive figure whose only game was that of sticking big
needles in it while something big and strong held it still, and despite all of
Conway's frantic shouting and arm-waving he found himself being ignored. But the
other occupants of the ward were taking an interest, and their attention was
being drawn to the still-changing
SRTT...
"No!" Conway shouted, aghast at what the visitor was changing into. "No!
Stop! Change back...
But it was too late. The whole ward seemed to be stampeding toward the
SRTT, giving vent to a thunderous bedlam of excited growls and yelps which, from
the older infants, were Translated into shouts of "Dolly! Dolly! Nice dolly "'
Springing upward to avoid being trampled, Conway looked down on the
milling mass of FROBs and felt the strong and sickening conviction that the
luckless SRTT had departed this life. But no. The being had somehow managed to
run-or squeeze-the gauntlet of stamping feet and eager, bludgeoning heads by
keeping low and tightly pressed against the wall. It emerged battered but still
in the shape which it had, chameleon-like, adopted in the mistaken idea that a
tiny version of an FROB would be safe.
Conway called, "Quickly! Grab!"
But Prilicla was not sleeping on its job. The massive jaws of the grab
were already hanging open above the dazed and slow-moving SRTT, and as Conway
shouted they dropped and crashed shut. Conway sprang for one of the lifting
cables and as they rose from the floor together he said hurriedly, "You're safe
now. Relax. I'm here to help you..
His reply was a sharp convulsion of the SRTT which nearly shook him loose,
and suddenly the being had become a thing of lithe, oily convolutions which
slipped between the fingers of the grab and slapped onto the floor. The FROBs
hooted excitedly and charged again.
It could not possibly survive this time, Conway thought with a mixture of
horror, pity and impatience; this being who had had one fright on arrival and
who had not stopped running since, and who was still too utterly terrified even
to be helped. The grab was useless but there was one other possibility. O'Mara
would probably skin him alive for it, but he would at least be saving SRTT's
life for the time being if he allowed it to escape.
On the wall opposite the entry lock which Prilicla and himself had used
was the door through which the FROB patients were brought to the ward. It was a
simple door because the corridor outside it, which led to the FROB operating
theater, was maintained at the same level of gravity and pressure as was the
ward. Conway dived across the intervening space to the controls and slid it
open, watching the SRTT-who was not so insensible with fear that it missed
seeing this way of escape-as it slithered through. He closed it again just in
time to prevent some of the patients from getting out as well, then made for the
control cupola to report the whole ghastly mess to O'Mara.
For the situation was now much worse than they all had thought. While he
had been at the other end of the ward he had seen something which increased the
difficulties of catching and pacifying the runaway many, many times, and which
explained the visitor's lack of response to him while in the grab. It had been
the shattered, trampled ruin of the SRTT's Translator pack.
Conway's hand was on the intercom switch when Prilicla said, "Excuse me,
sir, but does my ability to detect your emotions cause you mental distress? Or
does mentioning aloud what I may have found trouble you?"
"Eh? What?" said Conway. He thought that he must be radiating impatience
at a furious rate at the moment, because his assistant had picked a great time
to start asking questions like that! His first impulse was to cut the other off,
but then he decided that delaying his report to O'Mara by a few seconds would
not make any difference, and possibly Prilicla considered the matter important.
Aliens were funny.
"No to both questions," Conway replied shortly. "Though in the second
instance I might be embarrassed if you made known your findings to a third party
in certain circumstances. Why do you ask?"
"Because I have been aware of your deep anxiety regarding the possible
depredations of this SRTT among your patients," Prilicla said, "and I am loath
to further increase that anxiety by telling you of the type and intensity of the
emotions which I detected just now in the being's mind."
Conway sighed. "Spit it out, things couldn't be much worse than they are
now...
But they could and were.
When Prilicla finished speaking Conway pulled his hand away from the intercom
switch as though it had grown teeth and bit him. "I can't tell him that over the
intercom!" he burst out. "It would be sure to leak to the patients and if they,
or even some of the Staff knew about it, there would be a panic." He dithered
for a moment, then cried, "Come on, we've got to see O'Mara!"
But the Chief Psychologist was not in his office or in the nearby Educator
room. However, information supplied by one of his assistants sent them hurrying
to the forty-seventh level and Observation Ward Three.
This was a vast, high-ceilinged room maintained at a pressure and
temperature suited to warm-blooded oxygen-breathers. DBDG, DBLF and FGLI doctors
carried out preliminary examinations here on the more puzzling or exotic cases-
the patients, if these atmospheric conditions did not suit them, being housed in
large, transparent cubicles spaced at intervals around the walls and floor. It
was known irreverently as the Punch and Ponder department and Conway could see a
group of medics of all shapes and species gathered around a glass-walled tank in
the middle of the ward. This must be the older and dying SRTT he had heard
about, but he had no attention to spare for anything until he had spoken to
O'Mara.
He caught sight of the psychologist at a communications desk beside the
wall and hurried over.
While he talked O'Mara listened stolidly, several times opening his mouth
as though to interrupt, then each time closing it in a grimmer, tighter line.
But when Conway reached the point where he had seen the broken Translator,
O'Mara waved him to silence and hit the intercom switch with the same jerky
motion of his hand.
"Get me Engineering Division, Colonel Skempton," he barked. Then:
"Colonel, our runaway is in the FROB nursery area. But there is a complication,
I'm afraid-it has lost its Translator. . ." There was a short pause, then:
"Neither do I know how I expect you to pacify it when you can't communicate, but
do what you can in the meantime-I'm going to work on the communication angle
now.
He snapped the switch off and then on again, and said, "Colinson, in
Communications.., hello, Major. I want a relay between here and the Monitor
Survey team on the SRTT's home planet-yes, the one I had you collecting about a
few hours ago. Will you arrange that? And have them prepare a sound tape in the
SRTT native language-I'll give you the wording I want in a moment-and have them
relay it here. The substance of the speech, which must be obtained from an adult
SRTT, will have to be roughly as follows-"
He broke off as Major Colinson's voice erupted from the speaker. The
communications man was reminding a certain desk-bound headshrinker that the SRTT
planet was halfway across the Galaxy, that subspace radio was susceptible to
interference just like any other kind and that by the time every sun in the
intervening distance had splattered the signal with their share of static it
would be virtually unintelligible.
"Have them repeat the signal," O'Mara said. "There are sure to be usable
words and phrases which we can piece together to reconstruct the original
message. We need this thing badly, and I'll tell you why..
The SRTT species were an extremely long-lived race, O'Mara explained quickly,
who reproduced hermaphroditically at very great intervals and with great pain
and effort. There was therefore a bond of great affection and-what was more
important in the present circumstances-discipline between the adults and
children of the species. There was also the belief, so strong as to be almost a
certainty, that no matter what changes a member of this species worked it would
always try to retain the vocal and aural organs which allowed it to communicate
with its fellows.
Now if one of the adults on the home planet could prepare a few general
remarks directed toward youths who misbehaved when they ought to have known
better, and these were relayed to Sector General and in turn played over the PA
to their runaway visitor, then the young SRTT's ingrained obedience to its
elders would do the rest.
And that," said O'Mara to Conway as he switched off, "should take care of that
little crisis. With any luck we'll have our visitor quieted down within a few
hours. So your troubles are over, you can relax..
The psychologist broke off at the expression on Conway's face, then he
said softly, "There's more?"
Conway nodded. Indicating his assistant he said, "Dr. Prilicla detected
it, by empathy. You must understand that the runaway is in a very bad way
psychologically-grief for its dying parent, the fright it received at Lock Six
when everyone came charging at it, and now the mauling it has undergone in the
FROB nursery. It is young, immature, and these experiences have thrown it back
to the stage where its responses are purely animal and.., well..." Conway licked
dry lips, ..... has anyone calculated how long it has been since that SRTT has
eaten?"
The implications of the question were not lost on O'Mara either. He paled
suddenly and snatched up the mike again. "Get me Skempton again, quickly! ...
Skempton? . . . Colonel, I am not trying to sound melodramatic but would you use
the scrambler attached to your set, there is another complication. .
Turning away, Conway debated with himself whether to go over for a brief look at
the dying SRTT or hurry back to his section. Back in the FROB nursery Prilicla
had detected in the runaway's mind strong hunger radiation as well as the
expected fear and confusion, and it had been the communication of these findings
which had caused first Conway, then O'Mara and Skempton to realize just what a
deadly menace the visitor had become. The youths of any species are notoriously
selfish, cruel and uncivilized, Conway knew, and driven by steadily increasing
pangs of hunger this one would certainly turn cannibal. In its present confused
mental state the young SRTT would probably not know that it had done so, but
that fact would make no difference at all to the patients concerned.
If only the majority of Conway's charges were not so small, defenseless
and.., tasty.
On the other hand a look at the elder being might suggest some method of
dealing with the younger-his curiosity regarding the SRTT terminal case having
nothing to do with it, of course...
He was maneuvering for a closer look at the patient inside the tank and at
the same time trying not to jostle the Earth-human doctor who was blocking his
view, when the man turned irritably and asked, "Why the blazes don't you climb
up my back?... Oh, hello, Conway. Here to contribute another uninformed wild
guess, I suppose?"
It was Mannon, the doctor who had at one time been Conway's superior and
was now a Senior Physician well on the way to achieving Diagnostician status. He
had befriended Conway on his arrival at the hospital, Mannon had several times
explained within Conway's hearing, because he had a soft spot for stray dogs,
cats and interns. Currently he was allowed to retain permanently in his brain
just three Educator tapes- that of a Tralthan specialist in micro-surgery and
two belonging to surgeons of the low-gravity LSVO and MSVK species-so that for
long periods of each day his reactions were quite human. At the moment he was
eyeing Prilicla, who was skittering about on the fringe of the crowd, with
raised eyebrows.
Conway began to give details regarding the character and accomplishments
of his new assistant, but was interrupted by Mannon saying loudly, "That's
enough, lad, you're beginning to sound like an unsolicited testimonial. A light
touch and the empathic faculty will be a big help in your current line of work.
I grant that. But then you always did pick odd associates; levitating balls of
goo, insects, dinosaurs, and such like-all pretty peculiar people, you must
admit. Except for that nurse on the twenty-third level, now I admire your taste
there-"
"Are they making any headway with this case, sir?" Conway said,
determinedly shunting the conversation back onto the main track again. Mannon
was the best in the world, but he had the painful habit sometimes of pulling a
person's leg until it threatened to come off at the hip.
"None," said Mannon. "And what I said about wild guesses is a fact. We're
all making them here, and getting nowhere-ordinary diagnostic techniques are
completely useless. Just look at the thing!"
Mannon moved aside for Conway, and a sensation as of a pencil being laid
across his shoulder told him that Prilicla was behind him craning to see, too.
VI
The being in the tank was indescribable for the simple reason that it had
obviously been trying to become several different things at once when the
dissolution had begun. There were appendages both jointed and tentacular,
patches of scales, spines and leathery, wrinkled tegument together with the
suggestion of mouth and gill openings, all thrown together in a gruesome hodge-
podge. Yet none of the physiological details were clear because the whole
flaccid mass was softened, eroded away, like a wax model left too long in the
heat. Moisture oozed from the patient's body continuously and trickled to the
floor of the tank, where the water level was nearly six inches deep.
Conway swallowed and said, "Bearing in mind the adaptability of this
species, its immunity to physical damage and so on, and considering the wildly
mixed-up state of its body, I should say that there may be a strong possibility
that the trouble stems from psychological causes."
Mannon looked him up and down slowly with an expression of awe on his
face, then said, witheringly, "Psychological causes, hey? Amazing! Well, what
else could cause a being who is immune both to physical damage and bacterial
infection to get into this state except something wrong with its think tank? But
perhaps you were going to be more specific?"
Conway felt his neck and ears getting warm. He said nothing.
Mannon grunted, then went on, "The water that it is melting into is just
that, plus a few harmless organisms which are suspended in it. We've tried every
method of physical and psychological treatment that we could think of, without
results. At the moment someone is suggesting that we quick-freeze the patient,
both to halt the melting and to give us more time to think of something else.
This has been vetoed because in its present state such a course might kill the
patient outright. We've had a couple of our telepathic life-forms try to tune to
its mind with a view to straightening it out that way, and O'Mara has gone back
to the dark ages to such a point that he has tried crude electro-shock therapy,
but nothing works. Altogether we have brought, singly and acting in concert, the
viewpoints of very nearly every species in the Galaxy, and still we can't get a
line on what ails it.
"If the trouble was psychological," put in Conway, "I should have thought
that the telepaths-"
"No," said Mannon. "In this life-form the mind and memory function is
evenly distributed throughout the whole body and not housed in a permanent brain
casing, otherwise it could not accomplish such marked changes in its physical
structure. At present the being's mind is withdrawing, draining away, into
smaller and smaller units-so small that the telepaths cannot work them.
"This SRTT is a real weirdie," Mannon continued thoughtfully. "It evolved
out of the sea, of course, but later its world saw outbreaks of volcanic
activity, earthquakes-the surface being coated with sulfur and who knows what
else-and finally a minor instability in their sun converted the planet into the
desert which it now is. They had to be adaptable to survive all that. And their
method of reproduction-a budding and splitting-off process which causes the loss
of a sizable portion of the parent's mass-is interesting, too, because it means
that the embryo is born with part of the body-and-brain cell structure of the
parent. No conscious memories are passed to the newly-born but it retains
unconsciously the memories which enable it to adapt-"
"But that means," Conway burst out, "that if the parent transfers a
section of its body-and-mind to the offspring, then each individual's
unconscious memory must go back-"
"And it is the unconscious which is the seat of all psychoses,"
interrupted O'Mara, who had come up behind them at that point. "Don't say any
more, I have nightmares at the very idea. Imagine trying to analyze a patient
whose subconscious mind goes back fifty thousand years. . .
The conversation dried up quickly after that and Conway, still anxious about the
younger SRTT's activities, hurried back to the nursery section. The whole area
was infested with maintenance men and green-uniformed Monitors, but the runaway
had not been sighted again. Conway placed a DBDG nurse-the one Mannon was so
fond of pulling his leg about, strangely enough-on duty in a diving suit at the
AUGL ward, because he was expecting developments there at any time, and prepared
with Prilicla to pay a call on the methane nursery.
Their work among the frigid-blooded beings in that ward was also routine,
and during it Conway pestered Prilicla with questions about the emotional state
of the elder SRTT they had just left. But the GLNO was very little help; all it
would say was that it had detected an urge toward dissolution which it could not
describe more fully to Conway because there was nothing in its own previous
experience which it could relate the feeling to.
Outside again they discovered that Colinson had wasted no time. From the
wall annunciators there poured out a staccato howl of static through which could
be dimly heard an alien gobbling which was presumably the SRTT sound tape.
Conway thought that if positions were reversed and he was a frightened small boy
listening to a voice striving to speak to him through that incredible uproar, he
would feel anything but reassured. And the atmosphere of the SRTT's home planet
would almost certainly be of a different density to this one, which would
further increase the distortion of the voice. He did not say anything to
Prilicla, but Conway thought that it would be nothing less than a miracle if
this cacophony produced the result which O'Mara had intended.
The racket cut off suddenly, was replaced by a voice in English which
droned out, "Would Dr. Conway please go to the intercom," then it returned
unabated. Conway hurried to the nearest set.
"This is Murchison in the AUGL lock, Doctor," said a worried female voice.
"Somebody-I mean something-just went past me into the main ward. I thought it
was you at first until it began opening the inner seal without putting on a
suit, then I knew it must be the runaway SRTT." She hesitated, then said,
"Considering the state of the patients inside I didn't give the alarm until
checking with you, but I can call-"
"No, you did quite right, Nurse," Conway said quickly. "We'll be down at
once.
When they arrived at the lock five minutes later, the nurse had a suit ready for
Conway, and the combination of physiological features which made it impossible
for the Earth-human members of the Staff to regard Murchison with anything like
a clinical detachment were rendered slightly less distracting by her own
protective suit. But Conway had eyes at the moment only for the inner inspection
window and the thing which floated just inside it.
It was, or had been, very like Conway. The hair coloring was right, also
the complexion, and it was in whites. But the features were out of proportion
and ran together in a way that was quite horrible, and the neck and hands did
not go into the tunic, they became the collar and sleeves of the garment. Conway
was reminded of a lead figure that had been crudely fashioned and carelessly
painted.
At the moment Conway knew that it was not a threat to the lives of the
ward's tiny patients, but it was changing. There was a slow growing together of
the arms and legs, a lengthening out and the sprouting of long, narrow
protuberances which could only be the beginnings of fins. The AUGL patients
might be difficult for an Earth-human DBDG to catch, but the SRTT was adapting
to water also, and speed.
"Inside!" said Conway urgently. "We've got to herd it out of here before
it-"
But Prilicla was making no attempt to begin the bodily contortions which
would bring it inside its protective envelope. "I have detected an interesting
change in the quality of its emotional radiation," the GLNO said suddenly.
"There is still fear and confusion present, and an overriding hunger. .
"Hunger... !" Murchison had not realized until then just what deadly
danger the patients were in.
But there is something else," Prilicla continued, disregarding the
interruption. "I can only describe it as a background pleasure sensation coupled
with that same urge toward dissolution which I detected a short time ago in its
parent. But I am puzzled to account for this sudden change.~~
Conway's mind was on his three tiny patients, and the predatory form the
SRTT was beginning to take. He said impatiently, "Probably because recent events
have affected its sanity also, the pleasure trace being due possibly to a liking
for the water-"
Abruptly he stopped, his mind racing too fast for words or even ordered
logical thought. Rather it was a feverish jumble of facts, experiences and wild
guesswork which boiled chaotically through his brain, then incredibly became
still and cool and very, very clear as.. the answer.
And yet none of the tremendous intellects in the observation ward could
have found it, Conway was sure, because they were not present with an empathic
assistant when a young SRTT close to insanity through fear and grief had been
immersed suddenly in the tepid, yellow depths of the AUGL tank...
When an intelligent, mature and mentally complex being encounters
unpleasant and hurtful facts of sufficient numbers and severity the result is a
retreat from reality. First a striving to return to the simple, unworrisome days
of childhood and then, when that period turns out to be not nearly so carefree
and uncomplicated as remembered, the ultimate retreat into the womb and the
motionless, mindless condition of the catatonic. But to a mature SRTT the fetal
position of catatonia could not be simple to attain, because its reproductive
system was such that instead of the unborn offspring being in a state of warm,
mindless comfort, it found itself part of its parent's mature adult body and
called upon to share in the decisions and adjustments its parent had to make.
Because the SRTT body, every single cell of it, was the mind and any sort of
separation was impossible to a life-form whose every cell was interchangeable.
How divide a glass of water without pouring some off into another
container?
The diseased intellect would be forced to retreat again and again, only to
find that it had become involved in endless changes and adaptations in its
efforts to return to this nonexistent womb. It would go back-far, far back-until
it eventually did find the mindless state which it craved and its mind, which
was inseparable from its body, became the warm water teeming with unicellular
life from which it had originally evolved.
Now Conway knew the reason for the slow, melting dissolution of the
terminal case upstairs. More, he thought he saw a way of solving the whole
horrible mess. If he could only bank on the fact that, as was the case with most
other species, a complex, mature mind tended to go insane faster than an
undeveloped and youthful one...
He was only vaguely aware of going to the intercom again and calling
O'Mara, and of Murchison and Prilicla drawing closer to him as he talked. Then
he was waiting for what seemed like hours for the Chief Psychologist to absorb
the information and react. Finally:
"An ingenious theory, Doctor," said O'Mara warmly. "More than that-I would
say that that is exactly what has happened here, and no theorizing about it. The
only pity is the understanding what has happened does nothing to aid the
patient-"
"I've been thinking about that, too," Conway broke in eagerly, "and the
way I see it the runaway is the most urgent problem now-if it isn't caught and
pacified soon there are going to be serious casualties among the Staff and
patients, in my section anyway, if nowhere else. Unfortunately, for technical
reasons, your idea of calming it by means of a sound tape in its own language is
not very successful up to now...
"That's putting it kindly," said O'Mara dryly.
But," went on Conway, "if this idea was modified so that the runaway was
spoken to, reassured, by its parent upstairs. If we first cured the elder SRTT-"
"Cured the elder! What the blazes do you think we've been trying to do
this past three weeks?" O'Mara demanded angrily. Then as the realization came
that Conway was not trying to be funny or willfully stupid, that he sounded in
deadly earnest, he said flatly, "Keep talking, Doctor."
Conway kept talking. When he had finished the intercom speaker registered
the sound of a great, explosive sigh, then; "I think you've got the answer all
right, and we've certainly got to try it despite the risks you mentioned,"
O'Mara said excitedly. Then abruptly his tones became clipped and efficient.
"Take charge down there, Doctor. You know what you want done better than anyone
else does. And use the DBLF recreation room on level fifty-nine-it's close to
your section and can be evacuated quickly. We're going to tap in on the existing
communications circuits so there will be no delay here, and the special
equipment you want will be in the DBLF recreation room inside fifteen minutes.
So you can start anytime, Conway...
Before he was cut off he heard Q'Mara begin issuing instructions to the
effect that all Monitor Corps personnel and Staff in the nursery section were to
be placed at the disposal of Doctors Conway and Prilicla, and he had barely
turned away from the set before green-uniformed Monitors began crowding into the
lock.
VII
The SRTT youth had somehow to be forced into the DBLF recreation room which was
rapidly being booby-trapped for its benefit, and the first step was to get it
out of the AUGL ward. This was accomplished by twelve Monitors swimming,
sweating and cursing furiously in their heavy issue suits who chased awkwardly
after it until they had it hemmed in at the point where the entry lock gave it
the only avenue of escape.
Conway, Prilicla and another bunch of Monitors were waiting in the
corridor outside when it came through, all garbed against any one of half a
dozen environments through which the chase might lead them. Murchison had wanted
to go, too-she had wanted to be in at the kill, she had stated-but Conway had
told her sharply that her job was watching over the three AUGL patients and that
she had better do just that.
He had not meant to lose his temper with Murchison like that, but he was
on edge. If the idea he had been so enthusiastic about to O'Mara did not pan out
there was a very good chance that there would be two incurable SRTT patients
instead of one, and "in at the kill" had been an unfortunate choice of words.
The runaway had changed again-a semi-involuntary defense mechanism
triggered off by the shapes of its pursuers-into a vaguely Earth human form. It
ran soggily along the corridor on legs which were too rubbery and which bent in
the wrong places, and the scaly, dun-colored tegument it had worn in the AUGL
tank was twitching and writhing and smoothing out into the pink and white of
flesh and medical tunic. Conway could look on the most alien beings imaginable
suffering from the most horrible maladies without inward distress, but the sight
of the SRTT trying to become a human being as it ran made him fight to retain
his lunch.
A sudden sideways dash into an MSVK corridor took them unawares and
resulted in a kicking, floundering pile-up of pursuers beyond the inner seal of
the connecting lock. The MSVK life-forms were bi-pedal, vaguely stork-like
beings who required an extremely low gravity pull, and the DBDGs like Conway
could not adjust to it immediately. But while Conway was still slowly falling
all over the place the Monitors' space training enabled them to find their feet
quickly. The SRTT was headed off into the oxygen section again.
It had been a bad few minutes while it lasted, Conway thought with relief,
because the dim lighting and the opacity of the fog which the MSVKs called an
atmosphere would have made the SRTT difficult to find if it had been lost to
sight. If that had happened at this stage. . . Well, Conway preferred not to
think about that.
But the DBLF recreation room was only minutes away now, and the SRTT was
heading straight for it. The being was changing again, into something low and
heavy which was moving on all fours. It seemed to be drawing itself in,
condensing, and there was a suggestion of a carapace forming. It was still in
that condition when two Monitors, yelling and waving their arms wildly, dashed
suddenly out of an intersection and stampeded it into the corridor which
contained the recreation room .
... And found it empty!
Conway swore luridly. There should have been half a dozen Monitors strung
across that corridor to bar its way, but he had made such good time getting here
that they were not in position yet. They were probably still inside the rec room
placing their equipment, and the SRTT would go right past the doorway.
But he had not counted on the quick mind and even more agile body of
Prilicla. His assistant must have realized the position in the same instant that
he did. The little GLNO ran clicking down the corridor, rapidly overtaking the
SRTT, then swinging up onto the ceiling until it had passed the runaway before
dropping back. Conway tried to yell a warning, tried to shout that a fragile
GLNO had no chance of heading off a being who was now the characteristics of an
outsize and highly mobile armored crab, and that Prilicla was committing
suicide. Then he saw what his assistant was aiming at.
There was a powered stretcher-carrier in its alcove about thirty feet
ahead of the fleeing SRTT. He saw Prilicla skid to a halt beside it, hit the
starter, then charge on. Prilicla was not being stupidly brave, it was being
brainy and fast which was much better in these circumstances.
The stretcher-carrier, uncontrolled, lurched into motion and went wobbling
across the corridor-right into the path of the charging SRTT. There was a
metallic crash and a burst of dense yellow and black smoke as its heavy
batteries shattered and shorted across. Before the fans could quite clear the
air the Corpsmen were able to work around the stunned and nearly motionless
runaway and herd it into the recreation room.
A few minutes later a Monitor officer approached Conway. He gave a jerk of
his head which indicated the weird assortment of gadgetry which had been rushed
to the compartment only minutes ago and which lay in neat piles around the room,
and included the green-clad men ranged solidly against the walls-all facing
toward the center of the big compartment where the SRTT rotated slowly in the
exact center of the floor, seeking a way of escape. Quite obviously he was eaten
up with curiosity, but his tone was carefully casual as he said, "Dr. Conway, I
believe? Well, Doctor, what do you want us to do now?"
Conway moistened his lips. Up to now he had not thought much about this
moment-he had thought that it would be easy to do this because the young SRTT
had been such a menace to the hospital in general and caused so much trouble in
his own section in particular. But now he was beginning to feel sorry for it. It
was, after all, only a kid who had been sent out of control by a combination of
grief, ignorance and panic. If this thing did not turn out right...
He shook off the feelings of doubt and inadequacy and said harshly, "You
see that beastie in the middle of the room. I want it scared to death."
He had to elaborate, of course, but the Monitors got the idea very quickly and
began using the equipment which had been sent them with great fervor and
enthusiasm. Watching grimly, Conway identified items from Air Supply,
Communications and the various diet kitchens, all being used for a purpose for
which they had never been designed. There were things which emitted shrill
whistles, siren howls of tremendous volumes and others which consisted simply of
banging two metal trays together. To this fearful racket was added the whoops of
the men wielding those noisemakers.
And there was no doubt that the SRTT was scared-Prilicla reported its
emotional reactions constantly. But it was not scared enough.
"Quiet!" yelled Conway suddenly. "Start using the silent stuff!"
The preceding din had only been a primer. Now would come the really
vicious stuff-but silent, because any noise made by the SRTT had to be heard.
Flares burst around the shaking figure in the middle of the floor,
blindingly incandescent but of negligible heat. Simultaneously tractor and
pressor beams pushed and pulled at it, sliding it back and forth across the
floor, occasionally tossing it into mid-air or flattening it against the
ceiling. The beams worked on the same principle as the gravity neutralizer
belts, but were capable of much finer control and focus. Other beam operators
began flinging lighted flares at the suspended, wildly struggling figure, only
yanking them back or turning them aside at the last possible moment.
The SRTT was really frightened now, so frightened that even non empaths
could feel it. The shapes it was taking were going to give Conway nightmares for
many weeks to come.
Conway lifted a hand mike to his lips and flicked the switch. "Any
reaction up there yet?"
"Nothing yet," O'Mara's voice boomed from the speakers which had been set
up around the room. "Whatever you're doing at the moment you'll have to step it
up."
"But the being is in a condition of extreme distress. . ." began Priicla.
Conway rounded on his assistant. "If you can't take it, leave!" he
snapped.
"Steady, Conway," O'Mara's voice came sharply. "I know how you must feel,
but remember that the end result will cancel all this out. .
"But if it doesn't work." Conway protested, then: "Oh never mind." To
Prilicla he said, "I'm sorry." To the officer beside him he asked, "Can you
think of any way of putting on more pressure?"
"I'd hate anything like that being done to me," said the Monitor tightly,
"but I would suggest adding spin. Some species are utterly demoralized by spin
when they can take practically anything else. .
Spin was added to the pummeling which the SRTT was already undergoing with the
pressors-not a simple spin, but a wild, rolling, pitching movement which made
Conway's stomach feel queasy just by looking at it, and the flares dived and
swooped around it like insane moons around their primary. Quite a few of the men
had lost their first enthusiasm, and Prilicla swayed and shook on its six pipe-
stem legs, in the grip of an emotional gale which threatened to blow it away.
It had been wrong to bring Prilicla in on this, Conway told himself
angrily; no empath should have to go through this sort of hell by proxy. He had
made a mistake from the very first, because the whole idea was cruel and
sadistic and wrong. He was worse than a monster.
High in the center of the room the twisting, spinning blur that was the
younger SRTT began to emit a high-pitched and terrified gobbling noise.
A crashing bedlam erupted from the wall speakers; shouts, cries, breaking
noises and the sounds of running feet over-laying that of something slower and
infinitely heavier. They could hear O'Mara's voice shouting out some sort of
explanation to somebody at the top of his lungs, then an unidentified voice
yelled at them, "For Pete's sake stop it down there! Buster's papa has woke up
and is wrecking the joint...
Quickly but gently they checked the spinning SRTT and lowered it to the
floor, then they waited tensely while the shouting and crashing being relayed to
them from Observation Ward Three reached a crescendo and began gradually to die
down. Around the room men stood motionless watching each other, or the
whimpering being on the floor, or the wall speakers, waiting. And then it came.
The sound was similar to the alien gobbling which had been relayed through
the annunciators some hours previously, but without the accompanying roar of
static, and because everyone had their Translators switched on the words also
came through as English.
It was the elder SRTT, incurable no longer because it was physically whole
again, speaking both reassuringly and chidingly to its erring offspring. In
effect it was saying that junior had been a bad boy, that he must cease
forthwith running around and getting himself and everyone else into a state, and
that nothing else unpleasant would happen to him if he did as he was told by the
beings now surrounding him. The sooner it did these things, the elder SRTT
ended, the sooner they could both go home.
Mentally, the runaway had taken a terrible beating, Conway knew. Maybe it
had taken too much. Tense with anxiety he watched it-still in a shape that was
neither fish, flesh or fowl-begin humping its way across the floor. When it
began gently and submissively to butt one of the watching Monitors in the knees,
the cheer that went up very nearly gave it a relapse.
"When Prilicla here gave me the clue to what was troubling the elder SRTT, I was
sure that the cure would have to be drastic," Conway said to the Diagnosticians
and Senior Physicians ranged around and behind O'Mara's desk.
The fact that he was seated in such august company was a sure sign of the
approval in which he was held, but despite that he still felt nervous as he went
on. "Its regression toward the-to it-fetal state-complete dissolution into
individual and unthinking cells floating in the primeval ocean-was far advanced,
perhaps too far judging by its physical state. Major O'Mara had already tried
various shock treatments which it, with its fantastically adaptable cell
structure, was able to negate or ignore. My idea was to use the close physical
and emotional bond which I discovered existed between the SRTT adult and its
last-born offspring, and get at it that way."
Conway paused, his eyes drifting sideways briefly to take in the shambles
around them. Observation Ward Three looked as though a bomb had hit it, and
Conway knew that there had been a rather hectic few minutes here between the
time the elder SRTT had come out of its catatonic state and explanations had
been given it. He cleared his throat and went on:
"So we trapped the young one in the DBLF recreation room and tried to
frighten it as much as possible, piping the sounds it made up here to the
parent. It worked. The elder SRTT could not lie doing nothing while its latest
and most loved offspring was apparently in frightful danger, and parental
concern and affection overcame and destroyed the psychosis and forced it back to
present time and reality. It was able to pacify the young one, and so all
concerned were left happy."
"A nice piece of deductive reasoning on your part, Doctor," O'Mara said
warmly. "You are to be commended
At that moment the intercom interrupted him. It was Murchison reporting
that the three AUGLs were showing the first signs of stiffening up, and would he
come at once. Conway requested an AUGL tape for Prilicla and himself, and
explained the urgency of the matter. While they were taking them the
Diagnosticians and Senior Physicians began to leave. A little disappointedly
Conway thought that Murchison's call had spoiled what might have been his
greatest moment.
"Don't worry about it, Doctor," O'Mara said cheerfully, reading his mind
again. "If that call had come five minutes later your head would have been too
swollen to take a physiology tape. .
Two days later Conway had his first and only disagreement with Dr. Prilicla. He
insisted that without the aid of Prilicla's empathic faculty- an incredibly
accurate and useful diagnostic tool-and Murchison's vigilance, the cure of all
three AUGLs would not have been possible. The GLNO stated that, much as it was
against its nature to oppose his superior's wishes, on this occasion Dr. Conway
was completely mistaken. Murchison said that she was glad that she had been able
to help, and could she please have some leave?
Conway said yes, then continued the argument with Prilicla, even though he
knew he had no hope of winning it.
Conway honestly knew that he would not have been able to save the infant
AUGLs without the little empath's help-he might not have saved any of them, in
fact. But he was the Boss, and when a Boss and his assistants accomplish
something the credit invariably goes to the Boss.
The argument, if that was the proper word for such an essentially friendly
disagreement, raged for days. Things were going well in the Nursery and they
hadn't anything of a serious nature to think about. They were not aware of the
wreck which was then on its way to the hospital, or of the survivor it
contained.
Nor did Conway know that within the next two weeks the whole Staff of the
hospital would be despising him.
CHAPTER 5
OUT-PATIENT
The Monitor Corps cruiser Sheldon flicked into normal space some I five hundred
miles from Sector Twelve General Hospital, the wreck
which was its reason for coming held gently against the hull within the field of
its hyperdrive generators. At this distance the vast, brilliantly lit structure
which floated in interstellar space at the galactic rim was only a dim blur of
light, but that was because the Monitor Captain had had a close decision to
make. Buried somewhere inside the wreck which he had brought in was a survivor
urgently in need of medical attention. But like any good policeman his actions
were constrained by possible effects on innocent bystanders-in this case the
Staff and patients of the Galaxy's largest multi-environment hospital.
Hurriedly contacting Reception he explained the situation, and received
their reassurances that the matter would be taken care of at once. Now that the
welfare of the survivor was in competent hands, the Captain decided that he
could return with a clear conscience to his examination of the wreck, which just
might blow up in his face at any moment.
In the office of the hospital's Chief Psychologist, Dr. Conway sat uneasily on a
very easy chair and watched the square, craggy features of O'Mara across an
expanse of cluttered desk.
"Relax, Doctor," O'Mara said suddenly, obviously reading his thoughts. "If
you were here for a carpeting I'd have given you a harder chair. On the
contrary, I've been instructed to administer a hefty pat on the back. You've
been up-graded, Doctor. Congratulations. You are now, Heaven help us all, a
Senior Physician."
Before Conway could react to the news, the psychologist held up a large,
square hand.
"In my own opinion a ghastly mistake has been made," he went on, "but
seemingly your success with that dissolving SRTT and your part in the levitating
dinosaur business has impressed the people upstairs-they think it was due to
ability instead of sheer luck. As for me," he ended, grinning, "I wouldn't trust
you with my appendix."
"You're too kind, sir," said Conway dryly.
O'Mara smiled again. "What do you expect, praise? My job is to shrink
heads, not swell 'em. And now I suppose I'll have to give you a minute to adjust
to your new glory..
Conway was not slow in appreciating what this advance in status was going
to mean to him. It pleased him, definitely-he had expected to do another two
years before making Senior Physician. But he was a little frightened, too.
Henceforth he would wear an armband trimmed with red, have the right-of-
way in corridors and dining halls over everyone other than fellow Seniors and
Diagnosticians, and all the equipment or assistance he might need would be his
for the asking. He would bear full responsibility for any patient left in his
charge, with no possibility of ducking it or passing the buck. His personal
freedom would be more constrained. He would have to lecture nurses, train junior
interns, and almost certainly take part in one of the long-term research
programs. These duties would necessitate his being in permanent possession of at
least one physiology tape, probably two. That side of it, he knew, was not going
to be pleasant.
Senior Physicians with permanent teaching duties were called on to retain
one or two of these tapes continuously. That, Conway had heard, was no fun. The
only thing which could be said for it was that he would be better off that a
Diagnostician, the hospital's elite, one of the rare beings whose mind was
considered stable enough to retain permanently six, seven or even ten Educator
tapes simultaneously. To their data crammed minds were given the job of original
research in xenological medicine, and the diagnosis and treatment of new
diseases in the hitherto unknown life-forms.
There was a well-known saying in the hospital, reputed to have originated
with the Chief Psychologist himself, that anyone sane enough to want to be a
Diagnostician was mad.
For it was not only physiological data which the Educator tapes imparted,
but the complete memory and personality of the entity who had possessed that
knowledge was impressed on their brains as well. In effect, a Diagnostician
subjected himself or itself voluntarily to the most drastic form of multiple
schizophrenia..
Suddenly O'Mara's voice broke in on his thoughts. ..... And now that you
feel three feet taller and are no doubt raring to go," the psychologist said, "I
have a job for you. A wreck has been brought in which contains a survivor.
Apparently the usual procedures for extricating it cannot be used. Physiological
classification unknown-we haven't been able to identify the ship so have no idea
what it eats, breathes or looks like. I want you to go over there and sort
things out, with a view to transferring the being here as quickly as possible
for treatment. We're told that its movements inside the wreckage are growing
weaker," he ended briskly, "so treat the matter as urgent."
"Yes, sir," said Conway, rising quickly. At the door he paused. Later he
was to wonder at his temerity in saying what he did to the Chief Psychologist,
and decided that promotion must have gone to his head. As a parting shot he said
exultantly, "I've got your lousy appendix. Kellerman took it out three years
ago. He pickled it and put it up as a chess trophy. It's on my bookcase..."
O'Mara's only reaction was to incline his head, as if receiving a
compliment.
Outside in the corridor Conway went to the nearest communicator and called
Transport. He said, "This is Dr. Conway. I have an urgent outpatient case and
need a tender. Also a nurse able to use an analyzer and with experience of
fishing people out of wrecks, if possible. I'll be at Admission Lock Eight in a
few minutes. .
Conway made good time to the lock, all things considered. Once he had to
flatten himself against a corridor wall as a Tralthan Diagnostician lumbered
absently past on its six, elephantine feet, the diminutive and nearly mindless
OTSB life-form which lived in symbiosis with it clinging to its leathery back.
Conway didn't mind giving way to a Diagnostician, and the Tralthan FGLI-OTSB
combination were the finest surgeons in the Galaxy. Generally, however, the
people he encountered-nurses of the DBLF classification mostly, and a few of the
low-gravity, bird-like LSVOs-made way for him. Which showed what a very
efficient grapevine the hospital possessed, because he was still wearing his old
armband.
His swelling head was rapidly shrunk back to size by the entity waiting for him
at Lock Eight. It was another of the furry, multi-pedal DBLF nurses, and it
began hooting and whining immediately when he came into sight. The DBLF's own
language was unintelligible, but Conway's Translator pack converted the sounds
which it made-as it did all the other grunts, chirps and gobblings heard in the
hospital-into English.
"I have been awaiting you for over seven minutes," it said. "They told me
this was an emergency, yet I find you ambling along as if you had all the time
in the world. .
Like all Translated speech the words had been flat and strained free of
all emotional content. So the DBLF could have been joking, or half joking, or
even making a simple statement of fact as it saw them with no disrespect
intended. Conway doubted the last very strongly, but knew that losing his temper
at this stage would be futile.
He took a deep breath and said, "I might have shortened your waiting
period if I had run all the way. But I am against running for the reason that
undue haste in a being in my position gives a bad impression- people tend to
think I am in a panic over something and so feel unsure of my capabilities. So
for the record," he ended dryly, "I wasn't ambling, I was walking with a
confident, unhurried tread."
The sound which the DBLF made in reply was not Translatable.
Conway went through the boarding tube ahead of the nurse,, and seconds
later they shot away from the lock. In the tender's rear vision screen the
sprawling mass of lights which was Sector General began to crawl together and
shrink, and Conway started worrying.
This was not the first time he had been called to a wreck, and he knew the
drill. But suddenly it was brought home to him that he would be solely
responsible for what was to happen-he couldn't scream for help if something went
wrong. Not that he had ever done that, but it had been comforting to know that
he could have done so if necessary. He had an urgent desire to share some of his
newly-acquired responsibility with someone-Dr. Prilicla, for instance, the
gentle, spidery, emotion sensitive who had been his assistant in the Nursery, or
any of his other human and non-human colleagues.
During the trip to the wreck the DBLF, who told him that its name was
Kursedd, tried Conway's patience sorely. The nurse was completely without tact,
and although Conway knew the reason for this failing, it was still a little hard
to take.
As a race Kursedd's species were not telepathic, but among themselves they
could read each other's thoughts with a high degree of accuracy by the
observation of expression. With four extensible eyes, two hearing antenna, a
coat of fur which could lie silky smooth or stick out in spikes like a newly-
bathed dog, plus various other highly flexible and expressive features-all of
which they had very little control over-it was understandable that this
caterpillar-like race had never learned diplomacy. Invariably they said exactly
what they thought, because to another member of their race those thoughts were
already plain anyhow, so that saying something different would have been stupid.
Then all at once they were sliding up to the Monitor cruiser and the wreck
which hung beside it.
Apart from the bright orange coloring it looked pretty much like any other wreck
he had seen, Conway thought; ships resembled people in that respect-a violent
end stripped them of all individuality. He directed Kursedd to circle a few
times, and moved to the forward observation panel.
At close range the internal structure of the wreck was revealed by the
mishap which had practically sheered it in two, it was of dark and fairly
normal-looking metal, so that the garish coloration of the hull must be due
simply to paint. Conway filed that datum away carefully in his mind, because the
shade of paint a being used could give an accurate guide to the range of its
visual equipment, and the opacity or otherwise of its atmosphere. A few minutes
later he decided that nothing further could be abstracted from an external
examination of the ship, and signaled Kursedd to lock onto Sheldon.
The lock antechamber of the cruiser was small and made even more cramped
by the crowd of green-uniformed Corpsmen staring, discussing and cautiously
poking at an odd-looking mechanism-obviously something salvaged from the wreck-
which was lying on the deck. The compartment buzzed with the technical jargon of
half a dozen specialties and nobody paid any attention to the doctor and nurse
until Conway cleared his throat loudly twice. Then an officer with Major's
insignia, a thin faced, graying man, detached himself from the crowd, and came
toward them.
"Summerfield, Captain," he said crisply, giving the thing on the floor a
fond backward glance as he spoke. "You, I take it, will be the high-powered
medical types from the hospital?"
Conway felt irritated. He could understand these people's feelings, of
course-a wrecked interstellar ship belonging to an unknown alien culture was a
rare find indeed, a technological treasure trove on whose value no limit could
be set. But Conway's mind was oriented differently; alien artifacts came a long
way second in importance to the study, investigation and eventual restoration of
alien life. That was why he got right down to business.
"Captain Summerfield," he said sharply, "we must ascertain and reproduce
this survivor's living conditions as quickly as possible, both at the hospital
and in the tender which will take it there. Could we have someone to show us
over the wreck please. A fairly responsible officer, if possible, with a
knowledge of-"
"Surely," Summerfield interrupted. He looked as if he was going to say
something else, then he shrugged, turned, and barked, "Hendricks!" A Lieutenant
wearing the bottom half of a spacesuit and a rather harassed expression joined
them. The Captain performed brief introductions, then returned to the enigma on
the floor.
Hendricks said, "We'll need heavy-duty suits. I can fit you Dr. Conway,
but Dr. Kursedd is a DBLF..
"There is no problem," Kursedd put in. "I have a suit in the tender. Give
me five minutes."
The nurse wheeled and undulated toward the airlock, its fur rising and falling
in slow waves which ran from the sparse hair at its neck to the bushier growth
on the tail. Conway had been on the point of correcting Hendrick's mistake
regarding Kursedd's status, but he suddenly realized that being called "Doctor"
had elicited an intense emotional response from the DBLF-that rippling fur was
certainly an expression of something! Not being a DBLF himself Conway could not
tell whether the expression registered was one of pleasure or pride at being
mistaken for a Doctor, or if the being was simply laughing one of its thirty-
four legs off at the error. It wasn't a vital matter, so Conway decided to say
nothing.
II
The next occasion that Hendricks addressed "Doctor" Kursedd was when they were
entering the wreck, but this time the DBLF's expression was hidden by the casing
of its spacesuit.
"What happened here?" Conway asked as he looked around curiously.
"Accident, collision or what?"
"Our theory," Lieutenant Hendricks replied, "is that one of the two pairs
of generators which maintained the ship in hyperspace during faster than-light
velocities failed for some reason. One half of the vessel was suddenly returned
to normal space, which automatically meant that it was braked to a velocity far
below that of light. The result was that the ship was ripped in two. The section
containing the faulty generators was left behind," Hendricks went on, "because
after the accident the remaining pair of generators must have remained
functional for a second or so. Various safety devices must have gone into
operation to seal off the damage, but the shock had practically shaken the whole
ship to pieces so they weren't very successful. But an automatic distress signal
was emitted which we were fortunate enough to hear, and obviously there is still
pressure somewhere inside because we heard the survivor moving about. But the
thing I can't help wondering about," he ended soberly, "is the condition of the
other half of the wreck. It didn't, or couldn't, send out a distress signal or
we would have heard it also. Someone might have survived in that section, too."
"A pity if they did," said Conway. Then, in a firmer voice, "But we're
going to save this one. How do I get close to it?"
Hendricks checked their suits' anti-gravity belts and air tanks, then
said, "You can't, at least not for some time. Follow me and I'll show you why.
O'Mara had made reference to difficulties in reaching the alien, Conway
remembered, and he had assumed it was the normal trouble of wreckage blocking
the way. But from the competent look of this Lieutenant in particular and the
known efficiency of the Corps in general, he was sure that their troubles would
not be ordinary.
Yet when they penetrated further into the wreck the ship's interior seemed
remarkably clear. There was the usual loose stuff floating about, but no solid
blockage. It was only when Conway looked closely at his surroundings that he was
able to see the full extent of the damage. There was not one fitting, wall
support or section of plating which was not either loose, cracked or sprung at
the seams. And at the other end of the compartment they had just entered he
could see where a heavy door had been burned through, with traces of the rapid-
sealing goo used in setting up a temporary airlock showing all around it.
"That is our problem," Hendricks said, as Conway looked questioningly at
him. "The disaster very nearly shook the ship apart. If we weren't in weightless
conditions it would fall to pieces around us."
He broke off to go to the aid of Kursedd, who was having trouble getting
through the hole in the door, then resumed, "All the air-tight doors must be
closed automatically, but with the ship in this condition the fact of an air-
tight door being closed does not necessarily mean that there is pressure on the
other side of it. And while we think we have figured out the manual controls, we
cannot be absolutely sure that opening one by this method will not cause every
other door in the ship to open at the same time, with lethal results for the
survivor."
In Conway's phones there was the sound of a short, heavy sigh, then the
Lieutenant went on;
"We've been forced to set up locks outside every bulkhead we came to so
that if there should be an atmosphere on the other side when we burn through,
the pressure drop will be only fractional. But it's a very time-wasting
business, and no short cuts are possible which would not risk the safety of the
alien."
"Surely more rescue teams would be the answer," Conway said. "If there
aren't enough on your ship we can bring them from the hospital. That would cut
down the time required-"
"No, Doctor!" Hendricks said emphatically. "Why do you think we parked
five hundred miles out? There is evidence of considerable power storage in this
wreck and until we know exactly how and where, we have to go easy. We want to
save the alien, you understand, but we don't want to blow it and ourselves up.
Didn't they tell you about this at the hospital?"
Conway shook his head "Maybe they didn't want me to worry.
Hendricks laughed. "Neither do I. Seriously, the chance of a blowup is
vanishingly small provided we take proper precautions. But with men swarming all
over the wreck, burning and pulling it apart, it would be a near-certainty."
While the Lieutenant had been talking they passed through two other compartments
and along a short corridor. Conway noticed that the interior of each room had a
different color scheme. The survivor's race, he thought, must have highly
individual notions regarding interior decoration.
He said, "When do you expect to get through to it?"
This was a simple question which required a long, complicated answer,
Hendricks explained ruefully. The alien had made its presence known by noise-or
more accurately, by the vibrations set up in the fabric of the ship by its
movements. But the condition of the wreck plus the fact that its movements were
of irregular duration and weakening made it impossible to judge its position
with certainty. They were cutting a way toward the center of the wreck on the
assumption that that was where an undamaged, air-tight compartment was most
likely to be. Also, they were missing any later movements it made, which might
have given them a fix on its position, because of the noise and vibration set up
by the rescue team.
Boiled down, the answer was between three and seven hours.
And after they made contact with it, thought Conway, he had to sample,
analyze and reproduce its atmosphere, ascertain its pressure and gravity
requirements, prepare it for transfer to the hospital and do whatever he could
for its injuries until it could be treated properly.
"Far too long," said Conway, aghast. The survivor could not be expected,
in its steadily weakening state, to survive indefinitely. "We'll have to prepare
accommodation without actually seeing our patient-there's nothing else for it.
Now this is what we'll do . .
Rapidly, Conway gave instruction for tearing up sections of floor plating
so as to bare the artificial gravity grids beneath. This sort of thing was not
in his line, he told Hendricks, but no doubt the Lieutenant could make a fair
guess at their output. There was only one known way of neutralizing gravity used
by all the space-going races of the Galaxy; if the survivor's species had a
different way of doing it then they might as well give up there and then.
The physical characteristics of any life-form," he went on, "can be
deduced from specimens of their food supply, the size and power demands of their
artificial gravity grids, and air trapped in odd sections of piping. Enough data
of this sort would enable us to reproduce its living conditions-"
"Some of the loose objects floating around must be food containers,"
Kursedd put in suddenly.
"That's the idea," Conway agreed. "But obtaining and analyzing a sample of
air must come first. That way we'll have a rough idea of its metabolism, which
should help you to tell which cans hold paint and which syrup. ..
Seconds later the search to detect and isolate the wreck's air-supply system was
under way. The quantity of plumbing in any compartment of a spaceship was
necessarily large, Conway knew, but the amount of piping which ran through even
the smallest rooms in this ship left him feeling astonished by its complexity.
The sight caused a vague stirring at the back of his mind, but either his
association centers were not working properly or the stimulus was too weak for
him to make anything out of it.
Conway and the others were working on the assumption that if a compartment
could be sealed by air-tight bulkheads, then the pipelines supplying air to that
section would be interrupted by cut-off valves where they entered and left it.
The finding of a section of piping containing atmosphere was therefore only a
matter of time. But the maze of plumbing all around them included control and
power lines, some of which must still be live. So each section of piping had to
be traced back to a break or other damage which allowed them to identify it as
not belonging to the air-supply system. It was a long, exhausting process of
elimination, and Conway raged inwardly at this shearly mechanical puzzle on
whose quick solution depended his patient's life. Furiously he wished that the
team cutting into the wreck would contact the survivor, just so he could go back
to being a fairly capable doctor instead of acting like an engineer with ten
thumbs.
Two hours slipped by and they had the possibilities narrowed down to a
single heavy pipe which was obviously the outlet, and a thick bundle of metal
tubing which just had to bring the air in.
Apparently there were seven air inlets!
"A being that needs seven different chemical. . ." began Hendricks, and
lapsed into a baffled silence.
"Only one line carries the main constituent," Conway said. "The others
must contain necessary trace elements or inert components, such as the nitrogen
in our own air. If those regulator valves you can see on each tube had not
closed when the compartment lost pressure we could tell by the settings the
proportions involved."
He spoke confidently, but Conway was not feeling that way. He had
premonitions.
Kursedd moved forward. From its kit the nurse produced a small cutting
torch, focused the flame to a six-inch, incandescent needle, then gently brought
it into contact with one of the seven inlet pipes. Conway moved closer, an open
sample flask held at the ready.
Yellowish vapor spurted suddenly and Conway pounced. His flask now held
little more than a slightly soft vacuum, but there was enough of the gas caught
inside for analysis purposes. Kursedd attacked another section of tubing.
"Judging by sight alone I would say that is chlorine," the DBLF said as it
worked. "And if chlorine is the main constituent of its atmosphere then a
modified PVSJ ward could take the survivor."
"Somehow," said Conway, "I don't think it will be as simple as that."
He had barely finished speaking when a high-pressure jet-white vapor
filled the room with fog. Kursedd jerked back instinctively, pulling the flame
away from the holed pipe, and the vapor changed to a clear liquid which bubbled
out to hang as shrinking, furiously steaming globes all around them. They looked
and acted like water, Conway thought, as he collected another sample.
With the third puncture the cutting flame, held momentarily in the jet of
escaping gas, swelled and brightened visibly. That reaction was unmistakable.
"Oxygen," said Kursedd, putting Conway's thoughts into words, "or a high
oxygen content.~~
"The water doesn't bother me," Hendricks put in, "but chlorine and oxy is
a pretty unbreathable mixture."
"I agree," said Conway. "Any being who breathes chlorine finds oxygen
lethal in a matter of seconds, and vice versa. But one of the gases might form a
very small percentage of the whole, a mere trace. It is also possible that both
gases are trace constituents and the main component hasn't turned up yet."
The four remaining lines were pierced and samples taken within a few
minutes, during which Kursedd had obviously been pondering over Conway's
statement. Just before it left for the tender and the analysis equipment therein
the nurse paused.
"If these gases are in trace quantity only," it said in its toneless,
Translated voice, "why are not all the trace and inert elements, even the
oxidizer or its equivalent, pre-mixed and pumped in together as we and most
other races do it? They all leave by one pipe."
Conway harrumphed. Precisely the same question had been bothering him, and
he couldn't even begin to answer it. He said sharply, "Right now I want those
samples analyzed, get moving on that. Lieutenant Hendricks and I will try to
work out the physical size and pressure requirements of the being. And don't
worry," he ended dryly, "all things will eventually become plain."
"Let us hope the answers come during curative surgery," Kursedd gave out
as a parting shot, "and not at the post-mortem."
Without further urging Hendricks began lifting aside the buckled floor
plating to get at the artificial gravity grids. Conway thought that he looked
like a man who knew exactly what he was doing, so he left him to it and went
looking for furniture.
III
The disaster had not been as other shipwrecks, where all movable objects
together with a large number normally supposed to be immovable were lifted and
hurled toward the point of impact. Here, instead, there had been a brief, savage
shock which had disrupted the binding powers of practically every bolt, rivet
and weld in the ship. Furniture, which was about the most easily damaged item in
any ship, had suffered worst.
From a chair or bed could be told the shape, carriage and number of limbs
of its user with fair accuracy, or if it possessed a hard tegument or required
artificial padding for comfort. And a study of materials and design could give
the gravity-pull which the being considered normal. But Conway was dead out of
luck.
Some of the bits and pieces floating weightless in every compartment were
almost certainly furniture, but they were so thoroughly mixed together that it
was like trying to make sense of the scrambled parts of sixteen jigsaw puzzles.
He thought of calling O'Mara, then decided against it. The Major would not be
interested in how well he wasn't getting on.
He was searching the ruins of what might have been a row of lockers,
hoping wistfully to strike a bonanza in the shape of clothing or an e-t pin-up
picture, when Kursedd called.
"The analysis is complete," the nurse reported. "There is nothing unusual
about the samples when considered separately. As a mixture they would be lethal
to any species possessing a respiratory system. Mix them any way you want the
result is a sludgy, poisonous mess.
"Be more explicit," said Conway sharply. "I want data, not opinions."
"As well as the gases already identified," Kursedd replied, "there is
ammonia, CO2, and two inerts. Together, and in any combination of which I can
conceive, they form an atmosphere which is heavy, poisonous and highly opaque...
"It can't be!" Conway snapped back. "You saw their interior paintwork,
they used pastels a lot. Races living in an opaque atmosphere would not be
sensitive to subtle variations of color-"
"Doctor Conway," Hendricks' voice broke in apologetically, "I've finished
checking that grid. So far as I can tell it's rigged to pull five Gs."
A pull of five times Earth-normal gravity meant a proportionately high
atmospheric pressure. The being must breathe a thick, poisonous soup-but a clear
soup, he added hastily to himself. And there were other more immediate, and
perhaps deadly, implications as well.
To Hendricks he said quickly, "Tell the rescue team to watch their step-
without slowing down, if possible. Any beastie living under five Gs is apt to
have muscles, and people in the survivor's position have been known to run
amuck."
"I see what you mean," said Hendricks worriedly, and signed off. Conway
returned to Kursedd.
"You heard the Lieutenant's report," he resumed in a quieter voice. "Try
combinations under high pressure. And remember, we want a clear atmosphere!"
There was a long pause, then: "Very well. But I must add that I dislike
wasting time, even when I am ordered to do so."
For several seconds Conway practiced savage self-restraint until a click
in his phones told him that the DBLF had broken contact. Then he said a few
words which, even had they been subjected to the emotion filtering process of
Translation, would have left no doubt in any e-t's mind that he was angry.
But slowly his rage toward this stupid, conceited, downright impertinent
nurse he had been given began to fade. Perhaps Kursedd wasn't stupid, no matter
what else it might be. Suppose it was right about the opacity of that
atmosphere, where did that leave them? The answer was with yet another piece of
contradictory evidence.
The whole wreck was stuffed with contradictions, Conway thought wearily.
The design and construction did not suggest a high-G species, yet the artificial
gravity grids could produce up to five Gs. And the interior color schemes
pointed to a race possessing a visual range close to Conway's own. But the air
they lived in, according to Kursedd, would need radar to see through. Not to
mention a needlessly complex air-supply system and a bright orange outer hull...
For the twentieth time Conway tried to form a meaningful picture from the
data at his disposal, in vain. Maybe if he attacked the' problem from a
different direction..
Abruptly he snapped on his radio's transmit switch and said, "Lieutenant
Hendricks, will you connect me with the hospital, please. I want to talk to
O'Mara. And I would like Captain Summerfield, yourself and Kursedd in on it,
too. Can you arrange that?"
Hendricks made an affirmative noise and said, "Hang on a minute."
Interspersed by clicks, buzzes and bleeps, Conway heard the chopped-up voices of
Hendricks, a Monitor radio officer on Sheldon calling up the hospital and
requesting Summerfield to come to the radio room, and the flat, Translated tones
of an e-t operator in the hospital itself. In a little under the stipulated
minute the babble subsided and the stern, familiar voice of O'Mara barked,
"Chief Psychologist here. Go ahead."
As briefly as possible Conway outlined the situation at the wreck, his
lack of progress to date and the contradictory data they had uncovered. Then he
went on, ..... The rescue team is working toward the center of the wreck because
that is the most likely place for the survivor to be. But it may be in a pocket
off to one side somewhere and we may have to search every compartment in the
ship to be sure of finding it. This could take many days. The survivor," he went
on grimly, "if not already dead must be in a very bad way. We don't have that
much time."
"You have a problem, Doctor. What are you going to do about it?"
"Well," Conway replied evasively, "a more general picture of the situation
might help. If Captain Summerfield could tell me about the finding of the wreck-
its position, course, or any personal impressions he can remember. For instance,
would the extension each way of its direction of flight help us find its planet
of origin? That would solve-"
"I'm afraid not, Doctor," Summerfield's voice came in. "Sighting backward
we found that its course passed through a not-too-distant solar system. But this
system had been mapped by us over a century previous and listed as a future
possibility for colonization, which as you know means that it was devoid of
intelligent life. No race can rise from nothing to a spaceship technology in one
hundred years, so the wreck could not have originated in that system. Extending
the line forward led nowhere- into intergalactic space, to be exact. In my
opinion, the accident must have caused a violent change in course, so that the
wreck's position and course when found will tell you nothing.
"So much for that idea," said Conway sadly, then in a more determined
voice he went on, "But the other half of the wreck is out there somewhere. If we
could find that, especially if it contained the body or bodies of other members
of its crew, that would solve everything! I admit that it's a roundabout way to
do it, but judging by our present rate of progress it might be the fastest way.
I want a search made for the other half of the wreck," Conway ended, and waited
for the storm to break.
Captain Summerfield demonstrated that he had the fastest reaction time by
getting in the first blast.
"Impossible! You don't know what you're asking! It would take two hundred
units or more-a whole Sector sub-fleet!-to cover that area in the time necessary
to do you any good. And all this is just to find a dead specimen so you can
analyze it and maybe help another specimen, which by that time might be dead as
well. I know that life is more valuable in your book than any material
considerations," Summerfield continued in a somewhat quieter voice, "but this
verges on the ridiculous. Besides, I haven't the authority to order, or even
suggest, such an operation-"
"The Hospital has," O'Mara broke in gruffly, then to Conway: "You're
sticking your neck out, Doctor. If as a result of the search the survivor is
saved, I don't think much will be said regarding the fuss and expense caused.
The Corps might even give you a pat on the back for putting them on to another
intelligent species. But if this alien dies, or it turns out that it was already
dead before the search was begun, you, Doctor, are for it."
Looking at the thing honestly, Conway could not say that he was more than
normally concerned about his patient, and definitely not enough to want to throw
away his career in the faint hope of saving the being. It was more an angry
curiosity which drove him, and a vague feeling that the conflicting data they
possessed formed part of a picture which included much more than just a wreck
and its lone survivor. Aliens did not build ships for the sole purpose of
bewildering Earth-human doctors, so the apparently contradictory evidence had to
mean something.
For a moment Conway thought he had the answer. Growing at the fringes of
his mind was a dim, still-formless picture. . . which was obliterated, violently
and completely, by the excited voice of Hendricks in his phones:
"Doctor, we've found the alien!"
I
When Conway joined him a few minutes later he found a portable airlock in
position. Hendricks and the men of the rescue team had their helmets together
talking, so as not to tie up the radio circuit. But the most wonderful sight of
all to Conway was the tightly-stretched fabric of the lock.
There was pressure inside.
Hendricks switched suddenly to radio and said, "You can go in, Doctor. Now
that we've found it we can open the door instead of melting through." He
indicated the taut fabric beside him and added, "Pressure in there is about
twelve pounds."
That wasn't a lot, thought Conway soberly, considering that the survivor's
normal environment was supposed to be five-Gs, with the tremendous air-pressure
which went with such a killing gravity. He hoped that it was enough to sustain
life. There must have been a slow leakage of air since the accident, he thought.
Maybe the being's internal pressure had equalized sufficiently to save it.
"Get an air sample to Kursedd, quickly!" Conway said. Once they knew the
composition it used it would be a simple matter to increase pressure when they
had the being in the tender. He added quickly, "And I want four men to stand by
at the tender. We'll need special equipment to get the survivor out of here and
I might need it in a hurry."
With Hendricks he entered the tiny lock. The Lieutenant checked the seals,
worked the manual control beside the door, and straightened up. A creaking in
Conway's suit told of mounting pressure as air from the compartment beyond
rushed in. It was clear air, he noted with some satisfaction, and not the super-
thick fog which Kursedd had predicted. The air-tight door slid aside, hesitated
as the still-hot section moved into its recess, then came fully open with a
rush.
"Don't come in unless I call you," Conway said quietly, and stepped
through. In his phones there was a grunt of assent from Hendricks, followed
closely by the voice of Kursedd announcing that it was recording.
The first glimpse of the new physiological type was always a confused blur
to Conway. His mind insisted on trying to relate its physical features to others
in his experience, and whether it was successful or not in this the process took
a little time.
"Conway!" O'Mara's voice came sharply. "Have you gone to sleep?"
Conway had forgotten about O'Mara, Summerfield and the assorted radio
operators who were still linked up with him. He cleared his throat and hastily
began to talk:
"The being is ring-shaped, rather like a large balloon tire. Overall
diameter of the ring is about nine feet, with the thickness between two and
three feet. Mass appears to be about four times my own. I can see no movements,
nor indications of gross physical injury."
He took a deep breath and went on, "Tegument is smooth, shiny and gray in
color where it is not covered with a thick, brownish encrustation. The brown
stuff, which covers more than half of the total skin area, looks cancerous but
may be some type of natural camouflage. Or it might be the result of severe
decompression.
"The outer surface of the ring contains a double row of short, tentacular
limbs at present folded flat against the body. There are five pairs, and no
evidence of specialization. Neither can I see any visual organs or means of
ingestion. I'm going to have a closer look."
There was no visible reaction as he approached the creature, and he began
to wonder if they had reached it too late. There was still no sign of eyes or
mouth, but he could see small gill-like openings and something which looked like
an ear. He reached out and gently touched one of the tightly-folded limbs.
The being seemed to explode.
Conway was sent spinning backward against the floor, his whole right arm numb
from the blow which, had he not been wearing a heavy-duty suit, would have
smashed his wrist. Frantically he worked the G-belt controls to hold him against
the deck, then began inching backward toward the door. The babble of questions
in his phones gradually sorted itself into two main ones: Why had he shouted,
and what were the banging noises currently going on?
Conway said shakily, "Uh. . . I have established that the survivor is
alive . .
The watching Hendricks made a choking sound. "I don't believe," said the
Lieutenant in an awed voice, "that I have ever seen anything more so.
"Talk sense, you two!" O'Mara snapped. "What is happening?"
That was a difficult question to answer, Conway thought as he watched the
tire-like being half-rolling, half-bouncing about the compartment. Physical
contact with the survivor had triggered off a panic reaction, and while Conway
had without doubt been the cause the first time, now contact with anything-
walls, floor, or loose debris floating about the room-had the same result. Five
pairs of strong, flexible limbs lashed out in a vicious, two-foot radius arc,
the force of which sent the being skidding across the room again. And no matter
which part of the massive ring body it was it struck out blindly in all
directions at once.
Conway made it to the shelter of the portable lock just as a fortunate
combination of circumstances left the alien floating helpless in the middle of
the compartment, spinning slowly and bearing a remarkable resemblance to one of
the old-time space stations. But it was drifting toward one of the walls again,
and he had to get things organized before it started bouncing around a second
time.
Ignoring O'Mara for the moment, Conway said quickly, "We'll need a fine-
mesh net, size five, a plastic envelope to go over it, and a set of pumps. In
its present state we can expect no cooperation from the being. When it is under
restraint and encased in the envelope we can pump in its own air, which should
keep it going until it reaches the tender. By that time Kursedd should be ready
for it. But hurry with that net!"
How a high-pressure life-form could display such violent activity in what
must be to it extremely rarified air was something Conway could not understand.
"Kursedd, how is the analysis going?" he asked suddenly.
The answer was so long in coming that Conway had almost decided that the
nurse had broken contact, but eventually the slow, necessarily emotionless voice
replied, "It is complete. The composition of the air in the survivor's
compartment is such that, if you were to take off your helmet, Doctor, you could
breathe it yourself."
And that, thought Conway, stunned, was the wildest contradiction of all.
Kursedd must be equally flabbergasted, he knew. Suddenly he laughed, thinking of
what the nurse's fur must be doing now...
IV
Six hours later, after struggling furiously for every minute of the way, the
survivor had been transferred to Ward 31 OB, a small observation room with
theater off the main DBLF Surgical ward. By now Conway wasn't sure whether he
wanted to restore the alien to health or murder it, and judging by the comments,
during the transfer, of Kursedd and the Corpsmen, they were similarly confused.
Conway made a preliminary examination as thorough as possible considering the
restraining net-and finished off by taking blood and skin samples. These he sent
to Pathology, plastered with red Most Urgent labels. Kursedd took them up
personally rather than commit them to the pneumo tube, because the pathological
staff were notoriously color blind where priority labels were concerned. Finally
he ordered X rays to be taken, left Kursedd to keep the patient under
observation, then went to see O'Mara.
When he had finished, O'Mara said, "The hardest part is over now. But I
expect you want to follow through on this case?"
"I. . . I don't think so," Conway replied.
O'Mara frowned heavily. "If you don't want to go on with it, say so. I
don't approve of dithering."
Conway breathed through his nose, then slowly and with exaggerated
distinctness said, "I want to continue with the case. The doubt which I
expressed was not due to an inability to make up my mind on this point, but was
with regard to your mistaken assumption that the hardest part is over. It isn't.
I have made a preliminary examination and when the results of the tests are in I
intend making a more detailed one tomorrow. When I do so, I would like to have
present, if it is possible, Doctors Mannon and Prilicla, Colonel Skempton and
yourself."
O'Mara's eyebrows went up. He said, "An odd selection of talent, Doctor.
Mind telling me what you need us for?"
Conway shook his head. "I'd rather not, just yet."
"Very well, we'll be there," O'Mara said with forced gentleness. "And I
apologize for suggesting that you were a ditherer, when all you did was mumble
and yawn in my face so much that I could only make out one word in three. Now go
away and get some sleep, Doctor, before I brain you with something."
It was only then that Conway realized how tired he was. His gait on the
way to his room must be closer to a weary shuffle, he thought, than an
unhurried, confident tread.
Next morning Conway spent two hours with his patient before calling for the
consultation he had requested from O'Mara. Everything which he had discovered,
and that wasn't a great deal, made it plain that nothing constructive could be
done for the being without bringing in some highly specialized help.
Dr. Prilicla, the spidery, low-gravity and extremely fragile being of
physiological classification GLNO, arrived first. O'Mara and Colonel Skempton,
the hospital's senior engineering officer, came together. Dr. Mannon, because of
a job in the DBLF theater, arrived late at a near run, braked, then walked
slowly around the patient twice.
"Looks like a doughnut," he said, "with barnacles."
Everyone looked at him.
"They aren't anything so simple and harmless," Conway said, wheeling the
X-ray scanner forward, "but a growth which the pathological boys say shows every
indication of being malignant. And if you'll look through here you'll see that
it isn't a doughnut, but possesses a fairly normal anatomy of the DBLF type-a
cylindrical, lightly-boned body with heavy musculature. The being is not ring-
shaped, but gives that impression because for some reason known best to itself
it has been trying to swallow its tail."
Mannon stared intently into the scanner, gave an incredulous grunt, then
straightened up. "A vicious circle if ever I saw one," he muttered, then added:
"Is this why O'Mara is here? You suspect marbles missing?"
Conway did not think the question serious, and ignored it. He went on,
"The growth is thickest where the mouth and tail of the patient come together,
in fact it is so widespread in that area that it is nearly impossible to see the
joint. Presumably this growth is painful or at least highly irritant, and an
intolerable itch might explain why it is apparently biting its own tail.
Alternatively, its present physical posture might be due to an involuntary
muscular contraction brought about by the growth, a type of epileptic spasm..
"I like the second idea best," Mannon broke in. "For the condition to
spread from mouth to tail, or vice-versa, the jaws must have locked in that
position for a considerable time."
Conway nodded. He said, "Despite the artificial gravity equipment in the
wreck I've established that the patient's air, pressure and gravity requirements
are very similar to our own. Those gill openings back of the head and not yet
reached by the growth are breathing orifices. The smaller openings, partly
covered by flaps of muscle, are ears. So the patient can hear and breathe, but
not eat. You all agree that freeing the mouth would be the first step?"
Mannon and O'Mara nodded. Prilicla spread four manipulators in a gesture
which meant the same thing, and Colonel Skempton stared woodenly at the ceiling,
very obviously wondering what he was doing here? Without further delay, Conway
began to tell him.
While Mannon and he decided on the operative procedure, the Colonel and
Dr. Prilicla were to handle the communications angle. By using its empathic
faculty the GLNO could listen for a reaction while a couple of Skempton's
Translator technicians ran sound tests. Once the patient's audio range was known
a Translator could be modified to suit it, and the being would be able to help
them in the diagnosis and treatment of its complaint.
"This place is crowded enough already," the Colonel said stiffly. "I'll
handle this myself." He strode across to the intercom to order the equipment he
needed. Conway turned to O'Mara.
"Don't tell me, let me guess," the psychologist began before Conway could
speak. "I'm to have the easiest bit-that of reassuring the patient once we're
able to talk to it, and convincing it that your pair of butchers mean it no
harm."
"That's it exactly," Conway said, grinning, and returned all his attention
to the patient.
Prilicla reported that the survivor was unaware of them and that the
emotional radiation was so slight that it suggested the being was both
unconscious and close to physical exhaustion. Despite this, Conway warned them
all against touching the patient.
Conway had seen malignant growths in his time, both terrestrial and
otherwise, but this one took a lot of beating.
Like a tough, fibrous bark of a tree it completely covered the joint
between the patient's mouth and tail. And to add to their trouble the bone
structure of the jaw, with which they would be chiefly concerned during the
operation, could not be seen plainly with the scanner because of the fact that
the growth itself was nearly opaque to X rays. The being's eyes were also
somewhere under the thick, obscuring shell, which was another reason for going
carefully.
Mannon indicated the blurred picture in the scanner and said vehemently,
"It wasn't scratching to relieve an itch. Those teeth are really locked on, it
has practically bitten its tail off! Definitely an epileptic condition, I'd say.
Or such self-inflicted punishment could mean mental unbalance
"Oh, great!" said O'Mara disgustedly from behind them.
Skempton's equipment arrived then, and Prilicla and the Colonel began
calibrating a Translator for the patient. Being practically unconscious, the
test sounds had to be of a mind-wrecking intensity to get through to it, and
Mannon and Conway were driven out to the main ward to finish their discussion.
Half an hour later Prilicla came out to tell them that they could talk to
the patient, but that the being's mind still seemed to be only partly conscious.
They hurried in.
O'Mara was saying that they were all friends, that they liked and felt
sympathy for the patient, and that they would do everything in their power to
help it. He spoke quietly into his own Translator, and a series of alien clicks
and gobbles roared out from the other which had been placed near the patient's
head. In the pauses between sentences Prilicla reported on the being's mental
state.
"Confusion, anger, great fear," the GLNO's voice came tonelessly through
its own Translator. And for several minutes the intensity and type of emotional
radiation remained constant. Conway decided to take the next step.
"Tell it I am going to make physical contact," he said to O'Mara. "That I
apologize for any discomfort this may cause, but that I intend no harm."
He took a long, needle-pointed probe and gently touched the area where the
growth was thickest. The GLNO reported no reaction. Apparently it was only on an
area unaffected by the growth where a touch could send the patient wild. Conway
felt that at least he was beginning to get somewhere.
Switching off the patient's Translator, he said, "I was hoping for this.
If the affected areas are dead to pain we should be able, with the patient's
cooperation, to cut the mouth free without using an anesthetic. As yet we don't
know enough about its metabolism to anesthetize without risk of killing the
patient. Are you sure," he asked Prilicla suddenly, "that it hears and
understands what we're saying?"
"Yes, Doctor," the GLNO replied, "so long as you speak slowly and without
ambiguity."
Conway switched the Translator on again and said quietly. "We are going to
help you. First we will enable you to resume your natural posture by freeing
your mouth, and then we will remove this growth..."
Abruptly the restraining net bulged as five pairs of tentacles whipped
furiously back and forward. Conway jumped away cursing, angry with the patient
and angrier with himself for having rushed things too much.
"Fear and anger," said Prilicla, and added: "The being.., it seems to have
reasons for these emotions."
"But why? I'm trying to help it. . .
The patient's struggles increased to a violence that was incredible.
Prilicla's fragile, pipe stem body trembled under the impact of the emotional
gale from the survivor's mind. One of its tentacles, a member which projected
from the growth area, became entangled in a fold of net and was torn off.
Such blind, unreasoning panic, Conway thought sickly. But Prilicla had
said that there were reasons for this reaction on the alien's part. Conway
swore: even the workings of the survivor's mind were contradictory.
"Well!" said Mannon explosively, when the patient had quietened down
again.
"Fear, anger, hatred," the GLNO reported. "I would say, most definitely,
that it does not want your help."
"We have here," O'Mara put in grimly, "a very sick beastie indeed."
The words seemed to echo back and forth in Conway's brain, growing louder
and more insistent every time. They had significance. O'Mara had, of course,
been alluding to the mental condition of the patient, but that didn't matter. A
very sick beastie-that was the key-piece of the puzzle, and the picture was
beginning to fall into place around it. As yet it was incomplete, but there was
enough of it there to make Conway feel more horribly afraid than he had ever
been before in his life.
When he spoke he hardly recognized his own voice.
"Thank you, gentlemen. I'll have to think of another approach. When I do
I'll let you know...
Conway wished that they would all go away and let him think this thing
out. He also wanted to run away and hide somewhere, except that there was
probably nowhere in the whole Galaxy safe from what he was afraid.
They were all staring at him now, their expressions reflecting a mixture
of surprise, concern and embarrassment. Lots of patients resisted treatment
aimed at helping them, but that didn't mean the doctor ceased treating such a
case at the first sign of resistance. Obviously they thought he had taken cold
feet over what promised to be a highly unpleasant and technically strenuous
operation, and in their various ways they tried to reassure him. Even Skempton
was offering suggestions.
If a safe anesthetic is your chief problem," the Colonel was saying,
"isn't it possible for Pathology to develop one, from a dead or damaged, er,
specimen. I have in mind the search you requested earlier. It seems to me you
have ample reason to order it now. Shall I-"
"No!"
They were really staring at him now. O'Mara in particular wore a decidedly
clinical expression. Conway said hurriedly, "I forgot to tell you that
Summerfield contacted me again. He says that current investigations now show
that the wreck, instead of being the most nearly intact half of the original
ship, is the half which came off worst in the accident. The other part, he says,
instead of being scattered all over space, was probably in good enough shape to
make it home under its own steam. So you can see that the search would be
pointless."
Conway hoped desperately that Skempton was not going to be difficult about
this, or insist on checking the information himself. Summerfield had reported
again from the wreck, but the Captain's findings had not been nearly so definite
as Conway had just made out. The thought of a Monitor search force blundering
about in that area of space, in the light of what he knew now, made Conway break
into a cold sweat.
But the Colonel merely nodded and dropped the subject. Conway relaxed, a
little, and said quickly, "Dr. Prilicla, I would like a discussion with you on
the patient's emotional state during the past few minutes, but later. Thank you
again, gentlemen, for your advice and assistance. .
He was practically kicking them out, and their expressions told him that
they knew it-there was going to be some very searching questions asked about his
behavior in this affair by O'Mara, but at the moment Conway didn't care. When
they had gone he told Kursedd to make a visual check on the patient's condition
every half-hour, and to call him if there was any change. Then he headed for his
room.
V
Conway often groused at the tininess of the place where he slept, kept his few
personal possessions, and infrequently entertained colleagues, but now its very
smallness was comforting. He sat down as there was no room to pace about. He
began to extend and fill in the picture which had come in a single flash of
insight back in the ward.
Really, the thing had been staring him in the face from the very
beginning. First there had been the wreck's artificial gravity grids- Conway had
stupidly overlooked the fact that they did not have to be operated at full
power, but could be turned to any point between zero and five-Gs. Then there had
been the air-supply layout-confusing only because he had not realized that it
had been designed to many different forms of life instead of only one. And there
had been the physical condition of the survivor, and the color of the outer
hull-a nice, urgent, dramatic orange. Earth ships of that type, even surface
vessels, were traditionally painted white.
The wreck was an ambulance ship.
But interstellar vessels of any kind were products of an advanced
technical culture which must cover, or shortly hope to cover, many solar
systems. And when a culture progressed to the point where such ships reached the
stage of simplification and specialization which had been reached here, then
that race was highly advanced indeed. In the Galactic Federation only the
cultures of Illensa, Traltha and Earth had reached that stage, and their spheres
of influence were tremendous. How could a culture of that size have remained
hidden for so long?
Conway squirmed uneasily in his couch: he had the answer to that question,
too.
Summerfield had said that the wreck was the worst damaged section of a
ship, the other half of which could be presumed to have continued under its own
power to the nearest repair base. So the section containing the survivor had
been torn from the ship during the original accident, which meant that the
course constants of this unpowered fragment had to be the same as that of the
ship as a whole before the disaster.
The ship had been coming, then, from a planet which was listed as
uninhabited. But in a hundred years someone could have set up a base there, or
even a colony. And the ambulance ship had been heading away from that world and
into intergalactic space...
A culture which had crossed from one Galaxy to plant a colony on the
fringes of this one, Conway thought grimly, had to be treated with great
respect. And caution. Especially since its only representative so far could not,
by any stretch of toleration or semantic work-juggling, be considered nice. And
the survivor's race, probably highly advanced medically might not take kindly to
news that someone was botching the treatment of one of their sick. On the
present evidence Conway thought that they would not take kindly to anything or
anybody.
Interstellar wars of conquest were logistically impossible, Conway knew.
But the same did not apply to simple wars of annihilation, where planetary
atmospheres were exploded or otherwise rendered useless forever with no thought
of eventual occupation or assimilation. Remembering his last contact with the
patient, Conway wondered if at last they had encountered a completely vicious
and inimical race.
The communicator buzzed suddenly. It was Kursedd reporting that the
patient had been quiet for the last hour, but that the growth seemed to be
spreading rapidly and threatened to cover one of the being's breathing openings.
Conway said he would be along presently. He put out a call for Dr. Prilicla,
then sat down again.
He dare not tell anyone of his discovery, Conway told himself as he
resumed his interrupted thought. To do so would mean a force of Monitors
swarming out there to make premature contact-premature, that was, so far as
Conway was concerned. For he was afraid that that first meeting between cultures
would be in the nature of an ideological head-on collision, and the only
possibility of cushioning the shock would be if the Federation could show that
they had rescued, taken care of, and cured one of the intergalactic colonists.
Of course there was the possibility that the patient was atypical of its
race, that it was mentally ill as O'Mara had suggested. But Conway doubted if
the aliens would consider that an excuse for not curing it. And against that
idea was the fact that the patient had had logical-to it-reasons for being
afraid and hating the person trying to help it. For a moment Conway wondered
wildly if there was such a thing as a contra terrene mind, a mentality wherein
assistance produced feelings of hate instead of gratitude. Even the fact of its
being found in an ambulance was no reassurance. To people like himself the
concept of an ambulance had altruistic implications, errands of mercy, and so
on. But many races, even within the Federation, tended to look upon illness as
mere physical inefficiency and corrected it as such.
As he left his room Conway did not have the faintest idea of how to go
about curing his patient. Neither, he knew, did he have much time to do it in.
At the moment, Captain Summerfield, Hendricks and the others investigating the
wreck were too dazzled by a multiplicity of puzzles to think about anything
else. But it was only a matter of time before they got around to it, a matter of
days or even hours, and then they would come to the same conclusions as had
Conway.
Shortly thereafter the Monitor Corps would make contact with the aliens,
who would naturally want to know about their ailing brother, who by that time
would have to be either cured or well on the way to recovery.
Or else.
The thought which Conway tried desperately to keep from thinking was: What
if the patient died.. .
Before beginning the next examination he questioned Prilicla regarding the
patient's emotional state, but learned nothing new. The being was now motionless
and practically unconscious. When Conway spoke to it via the Translator it
emoted fear, even when Prilicla assured him that it understood what he was
saying.
"I will not harm you," Conway said slowly and distinctly into the
Translator, moving closer as he spoke, "but it is necessary that I touch you.
Please believe me, I mean no harm. . ." He looked enquiringly at Prilicla.
The GLNO said, "Fear and. . . and helplessness. Also acceptance mixed with
threats.. . no, warnings. Apparently it believes what you say, but is trying to
warn you about something."
This was more promising, Conway thought. It was warning him, but it didn't
mind him touching it. He moved closer and gently touched the being with his
gloved hand on one of the unaffected areas of tegument.
He grunted with the violence of the blow which knocked his arm aside. He
backed away hurriedly, rubbing his arm, then switched off the Translator so as
to give vent to his feelings.
After a respectful pause, the GLNO said, "We have obtained a very
important datum, Dr. Conway. Despite the physical reaction, the patient's
feelings toward you are exactly the same as they were before you touched it."
"So what?" said Conway irritably.
"So that the reaction must be involuntary."
Conway digested that for a moment, then said disgustedly, "It also means
we can't risk a general anesthetic, even if we had one, because the heart and
lungs use involuntary muscles, too. That's another complication. We can't knock
it out and it won't cooperate..." He moved to the ward control panel and pushed
buttons. The clamps holding the net opened and the net itself was whisked away
by a grab. He went on, "It keeps injuring itself on that net, you can see where
it has nearly lost another appendage."
Prilicla objected to the removal of the net, saying that if the patient
was free to move about it was more likely than ever to injure itself. Conway
pointed out that in its present posture-head to tail and underbelly, which
contained its five sets of tentacles, facing outward-it could do little moving
about. And now that he thought of it, that position looked like the perfect
defensive stance for the creature. It reminded him of the way an Earth cat lies
on its side during a fight, so as to bring all four of its claws to bear. This
was a ten-legged cat who could defend itself from all directions at once.
Built-in involuntary reactions of that order were the product of
evolution. But why should the being adopt this defensive position and make
itself completely unapproachable at the time when it needed help the most...?
Suddenly, like a great light bursting in his mind, Conway knew the answer.
Or, he amended with cautious excitement, he was near ninety percent sure that he
did.
They had all been making wrong assumptions about this case from the start. His
new theory hinged on the fact that they had made a further wrong assumption,
single, simple and basic. Given that then the patient's hostility, physical
posture and mental state could all be explained. It even indicated the only
possible line of treatment to be taken. Best of all, it gave Conway reason for
thinking that the patient might not belong to the type of vicious and implacably
hostile race which its behavior had led him to believe.
The only trouble with the new theory was that it, also, might be wrong.
His first wild enthusiasm waned and his degree of certainty dropped to the
mid-eighties. Another trouble was that he could not possibly discuss his
intended line of treatment with anyone. To do so might mean demotion, and to
insist on carrying through with it would mean his dismissal from the hospital
should the patient die. What he contemplated was as serious as that.
Conway approached the patient again and switched on the Translator. He
knew before he spoke what the reaction would be so it was probably an act of
wanton cruelty to say the words, but he had to test this theory once more for
his own reassurance. He said, "Don't worry, young fellow, we'll have you back
the way you were in no time...
The reaction was so violent that Dr. Prilicla, whose empathic faculty made
it feel everything which the patient felt at full intensity, had to leave the
ward.
It was only then that Conway finally made his decision.
During the three days which followed, Conway visited the ward regularly. He took
careful notes on the rate of growth of the thick, fibrous encrustation which now
covered two thirds of the patient's body. There could be no doubt that it was
both accelerating and growing thicker. He sent specimens to Pathology, which
reported that the patient appeared to be suffering from a peculiar and
particularly virulent form of skin cancer and asked if curative radiation or
surgery was possible. Conway replied that in this opinion neither were possible
without grave danger to the patient.
About the most constructive thing he did during that time was to post
instructions that anyone contacting the patient via Translator was to avoid
trying to reassure it at all costs. The being had suffered too much already from
that form of well-meaning stupidity. If Conway could have forbidden entrance to
the ward to everyone but Kursedd, Prilicla and himself he would have done so.
But the greater part of his time was spent in trying to convince himself
that he was doing the right thing.
Conway had been deliberately avoiding Dr. Mannon since the original
examination. He did not want his old friend discussing the case with him,
because Mannon was too smart to be foisted off with double talk, and Conway
could not tell even him the truth. He thought longingly that the ideal situation
would be for Captain Summerfield to be kept too busy at the wreck to put two and
two together, for O'Mara and Skempton to forget his existence, and for Mannon to
keep his nose completely out of the affair.
But that was not to be.
Dr. Mannon was waiting for him in the ward when he made his second morning visit
on the fifth day. Properly he requested Conway's permission to look at the
patient. Then with this polite formality over he said,
Listen, you young squirt, I'm getting fed up with you gazing abstractedly
at your boots or the ceiling every time I come near you-if I hadn't got the hide
of a Tralthan I'd feel slighted. I know, of course, that newly-appointed Seniors
take their responsibilities very heavily for the first few weeks, but your
recent behavior has been downright rude."
He held up his hand before Conway could speak, and went on, "I accept your
apology, and now to business. I've been talking to Prilicla and the people up in
Pathology. They tell me that the growth now completely covers the body, that it
is opaque to X rays of safe intensities and that the replacement and workings of
the patient's internal organs can now only be guessed at. You can't cut the
stuff away under anesthetic because paralyzing the appendages might knock out
the heart, too. Yet an operation is impossible with those limbs whipping about.
At the same time the patient is weakening and will continue to do so unless
given food, which can't be done unless its mouth is freed. To complicate matters
further your later specimens show that the growth is extending inward rapidly as
well, and there are indications that if the operation isn't done quickly the
mouth and tail will have fused together. Is that, in a rather large nutshell,
it?"
Conway nodded.
Mannon took a deep breath, then plunged on, "Suppose you amputate the
limbs and remove the covering growth from head and tail, replacing the tegument
with a suitable synthetic. With the patient able to take nourishment it would
shortly be strong enough for the process to be repeated over the rest of its
body. It is a drastic procedure, I admit. But in the circumstances it seems to
be the only one which could save the patient's life. And there is always the
possibility of successful grafting or artificial members-"
"No!" said Conway violently, and he knew from the way Mannon looked at him
that he had gone pale. If his theory concerning the patient was correct, then
any sort of operation at this stage would prove fatal. And if not, and the
patient was the type of entity which it appeared to be-vicious, warped, and
implacably hostile-and its friends came looking for it..
In a quieter voice Conway said, "Suppose a friend of yours with a bad skin
condition was picked up by an e-t doctor, and the only thing it could think of
doing was to skin him alive and lop his arms and legs off. If or when you found
him you would be annoyed. Even taking into account the fact that you are
civilized, tolerant and prepared to make allowances- qualities which we cannot
safely ascribe to the patient as yet-I would venture to suggest that there would
be merry hell to play."
"That's not a true analogy and you know it!" Mannon said heatedly.
"Sometimes you have to take chances. This is one of those times."
"No," said Conway again.
"Maybe you have a better suggestion?"
Conway was silent for a moment, then he said carefully, "I do have an idea
which I'm trying out, but I don't want to discuss it just yet. If it works out
you'll be the first to know, and if it doesn't you'll know anyhow. Everybody
will."
Mannon shrugged and turned away. At the door he paused to say awkwardly,
"Whatever you're doing it must be pretty hair-brained for you to be so secretive
about it. But remember that if you call me in and the thing goes sour on us, the
blame gets halved. .
And there speaks a true friend, thought Conway. He was tempted to unburden
himself completely to Mannon then. But Dr. Mannon was a nosy, kindly and very
able Senior Physician who always had, and always would, take his profession as a
healer very seriously, despite the cracks he often made about it. He might not
be able to do what Conway would ask, or keep his mouth shut while Conway was
doing it.
Regretfully, Conway shook his head.
When Mannon had gone, Conway returned to his patient. Visually it still
resembled a doughnut, he thought, but a doughnut which had become wrinkled and
fossilized with the passage of eons. He had to remind himself that only a week
had passed since the patient had been admitted. The five pairs of limbs, all
beginning to show signs of being affected by the growth, projected stiffly and
at odd angles from the body, like petrified twigs on a rotten tree. Realizing
that the growth would cover the breathing openings, Conway had inserted tubes to
keep the respiratory passages clear. The tubes were having the desired effect,
but despite this the respiration had slowed and become shallow. The stethoscope
indicated that the heartbeats were fainter but had increased in frequency.
Sheer indecision made Conway sweat.
If only it was an ordinary patient, Conway thought angrily; one that could
be treated openly and its treatment discussed freely. But this one was
complicated by the fact that it was a member of a highly advanced and possibly
inimical race, and he could not confide in anyone lest he be pulled off the case
before his theory was proven. And the trouble was that the theory might be all
wrong. It was quite possible that he was engaged in slowly killing his patient.
Noting the heart and respiration rates on the chart, Conway decided that
it was time he increased the periodicity of his visits, and also arranged the
times so that Prilicla, who was busy these days in the Nursery, could accompany
him.
Kursedd was watching him intently as he left the ward, and its fur was
doing peculiar things. Conway did not waste his breath telling the nurse to keep
quiet about what he was doing to his patient because that would have made the
being gossip even more. It was he who was being talked about already by the
nursing staff, and he had begun to detect a certain coldness toward him from
some of the senior nurses in this section. But with any luck, word of what he
was doing would not filter up to his seniors for several days.
Three hours later he was back in 31 OB with Dr. Prilicla. He checked heart
and respiration again while the GLNO probed for emotional radiation.
"It is very weak," Prilicla reported slowly. "Life is present, but so
faintly that it is not even conscious of itself. Considering the almost
nonexistent respiration and weak, rapid pulse-rate.. ." The thought of death was
particularly distressing to an empath, and the sensitive little being could not
bring itself to finish the sentence.
"All these scares we gave it, trying to reassure it, didn't help," Conway
said, half to himself. "It hadn't been able to eat and we caused it to use up
reserves of energy which it badly needed to keep. But it had to protect itself.
.
"But why? We were helping the patient."
"Of course we were," Conway said in a bitingly sarcastic tone which he
knew would not carry through the other's Translator. He was about to continue
with the examination when there was a sudden interruption.
The being whose vast bulk scraped both sides and the top of the ward door on its
way in was a Tralthan, physiological classification FGLI. To Conway the natives
of Traltha were as hard to tell apart as sheep, but he knew this one. This was
no less than Thornnastor, Diagnostician-in Charge of Pathology.
The Diagnostician curled two of its eyes in Prilicla's direction and
boomed, "Get out of here, please. You too, Nurse." Then it turned all four of
them on Conway.
"I am speaking to you alone," Thornnastor said when they had gone,
"because some of my remarks have bearing on your professional conduct during
this case, and I have no wish to increase your discomfort by public censure.
However, I will begin by giving you the good news that we have produced a
specific against this growth. Not only does it inhibit the condition spreading
but it softens up the areas already affected and regenerates the tissues and
blood-supply network involved."
Oh, blast! thought Conway. Aloud he said, "A splendid accomplishment."
Because it really was.
"It would not have been possible had we not sent out a doctor to the wreck
with instructions to send us anything which might throw light on the patient's
metabolism," the Diagnostician continued. "Apparently you overlooked this source
of data completely, Doctor, because the only specimens you furnished were those
taken from the wreck during the time you were there, a very small fraction
indeed of the quantity which was available. This was sheer negligence, Doctor,
and only your previous good record has kept you from being demoted and taken off
this case...
"But our success was due mainly to the finding of what appears to be a
very well-equipped medical chest," Thornnastor continued. "Study of the contents
together with other information regarding the fittings in the wreck led to the
conclusion that it must have been some kind of ambulance ship. The Monitor Corps
officers were very excited when we told them-"
"When?" said Conway sharply. The bottom had dropped out of everything and
he felt so cold that he might have been in shock. But there might be a chance to
make Skempton delay making contact. "When did you tell them about it being an
ambulance ship?"
"That information can be only of secondary interest to you," said
Thornnastor, removing a large, padded flask from its satchel. "Your primary
concern is, or should be, the patient. You will need a lot of this stuff, and we
are synthesizing it as quickly as we can, but there is enough here to free the
head and mouth area. Inject according to instructions. It takes about an hour to
show effect."
Conway lifted the flask carefully. Stalling for time, he said, "'What about
long-term effects? I wouldn't like to risk-"
"Doctor," Thornnastor interrupted, "it seems to me that you are taking
caution to foolish, even criminal lengths." The Diagnostician's voice in
Conway's Translator was emotionless, but he did not have to be an empath to know
that the other was extremely angry. The way Thornnastor charged out the door
made that more than plain.
Conway swore luridly. The Monitors were about to contact the alien colony,
if they had not done so already, and very soon the aliens would be swarming all
over the hospital demanding to know what he was doing for the patient. If it
wasn't doing well by that time there would be trouble, no matter what sort of
people they were. And much sooner than that would come trouble from inside the
hospital, because he had not impressed Thornnastor with his professional ability
at all.
In his hand was the flask whose contents would certainly do all that the
Head Pathologist claimed-in short, cure what seemed to ail the patient. Conway
dithered for a moment, then stuck grimly to the decision which he had made
several days back. He managed to hide the flask before Prilicla returned.
"Listen to me carefully," Conway said savagely, "before you say anything
at all. I don't want any arguments regarding the conduct of this case, Doctor. I
think I know what I'm doing, but if I should be wrong and you were in on it,
your professional reputation would suffer. Understand?"
Prilicla's six, pipe-stem legs had been quivering as he talked, but it was
not the words which were affecting the little creature, it was the feelings
behind them. Conway knew that his emotional radiation just then was not a
pleasant thing.
"I understand," said Prilicla.
"Very well," Conway said. "Now we'll get back to work. I want you to check
me with the pulse and respiration, as well as the emotional radiation. There
should be a variation soon and I don't want to miss it."
For two hours they listened and observed closely with no detectable change in
the patient. At one point Conway left the being with Prilicla and Kursedd while
he tried to contact Colonel Skempton. But he was told that the Colonel had left
the hospital hurriedly three days ago, that he had given the spatial coordinates
of his destination, but that it was impossible to contact a ship over
interstellar distances while it was in motion. They were sorry but the Doctor's
message would have to wait until the Colonel got where he was going.
So it was too late to stop the Corps making contact with the aliens. The
only course now was for him to "cure" the patient.
If he was allowed.
The wall annunciator clicked, coughed and said, "Dr. Conway, report to
Major O'Mara's office immediately." He was thinking bitterly that Thornnastor
had lost no time in registering a complaint when Prilicla said, "Respiration
almost gone. Irregular heartbeat."
Conway snatched up the ward intercom mike and yelled, "Conway, here. Tell
O'Mara I'm busy!" Then to Prilicla he said, "I caught it, too. How about
emotion?"
"Stronger during the erratic pulse, but both back to normal now.
Registration is still fading."
"Right. Keep your ears and mind open.
Conway took a sample of expelled air from one of the breathing orifices
and ran it through the analyzer. Even considering the shallowness of the being's
respiration this result, like the others he had taken during the past twelve
hours, left no possibility for doubt. Conway began to feel a little more
confident.
"Respiration almost gone," said Prilicla.
Before Conway could reply, O'Mara burst through the door. Stopping about
six inches from Conway he said in a dangerously quiet voice. "Just what are you
busy at, Doctor?"
Conway was practically dancing with impatience. He asked pleadingly,
"Can't this wait?"
He would not be able to get rid of the psychologist without some sort of
explanation for his recent conduct, Conway knew, and he desperately wanted to
have the next hour free from interference. He moved quickly to the patient and
over his shoulder gave O'Mara a hasty r‚sum‚ of his deductions regarding the
alien ambulance ship and the colony from which it had come. He ended by urging
the psychologist to call Skempton to delay the first contact until something
more definite was known about the patient's condition.
"So you knew all this a week ago and didn't tell us," O'Mara said
thoughtfully, "and I can understand your reasons for keeping quiet. But the
Corps had made a great many first contacts and managed them very well, thank
you. We have people specially trained for this sort of thing. You, however, have
been reacting like an ostrich-doing nothing and hoping that the problem would go
away. This problem, involving a culture advanced enough to have crossed
intergalactic space, is too big to be dodged. It has to be solved quickly and
positively. Ideally it would involve us showing proof of good feeling by
producing the survivor alive and well..
O'Mara's voice hardened suddenly into an angry rasp, and he was so close
behind Conway that the doctor could feel his breath on his neck.
.... Which brings us back to the patient here, the being which you are
supposed to be treating.
"Look at me, Conway!"
Conway turned around, but only after ensuring that Prilicla was still
keeping a close watch. Angrily he wondered why everything had come to the boil
at once instead of happening in a nice, consecutive fashion.
"At the first examination," O'Mara resumed quietly, "you fled to your room
before we could make any headway. This looked like professional cold feet to me,
but I was inclined to make allowances. Later, Dr. Mannon suggested a line of
treatment which although drastic was not only allowable but definitely indicated
in the patient's condition. You refused to move. Then Pathology developed a
specific which could have cured the patient in a matter of hours, and you balked
at using even that!
"Ordinarily I discount rumors and gossip in this place," O'Mara continued,
his voice rising again, "but when they become both widespread and insistent,
especially among the nursing staff who generally know what they're talking about
medically, I have to take notice. It has become plain that despite the constant
watch you have kept on the patient, the frequent examinations and the numerous
samples you have sent to Pathology, you have done absolutely nothing for the
being.
"It has been dying while you pretended to treat it. You've been so afraid
of the consequences of failure that you were incapable of making the simplest
decision-"
"No!" Conway protested. That had stung even though O'Mara's accusation was
based on incomplete information. And much worse than the words was the look on
the Major's face, an expression of anger and scorn and a deep hurt that someone
he had trusted both professionally and as a friend could have failed him so
horribly. O'Mara was blaming himself almost as much as Conway for his business.
"Caution can be taken to extremes, Doctor," O'Mara said almost sadly. "You
have to be bold, sometimes. If a close decision is necessary you should make it,
and stick to it no matter what..
"And what the blazes," asked Conway furiously, "do you think I'm doing?"
"Nothing!" shouted O'Mara. "Absolutely nothing!"
"That's right!" Conway yelled back.
"Respiration has ceased," Prilicla said quietly.
Conway swung around and thumbed the buzzer for Kursedd. He said, "Heart
action? Mind?"
"Pulse faster. Emoting a little more strongly."
Kursedd arrived then and Conway began rattling out instructions. He needed
instruments from the adjoining DBLF theater and detailed his requirements.
Aseptic procedure was unnecessary, likewise anesthetics- he wanted only a large
selection of cutting instruments. The nurse disappeared and Conway called
Pathology, asking if they could suggest a safe coagulant for the patient should
extensive surgery be necessary. They could and said he would have it within
minutes. As he was turning from the intercom, O'Mara spoke:
"All this frantic activity, this window-dressing, proves nothing. The
patient has stopped breathing. If it isn't dead it is as near to it as makes no
difference, and you're to blame. Heaven help you, Doctor, because nobody here
will."
Conway shook his head distractedly. "Unfortunately you may be right, but
I'm hoping that it won't die," he said. "I can't explain just now, but you could
help me by contacting Skempton and telling him to go easy on that alien colony.
I need time, just how much of it I still don't know."
"You don't know when to give up," said O'Mara angrily, but went to the
intercom nevertheless. While he was arranging a link-up, Kursedd undulated in
with an instrument trolley. Conway placed it convenient to the patient, then
said over his shoulder to O'Mara, "Here is something you might think about. For
the past twelve hours the air expelled from the patient's lungs has been free
from impurities. It has been breathing but apparently not using its breath. .
He bent quickly, adjusted his stethoscope and listened. The heartbeats
were a little faster, he thought, and stronger. But there was a jarring
irregularity to them. Through the thick, almost solid growth which enclosed it
the sounds were both magnified and distorted. Conway could not tell if the heart
alone was responsible for the noise or if other organic movements were
contributing. This worried him because he didn't know what was normal for a
patient like this. The survivor had, after all, been in an ambulance ship, which
meant that there might have been something wrong with it in addition to its
present condition...
"What are you raving about?" O'Mara broke in roughly, making Conway
realize that he had been thinking aloud. "Are you saying now that the patient
isn't sick. . .
Absently, Conway said, "An expectant mother can be suffering, yet not be
technically ill."
He wished that he knew more of what was going on inside his patient. If the
being's ears had not been completely covered by the growth he would have tried
the Translator again. The sucking, bumping, gurgling noises could mean anything.
"Conway... !" began O'Mara, and took a breath which could be heard all
over the ward. Then he forced his voice down to a conversational level and went
on, "I'm in touch with Skempton's ship. Apparently they made good time and have
already contacted the aliens. They're fetching the Colonel now He broke off,
then added, "I'll turn up the volume so you can hear what he says."
"Not too loud," said Conway, then to Prilicla, "How is it emoting?"
"Much stronger. I detect separate emotions again. Feelings of urgency,
distress and fear-probably claustrophobic-approaching the point of panic.
Conway gave the patient a long, careful appraisal. There was no visible
movement. Abruptly he said, "I can't risk waiting any longer. It must be too
weak to help itself. Screens, Nurse."
The screens were meant only to exclude O'Mara. Had the psychologist seen
what was to come without fully knowing what was going on he would doubtless have
jumped to more wrong conclusions, probably to the extent of forcibly restraining
Conway.
"Its distress is increasing," Prilicla said suddenly. "There is no actual
pain, but there are intense feelings of constriction...
Conway nodded. He motioned for a scalpel and began cutting into the
growth, trying to establish its depth. It was now like soft, crumbling cork
which offered little resistance to the knife. At a depth of eight inches he
bared what looked like a grayish, oily and faintly iridescent membrane, but
there was no rush of body fluid into the operative field. Conway heaved a sigh
of relief, withdrew, then repeated the process in another area. This time the
membrane revealed had a greenish tinge and was twitching slightly. He moved on
again.
Apparently the average depth of the growth was eight inches. Working with
furious 'speed Conway opened the covering growth in a total of nine places,
spaced out at roughly equal intervals around the ring-like body, then he looked
a question at Prilicla.
"Much worse now," said the GLNO. "Extreme mental distress fear, feelings
of. . . of strangulation. Pulse is up, and irregular-there is considerable
strain on the heart. Also it is losing consciousness again...
Before the empath had finished speaking Conway was hacking away. With
long, sawing, savage strokes he linked together the openings already made with
deep, jagged incisions. Everything was sacrificed for speed. By no stretch of
the imagination could what he was doing be called surgery, because a lumberjack
with a blunt axe could have performed neater work.
Finished, he stood looking at the patient for three whole seconds, but there was
still no sign of movement. Conway dropped the scalpel and began tearing at the
growth with his hands.
Suddenly the voice of Skempton filled the ward, excitedly describing his
landing on the alien colony and the opening of communications with them. He went
on, ". . . And O'Mara, the sociological set-up is weird, I've never heard of
anything like it, or them! There are two distinct life forms-"
"But belonging to the same species," Conway put in loudly as he worked.
The patient was showing definite signs of life and was beginning to help itself.
He felt like yelling with sheer exultation, but instead he went on, "One form is
the ten-legged type of our friend here, but without their tails sticking in
their mouths. That is a transition-stage position only.
"The other form is.. . is ~. ." Conway paused to give the being now
revealed before him a searching, analytical stare. The remains of the growth
which had covered it lay about the floor, some thrown there by Conway and the
rest which it had shaken off itself. He continued, "Let's see, oxygen-breathing,
of course. Oviparous. Long, rod-like but flexible body possessing four insectile
legs, manipulators, the usual sense organs, and three sets of wings.
Classification GKNM. Visual aspect something like a dragonfly.
"I would say that the first form, judging by the crudely-developed
appendages we noticed, performed most of the hard labor. Not until it passed the
'Chrysalis' stage to become the more dexterous, and beautiful, dragonfly form
would it be considered mature and capable of doing responsible work. This would,
I suppose, make for a complicated society..
"I had been about to say," Colonel Skempton broke in, his voice reflecting
the chagrin of one whose thunder has just been stolen, "that a couple of the
beings are on their way to take care of the survivor. They urge that nothing
whatever be done to the patient...
At that point O'Mara pushed through the screen. He stood gaping at the
patient who was now engaged in shaking out its wings, then with a visible effort
pulled himself together. He said, "I suppose apologies are in order, Doctor. But
why didn't you tell someone...
"I had no clear proof that my theory was right," Conway said seriously.
"When the patient went into a panic several times when I suggested helping it, I
suspected that the growth might be normal. A caterpillar could be expected to
object to anyone trying to remove its chrysalis prematurely, for the good reason
that such a course would kill it. And there were other pointers. The lack of
food intake, the ring-like position with the appendages facing outward-obviously
a defense mechanism from a time when natural enemies threatened the new being
inside the slowly hardening shell of the old, and finally the fact that its
expelled breath during the later stages showed no impurities, proving that the
lungs and heart we were listening to had no longer a direct connection.
Conway went on to explain that in the early stages of the treatment he had been
unsure of his theory, but still not doubtful enough in his mind to allow Mannon
or Thornnastor to have their way. He had made the decision that the patient's
condition was normal, or fairly normal, and the best course would be to do
absolutely nothing. Which was what he had done.
..... But this is a hospital which believes in doing everything possible
for a patient," Conway went on, "and I can't imagine Dr. Mannon, yourself or any
of the other people I know just standing by and doing nothing while their
patient was apparently dying on them. Maybe someone would have accepted my
theory and agreed to act on it, but I couldn't be sure. And we just had to cure
this patient, because its friends at that time were rather an unknown quantity.
.
"All right, all right," O'Mara broke in, holding up his hands. "You're a
genius, Doctor, or something. Now what?"
Conway rubbed his chin, then said thoughtfully, "We must remember that the
patient was in a hospital ship, so there must have been something wrong with it
in addition to its condition. It was too weak to break out of its own chrysalis
and had to have help. Maybe this weakness was its only trouble. But if it was
something else, Thornnastor and his crowd will be able to cure it now that we
can communicate and get its cooperation."
"Unless," he said, suddenly worried, "our earlier and misguided attempts
to reassure it have caused mental damage." He switched on the Translator, chewed
at his lips for a moment, then addressed the patient;
"How do you feel?"
The reply was short and to the point, but in it were contained all the
implications which gladden a worried doctor's heart.
"I'm hungry," said the patient.