MAJOR OPERATION
by James White
INVADER
Far out on the Galactic Rim, where star systems were widely scattered and the darkness nearly absolute, the tremendous structure which was
The staff of Sector General was an extremely able, dedicated, but not always serious group of people who were fanatically tolerant of all forms of intelligent life-had this not been so they could never have served in such a multienvironment hospital in the first place. They prided themselves that no case was too big, too small or too hopeless, and their facilities and professional reputation were second to none. It was unthinkable that one of their number should be guilty of nearly killing a patient through sheer carelessness.
"Obviously the thought isn't unthinkable," O'Mara, the Chief Psychologist, said dryly. "I'm thinking it, reluctantly, and you are also thinking it-if only momentarily. Far worse, Mannon himself is convinced of his own guilt. This leaves me with no choice but to-"
"No!" said
He wouldn't. . . I mean, he isn't the type to.. . He's..
"A good friend of yours," O'Mara finished for him, smiling. When
Potentially dangerous situations arose through ignorance or misunderstanding, or a being could develop a xenophobic neurosis which might affect its efficiency, 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 one of the insectile Cinrusskin patients the proper degree of clinical detachment necessary for its treatment. It was O'Mara's duty to detect and eradicate such trouble, or to remove the potentially troublesome individuals. This guarding against wrong, unhealthy or intolerant thinking was a duty which he performed with such zeal that
Now it looked as if this paragon of psychologists had been something less than alert. In psychology there were no effects without prior cause and O'Mara must now be thinking that he had missed some small but vital warning signal-a slightly uncharacteristic word or expression or display of temper, perhaps-which should have warned him of trouble developing for Senior Physician Mannon.
The psychologist sat back and fixed Conway with a pair of gray eyes which saw so much and which opened into a mind so keenly analytical that together they gave O'Mara what amounted to a telepathic faculty He said, "No doubt you are thinking that I have lost my grip. You feel sure that Mannon's trouble is basically psychological and that there is an explanation other than negligence for what happened. You may decide that the recent death of his dog has caused him to go to pieces from sheer grief, and other ideas of an equally uncomplicated and ridiculous nature will occur to you. In my opinion, however, any time spent investigating the psychological aspects of this business will be completely wasted. Doctor Mannon has been subjected to the most exhaustive tests. He is physically sound and as sane as we are. As sane as I am any...
"Thank you," said
"I keep telling you, Doctor," O'Mara said sourly, "my job here is to shrink heads, not swell them. Your assignment, if we can call it that, is strictly unofficial. Since there is no excuse for Mannon's error so far as health and psycho profile are concerned I want you to look for some other reason-some outside influence, perhaps, of which the Doctor is unaware. Doctor Prilicla observed the incident in question and may be able to help you.
"You have a peculiar mind, Doctor," O'Mara concluded, rising from his seat, "and an odd way of looking at problems. We don't want to lose Doctor Mannon, but if you do get him out of trouble the surprise will probably kill me. I mention this so that you will have an added incentive . .
Outside in the corridor
His Senior Physician's armband automatically cleared the way so far as nurses and subordinate grades of doctors were concerned, but there were continual encounters with the lordly and absentminded Diagnosticians who plowed their way through everyone and everything regardless, or with junior members of the staff who happened to belong to a more massive species. Tralthans of physiological classification FGLI-warm-blooded oxygen breathers resembling a sort of low-slung, six-legged elephant. Or the Kelgian DBLFs who were giant, silver-furred caterpillars who hooted like a siren when they were jostled whether they were outranked or not, or the crab-like ELNTs from Melf LV...
The majority of the intelligent races in the Federation were oxygen breathers even though their physiological classifications varied enormously, but a much greater hazard to navigation on foot was the entity traversing a foreign level in protective armor. The protection required by a TLTU doctor, who breathed superheated steam and whose gravity and pressure requirements were three times those of the oxygen levels, was a great, clanking juggernaut which was to be avoided at all costs.
At the next intersection lock he donned a lightweight suit and let himself into the yellow, foggy world of the chlorine-breathing Illensans. Here the corridors were crowded with the spiny, membranous and unadorned denizens of Illensa while it was the Tralthans, Kelgians and Earth humans like himself who wore, or in some cases drove, protective armor. The next leg of his journey took him through the vast tank where the thirty-foot long, water-breathing entities from Chalderescol II swam ponderously through their warm, green world. The same suit served him here and, while the traffic was less dense, he was slowed down considerably through having to swim instead of walk. Despite this he was on the Forty-sixth Level observation gallery, his suit still streaming Chalder water, just fifteen minutes after leaving O'Mara's office, and Prilicla arrived close behind him.
"Good morning, friend Conway," said the little empath as it swung itself deftly onto the ceiling and hung by six fragile, sucker-tipped legs. The musical trills and clicks of its Cinrusskin speech were received by
"Yes indeed," said
"No need, friend Conway," said Prilicla. "On the Mannon incident the grapevine is more than usually efficient. You want to know what I saw and felt, of course.
"If you don't mind," said
Prilicla said that it didn't mind. But the Cinrusskin was, in addition to being the nicest entity in the whole hospital, its greatest liar.
Of physiological classification GLNO-insectile, exoskeletal with six pipe stem legs and a pair of iridescent and not quite atrophied wings, and possessing a highly developed empathic faculty, only on Cinruss with its one-eighth Earth gravity could a race of insects have grown to such dimensions and in time developed intelligence and a high civilization. But in Sector General Prilicla was in deadly danger for most of its working day. It had to wear gravity nullification devices everywhere outside its quarters because the gravity pull which most beings considered normal would instantly have crushed it flat, and when Prilicla held a conversation with anyone it swung itself out of reach of any thoughtless movement of arm or tentacle which would have caved in its fragile body or snapped off a leg. While accompanying anyone on rounds it usually kept pace with them along the corridor walls or ceiling so as to avoid the same fate.
Not that anyone would have wanted to hurt Prilicla in any way-it was too well liked for that. Prilicla's empathic faculty saw to it that the little being always said and did the right thing to people-being an emotion-sensitive to do otherwise would mean that the feelings of anger or sorrow which its thoughtless action caused would bounce back and figuratively smack it in the face. So the little empath was forced constantly to lie and to always be kind and considerate in order to make the emotional radiation of the people around it as pleasant for itself as possible.
Except when its professional duties exposed it to pain and violent emotion in a patient, or it wanted to help a friend.
Just before Prilicla began its report
With its fragile body trembling with the memory of the emotional gale which had emanated from the now empty Hudlar theater two days ago, Prilicla set the scene as it had been at the beginning of the operation. The little GLNO had not taken the Hudlar physiology tape and so had not been able to view the proceedings with any degree of involvement with the patient's condition, and the patient itself was anesthetized and scarcely radiating at all. Mannon and his staff had been concentrating on their duties with only a small part of their minds free to think or emote about anything else. And then Senior Physician Mannon had his... accident. In actual fact it was five separate and distinct accidents.
Prilicla's body began to quiver violently and
"I know you are," said the empath, and resumed its report.
The patient had been partially decompressed so that the operative field could be worked more effectively. There was some danger in this considering the Hudlar pulse rate and blood pressure, but Mannon himself had evolved this procedure and so was best able to weigh the risks. Since the patient was decompressed he had had to work quickly, and at first everything seemed to be going well. He had opened a flap of the flexible armor-plating which the Hudlars used for skin and had controlled the subcutaneous bleeding when the first mistake occurred, followed in quick succession by two more. Prilicla could not tell by observation that they were mistakes, even though there was considerable bleeding-it was Mannon's emotional reactions, some of the most violent the empath had ever experienced, which told it that the surgeon had committed a serious and stupid blunder.
There were longer intervals between the two others which followed- Mannon's work had slowed drastically, his technique resembling the first fumblings of a student rather than that of one of the most skillful surgeons in the hospital. He had become so slow that curative surgery was impossible, and he had barely time to withdraw and restore pressure before the patient's condition deteriorated beyond the point of no return.
It was very distressing," Prilicla said, still trembling violently. "He wanted to work quickly, but the earlier mistakes had wrecked his self confidence. He was thinking twice about doing even the simplest things, things which a surgeon of his experience would do automatically, without thinking."
Prilicla hesitated, then said, "It is difficult to isolate subtle nuances of emotion when the source is emoting so. . . so violently. But I received the impression of. . . the effect is hard to describe . . . of something like a faint emotional echo of irregular duration..."
"Probably the Hudlar tape," said
"That might possibly be the case," said Prilicla. Which, in a being who was invariably and enthusiastically in agreement with whatever was said to it, was as close as the empath could come to a negative reply.
"How about the others?"
"Two of them," said Prilicla, "were radiating the shock-worry-fear combination indicative of a mildly traumatic experience in the recent past. I was in the gallery when both incidents occurred, and one of them gave me quite a jolt..
One of the nurses had almost had an accident while lifting a tray of instruments. One of them, a long, heavy, Hudlar Type Six scalpel used for opening the incredibly tough skin of that species, had slipped off the tray for some reason. Even a small punctured or incised wound was a very serious matter for a Kelgian, so that the Kelgian nurse had a bad fright when it saw that vicious blade dropping toward its unprotected side. But somehow it had struck in such a way-it was difficult to know how, considering its shape and lack of balance-that it had not penetrated the skin or even damaged the fur. The Kelgian had been relieved and thankful for its good fortune, but still a little disturbed.
"I can imagine," said
Prilicla's legs began to tremble again, a sign that it was nerving itself for the effort of being slightly disagreeable. It said, "The entity in question was the Charge Nurse. That was why, when the other nurse goofed on an instrument count-there was one too many or too few-the ticking off was relatively mild. And during both incidents I detected the echo effect radiated by Mannon, although in these cases the echo was from the respective nurses.
"We may have something there!" said
"They were assisting him," said Prilicla, "and they were all wearing protective suits. I don't see how any form of parasitic life or bacteria could have passed between them, if that is the idea which is making you feel so excited and hopeful just now. I am very sorry, friend Conway, but this echo effect, while peculiar, does not seem to me to be important."
"It's something they had in common," said
"Yes," Prilicla said, "but the something did not have self identity, it was not an individual. Just a very faint emotional echo of the feelings of the people concerned."
"Even so," said
Three people had made mistakes or had had accidents in this theater two days ago, all of whom had radiated an odd emotional echo which Prilicla did not consider important. The presence of an accident-prone
"I'm hungry and it's high time we talked to the man himself," said
The dining hall for the oxygen-breathing Medical and Maintenance staff occupied one complete level, and at one time it had been sectioned off into physiological types with low dividing ropes. But this had not worked out too well because the diners very often wanted to talk shop with other species colleagues or they found that there were no vacant places in their own enclosure and space going to waste in that of another life-form. So it was no surprise when they arrived to find that they had the choice of sitting at an enormous Tralthan table with benches which were a shade too far from the table's edge and one in the Melfan section which was cozier but whose chairs resembled surrealistic wastepaper baskets. They insinuated themselves into three of the latter and began the usual preliminaries to ordering.
"I'm just myself today," said Prilicla in answer to
"I've an FROB and an MSVK beastie riding me," the other Senior said gruffly. "Hudlars aren't persnickity about food, but those blasted MSVKs are offended by anything which doesn't look like birdseed! Just get me something nutritious, but don't tell me what it is and put it in about three sandwiches so's I won't see what it is...."
While they were waiting for the food to arrive Mannon spoke quietly,. the normality of his tone belied by the fact that his emotional radiation was making Prilicla shake like a leaf. He said, "The grapevine has it that you two are trying to get me out of this trouble I'm in. It's nice of you, but you're wasting your time.
"We don't think so and neither does O'Mara," said
"I don't know whether to feel grateful for your efforts or concerned for your respective mental well-beings," Mannon said when he had finished. "These peculiar and rather vague mental effects are.., are.. . at the risk of offending Daddy-longlegs here I would suggest that any peculiarities there are lie in your own minds-your attempts to find excuses for me are becoming ridiculous!"
"Now you're telling me I have a peculiar mind," said
Mannon laughed quietly, but Prilicla was trembling worse than ever. "A circumstance, person or thing,"
a moral coward to admit it right then. Instead he said, "Were you thinking about it during that op, Doctor?"
"No!" said Mannon.
There was a long, awkward silence after that, during which the service panels slid open and their orders rose into view. It was Mannon who spoke first.
"I liked that dog," he said carefully, "when I was myself, that is. But for the past four years I've had to carry MSVK and LSVO tapes permanently in connection with my teaching duties, and recently I've needed the Hudlar and Melfan tapes for a project Thornnastor invited me to join. They were in permanent occupation as well. With my brain thinking that it was five different people, five very different people... Well, you know how it is..."
Conway and Prilicla knew how it was only too well.
The Hospital was equipped to treat every known form of intelligent life, but no single person could hold in his brain even a fraction of the physiological data necessary for this purpose. Surgical dexterity was a matter of ability and training, but the complete physiological knowledge of any patient was furnished by means of an Educator Tape, which was simply the brain record of some great medical genius belonging to the same or a similar species to that of the patient being treated. If an Earth human doctor had to treat a Kelgian patient he took a DBLF physiology tape until treatment was completed, after which it was erased. The sole exceptions to this rule were Senior Physicians with teaching duties and the Diagnosticians.
A Diagnostician was one of the elite, a being whose mind was considered stable enough to retain permanently six, seven or even ten physiology tapes simultaneously. To their data-crammed minds was given the job of original research in xenological medicine and the treatment of new diseases in hitherto unknown life-forms.
But the tapes did not impart only physiological data, the complete memory and personality of the entity who had possessed that knowledge was transferred as well. In effect a Diagnostician subjected himself or itself voluntarily to the most drastic form of schizophrenia. The entities apparently sharing one's mind could be unpleasant, aggressive individuals- geniuses were rarely charming people-with all sorts of peeves and phobias. These did not become apparent only at mealtimes. The worst period was when the possessor of the tapes was relaxing prior to sleeping.
Alien nightmares were really nightmarish and alien sexual fantasies and wish-fulfillment dreams were enough to make the person concerned wish, if he were capable of wishing coherently for anything, that he was dead.
..... Within the space of a few minutes," Mannon continued, "she would change from being a ferocious, hairy beast intent on tearing out my belly feathers to a brainless bundle of fur which would get squashed by one of my six feet if it didn't get to blazes out of the way, to a perfectly ordinary dog wanting to play. It wasn't fair to the mutt, you know. She was a very old and confused dog toward the end, and I'm more glad than sorry that she died.
"And now let's talk and emote about some other subject," Mannon ended briskly. "Otherwise we will completely ruin Prilicla's lunch..
He did just that for the remainder of the meal, discussing with apparent relish a juicy piece of gossip originating in the SNLU section of the methane wards. How anything of a scandalous nature could occur between two intelligent crystalline life-forms living at minus one hundred and fifty degrees Centigrade was something which puzzled Conway, or for that matter why their moral shortcomings were of such interest to a warm-blooded oxygen-breather. Unless this was one of the reasons why Senior Physician Mannon was so far on the way to becoming a Diagnostician himself.
Or had been.
If Mannon was assisting Thornnastor, the Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology (and as such the hospital's senior Diagnostician) in one of that august being's projects, then Mannon had to be in good physical and mental shape-Diagnosticians were terribly choosy about their assistants. And everything the Chief Psychologist had told him pointed the same way. But then what had got into Mannon two days ago to make him behave as he had?
As the others talked
"Nothing," said Prilicla, "nothing at all."
Within seconds their places at the table were taken by three Kelgians who draped their long, silvery, caterpillar bodies over the backs of the ELNT chairs so that their forward manipulators hung over the table at a comfortable distance for eating. One of the three was Naydrad, the Charge Nurse on Mannon's theater staff.
When he had finished talking it was Naydrad who spoke first. It said, "We would like to help, sir, but this is an unusual request. It involves, at very least, the wholesale betrayal of confidence. .
"We don't want names," said
They were all keen to help their Chief, naturally, and
"Mistakes by a person in authority are more noticeable, and serious, than those of a subordinate,"
"Is this matter to be kept confidential?" one of the Kelgians asked.
"The more people gathering data on this the better," he said. "Just use your discretion...
A few minutes later he was at another table saying much the same thing, then another and another. He would be late back to his wards today, but fortunately he had a couple of very good assistants-the type who just loved it when they had a chance to show how well they could do without him.
During the remainder of the day there was no great response, nor had he expected any, but on the second day nursing staff of all shapes and species began approaching him with elaborate secrecy to tell of incidents which invariably had happened to a third party.
"You're really working at this thing, aren't you,
"That's what you think," said Mannon gruffly. "I've just come from O'Mara's office. He wants to see you. Forthwith."
A few minutes later Conway was being waved into the inner sanctum by one of O'Mara's assistants, who was trying hard to warn him of impending doom with his eyebrows while commiserating with him by turning down the corners of his mouth. The combination of expressions looked so ridiculous that Conway found himself inside before he realized it, facing a very angry O'Mara with what must have been a stupid grin on his face.
The psychologist stabbed a finger in the direction of the least comfortable chair and shouted, "What the blazes do you mean by infesting the hospital with a disembodied intelligence?"
"What. . . ?" began Conway.
Are you trying to make a fool of yourself?" O'Mara stormed on, disregarding him. "Or make a fool out of me? Don't interrupt! Granted you're the youngest Senior in the place and your colleagues-none of whom specialize in applied psychology, let me add-think highly of you. But such idiotic and irresponsible behavior is worthy only of a patient in the psychiatric wards!
"Junior staff discipline is going to pot, thanks to you," O'Mara went on, a little more quietly. "It is now becoming the done thing to make mistakes! Practically every Charge Nurse in the place is screaming for me-me!-to get rid of the thing! All you did was invent this invisible, undetectable, insubstantial monster-apparently the job of getting rid of it is the responsibility of the Chief Psychologist!"
O'Mara paused to catch his breath, and when he continued his tone had become quiet and almost polite. He said, "And don't think that you are fooling anyone. Boiled down to its simplest terms, you are hoping that if enough other mistakes are made your friend's will pass relatively unnoticed. And stop opening and closing your mouth-your turn to talk will come! One of the aspects of this whole situation which really troubles me is that I share responsibility for it in that I gave you an insoluble problem hoping that you might attack it from a new angle-an angle which might give a partial solution, enough to let our friend off the hook. Instead you created a new and perhaps worse problem!
"I may have exaggerated things a little because of excusable annoyance, Doctor," O'Mara went on quietly, "but the fact remains that you may be in serious trouble over this business. I don't believe that the nursing staff will deliberately make mistakes-at least, not of the order which would endanger their patients. But any relaxation of standards is dangerous, obviously. Do you begin to see what you've been doing, Doctor?"
"Yes, sir," said Conway.
"I see that you do," O'Mara said with uncharacteristic mildness. "And now I would like to know why you did it. Well, Doctor?"
Conway took his time about answering. This was not the first time he had left the Chief Psychologist's office with his ego singed around the edges, but this time it looked serious. The generally held opinion was that when O'Mara was not unduly concerned over, or in some cases when he actually liked an individual, the psychologist felt able to relax with them and be his bad-tempered, obnoxious self, but when O'Mara became quiet and polite and not at all sarcastic, when he began treating a person as a patient rather than a colleague in other words, that person was in trouble up to his or its neck.
Finally, Conway said, "At first it was simply a story to explain why I was being so nosy, sir. Nurses don't tell tales and it might have looked as if that was what I wanted them to do. All I did was suggest that as Doctor Mannon was in all respects fit, outside physical agencies such as e-t bacteria or parasites and the like were ruled out because of the thoroughness of our aseptic procedures. You, sir, had already reassured us regarding his mental condition. I postulated an... an outside, nonmaterial cause which might or might not be consciously directed.
"I haven't anything so definite as a theory about it," Conway went on quickly. "Nor did I mention disembodied intelligences to anyone, but something odd happened in that theater, and not only during the time of Mannon's operation. .
He described the echo effect Prilicla had detected while monitoring Mannon's emotional radiation, and the similar effect when Naydrad had had the accident with the knife. There was also the later incident of the Melfan intern whose sprayer wouldn't spray-their mandibles weren't suited to surgical gloves so that they painted them with plastic before an op. When the intern had tried to use the sprayer it oozed what the Melfan described as metallic porridge. Later the sprayer in question could not be found. Perhaps it had never existed. And there were other peculiar incidents. Mistakes which seemed a little too simple for trained staff to make-errors in instrument counts, dropping things, and all seeming to involve a certain amount of temporary mental confusion and perhaps outright hallucination.
So far there has not been enough to make a statistically meaningful sample," Conway went on, "but they are enough to make me curious. I'd give you their names if I wasn't sworn to keep them confidential, because I think you would be interested in the way they describe some of these incidents.
"Possibly, Doctor," said O'Mara coldly. "On the other hand I might not want to lend my professional support to a figment of your imagination by investigating such trivia. As for the near-accidents with scalpels and the other mistakes, it is my opinion that some people are lucky, others a little bit stupid at times, while others are fond of pulling other peoples' legs. Well, Doctor?"
Conway took a firmer grip on the arms of his chair and said doggedly, "The dropped scalpel was an FROB Type Six, a very heavy, unbalanced instrument. Even if it had struck handle first it would have spun into Naydrad's side a few inches below the point of impact and caused a deep and serious wound-if the blade had any actual physical existence at all! This is something I'm beginning to doubt. That is why I think we should widen the scope of this investigation. May I have permission to see Colonel Skempton and if necessary contact the Corps survey people, to check on the origins of recent arrivals?"
The expected explosion did not come. Instead O'Mara's voice sounded almost sympathetic as he said, "I cannot decide whether you are honestly convinced that you're onto something or simply that you've gone too far to back down without looking ridiculous. So far as I'm concerned you couldn't look anymore ridiculous at the moment. You should not be afraid to admit you were wrong, Doctor, and begin repairing some of the damage to discipline your irresponsibility has caused."
O'Mara waited precisely ten seconds for Conway's reply, then he said, "Very well, Doctor. See the Colonel. And tell Prilicla I'm rearranging its schedule-it may be helpful to have your emotional echo-detector available at all times. Since you insist on making a fool of yourself you might as well do it properly. Afterward-well, we will be very sorry to see Mannon go, and in all honesty I suppose I must say the same about you. Both of you are likely to be on the same ship out. .
A few seconds later he was dismissed very quietly.
Mannon himself had accused Conway of misguided loyalty and now O'Mara had suggested that his present stand was the result of not wanting to admit to a mistake. He had been given an out, which he had refused to take, and now the thought of service in the smaller multienvironment hospital, or even a planet-side establishment where the arrival of an e-t patient would be considered a major event, was beginning to come home to him. It gave him an unpleasantly gone feeling in the abdominal area. Maybe he was basing his theory on too little evidence and refusing to admit it. Maybe the odd errors were part of an entirely different puzzle, with no connection whatever with Mannon's trouble. As he strode along the corridors, taking evading action or being evaded every few yards, the impulse grew in him to rush back to O'Mara, say yes to everything, apologize abjectly and promise to be a good boy. But by the time he was ready to give into it he was outside Colonel Skempton's door.
Sector General was supplied and to a large extent maintained by the Monitor Corps, which was the Federation's executive and law enforcement arm. As the senior Corps officer in the hospital, Colonel Skempton handled traffic to and from the hospital in addition to a horde of other administrative details. It was said that the top of his desk had never been visible since the day it arrived. When Conway was shown in he looked up, said "Good morning," looked down at his desk and said, "Ten minutes . .
It took much longer than ten minutes. Conway was interested in traffic from odd points of origin, or ships which had called at such places. He wanted data on the level of technology, medical science and physiological classification of their inhabitants-especially if the psychological sciences or psionics were well-developed or if the incidence of mental illness was unusually high. Skempton began excavating among the papers on his desk.
But the supply ship, ambulances and ships pressed into emergency service as ambulances which had arrived during the past few weeks had originated from Federation worlds which were well known and medically innocuous. All except one, that was-the Cultural Contact and Survey vessel Descartes. It had landed, very briefly, on a most unusual planet. She was on the ground, if it could be called that, for only a few minutes. None of the crew had left the ship, the air-locks had remained sealed and the samples of air, water and surface material were drawn in, analyzed and declared interesting but harmless. The pathology department of the hospital had made a more thorough analysis and had had the same thing to say. Descartes had called briefly to leave the samples and a patient...
"A patient!" Conway almost shouted when the Colonel reached that point in his report. Skempton would not need an empathic faculty to know what he was thinking.
"Yes, Doctor, but don't get your hopes up," said the Colonel. "He had nothing more exotic than a broken leg. And despite the fact e-t bugs find it impossible to live on beings of another species, a fact which simplifies the practice of extraterrestrial medicine no end, ship medics are constantly on the lookout for the exception which is supposed to prove the rule. In short, he was suffering only from a broken leg."
"I'd like to see him anyway," said Conway.
"Level Two-eighty-three, Ward Four, name of Lieutenant Harrison," said Skempton. "Don't slam the door."
But the meeting with Lieutenant Harrison had to wait until late that evening, because Prilicla's schedule needed time to rearrange and Conway himself had duties other than the search for hypothetical disembodied intelligences. The delay, however, was fortunate because much more information was made available to him, gathered during rounds and at mealtimes, even though the data was such that he did not quite know what to do with it.
The number of boobs, errors and mistakes was surprising, he suspected, only because he had not interested himself in such things before now. Even so, the silly, stupid mistakes he encountered, especially among the highly trained and responsible OR staff, were definitely uncharacteristic, he thought. And they did not form the sort of pattern he had expected. A plot of times and places should have shown an early focal point of this hypothetical mental contagion becoming more widespread as the disease progressed. Instead the pattern indicated a single focus moving within a certain circumscribed area-the Hudlar theater and its immediate surroundings. Whatever the thing was, if there was anything there at all, it was behaving like a single entity rather than a disease.
... Which is ridiculous!" Conway protested. "Even I didn't seriously believe in a disembodied intelligence-it was a working hypothesis only. I'm not that stupid!"
He had been filling Prilicla in on the latest developments while they were on the way to see the Lieutenant. The empath kept pace with him along the ceiling for a few minutes in silence, then said inevitably, "I agree.
Conway would have preferred some constructive objections for a change, so he did not speak again until they had reached 283-Four. This was a small private ward off a larger e-t compartment and the Lieutenant seemed glad to see them. He looked, and Prilicla said that he felt, bored.
"Apart from some temporary structural damage you are in very good shape, Lieutenant," Conway began, just in case Harrison was worried by the presence of two Senior Physicians at his bed. "What we would like to talk about is the events leading up to your accident. If you wouldn't mind, that is."
"Not at all," said the Lieutenant. "Where do you want me to start? With the landing, or before that?"
"If you were to tell us a little about the planet itself first," suggested Conway.
The Lieutenant nodded and moved his headrest to a more comfortable angle for conversation, then began, "It was a weirdie. We had been observing it for a long time from orbit. .
Christened Meatball because Captain Williamson of the cultural contact and survey vessel Descartes had declined, very forcibly, to have such an odd and distasteful planet named after him, it had to be seen to be believed-and even then it had been difficult for its discoverers to believe what they were seeing.
Its oceans were a thick, living soup and its land masses were almost completely covered by slow-moving carpets of animal life. In many areas there were mineral outcroppings and soil which supported vegetable life, and other forms of vegetation grew in the water, on the sea bed, or rooted itself on the organic land surface. But the greater part of the land surface was covered by a layer of animal life which in some places was half a mile thick.
This vast organic carpet was subdivided into strata which crawled and slipped and fought their way through each other to gain access to necessary top surface vegetation or subsurface minerals or simply to choke off and cannibalize each other. During the course of this slow, gargantuan struggle these living strata heaved themselves into hills and valleys, altering the shapes of lakes and coastlines and changing the whole topography of their world from month to month.
It had been generally agreed by the specialists on Descartes that if the planet possessed intelligent life it should take one of two forms, and both were a possibility. The first type would be large-one of the tremendous, living carpets which might be capable of anchoring itself to the underlying rock while pushing extensions toward the surface for the purpose of breathing, ingestion, and the elimination of wastes. It should also possess a means of defense around its far-flung perimeter to keep less intelligent strata creatures from insinuating themselves between it and the ground below or from slipping over it and cutting off light, food, and air as well as discouraging sea predators large and small who seemed to nibble at it around the clock.
The second possibility might be a fairly small life-form, smooth skinned, flexible, and fast enough to allow them to live inside or between the strata creatures and avoid the ingestive processes of the strata beasts whose movements and metabolism were slow. Their homes, which would have to be safe enough to protect their young and develop their culture and science, would probably be in caves or tunnel systems in the underlying rock.
If either life-form existed on the planet it was unlikely that they would possess an advanced technology. Certainly the larger, complex type of industrial machinery was impossible on this heaving world. Tools, if they developed them at all, would be small, handy and unspecialized, but the chances were that it would be a very primitive society with no roots.
"They might be strong in the philosophical sciences," Conway broke in at that point. Prilicla moved closer, trembling with Conway's excitement as well as its own.
Harrison shrugged. "We had a Cinrusskin with us," he said, looking at Prilicla. "It reported no indication of the more subtle type of emoting usually radiated by intelligent life, but the aura of hunger and raw, animal ferocity emanating from the whole planet was such that the empath had to be kept under sedation most of the time. This background radiation might well have concealed intelligent emoting. The proportion of intelligent life on any given world is only a small proportion of its total life..
"I see," said Conway, disappointed. "How about the landing?"
The Captain had chosen an area composed of some thick, dry, leathery material. The stuff looked dead and insensitive so that the ship's tail flare should not cause pain to any life in the area, intelligent or otherwise. They landed without incident and for perhaps ten minutes nothing happened. Then gradually the leathery surface below them began to sag, but slowly and evenly so that the ship's gyros had no trouble keeping them level. They began to sink into what was at first a shallow depression and then a low-walled crater. The lips of the crater curled toward them, pressing against the landing legs. The legs were designed to retract telescopically, not fold toward the center line of the ship. The extension mechanism and leg housings began to give, with a noise like somebody tearing sheet metal into small pieces.
Then somebody or something began throwing rocks. To Harrison it had sounded almost as if Descartes was sitting atop a volcano in process of erupting. The din was unbelievable and the only way to transmit orders was through the suit radios with the volume turned way up. Harrison was ordered to make a quick damage check of the stern prior to takeoff.
I was between the inner and outer skin close to the venturi orifice level when I found the hole," the Lieutenant went on quickly. "It was about three inches across and when I started to patch it I found the edges to be slightly magnetized. Before I could finish the Captain decided to take off at once. The crater wall was threatening to trap one of the landing legs. He did give us five seconds' warning..."
Harrison paused at that point as if to clarify something in his own mind. He said carefully, "There wasn't much danger in this, you understand. We were taking off at about one-and-a-half Gs because we weren't sure whether the crater was a manifestation of intelligence, even hostile intelligence, or the involuntary movement of some dirty great beastie closing its mouth, so we wanted to avoid unnecessary destruction in the area. If I hung onto a couple of supporting struts and had somewhere to brace my feet I'd be all right. But long-duration suits are awkward and five seconds isn't long. I had two good hand-holds and was looking for a bracket which should have been there to brace my foot. Then I saw it, and actually felt my boot touch it, but.., but. .
"You were confused and misjudged the distance," Conway finished for him softly. "Or perhaps you simply imagined it was there."
On the other side of the Lieutenant, Prilicla began to tremble again. It said, "I'm sorry, Doctor. No echoes."
"I didn't expect any," said Conway. "It must have moved on by now."
Harrison looked from one to the other, his expression puzzled and a little hurt. He said, "Maybe I did imagine it was there. Anyhow, it didn't hold me and I fell. The landing leg on my side tore free during the takeoff and the wreckage of its housing plugged the inters kin space so tightly that I couldn't get out. The engine room control lines passed too close to me for them to risk cutting me out, and our medic said it would be better to come here and let your heavy-rescue people cut a way in. We were coming here with the samples anyway.
Conway looked quickly at Prilicla, then said, "At any time during the trip back did your Cinrusskin empath monitor your emotional radiation?"
Harrison shook his head. "There was no need-I was having pain despite the suit's medication and it would have been unpleasant for an empath. Nobody could get within yards of me..
The Lieutenant paused, then in the tone of one who wished to change an unpleasant subject he said brightly, "We'll send down an unmanned ship next, packed with communications equipment. If that thing is just a big mouth connected with a bigger belly and with no brains at all, at worst we'll lose a drone and it will get indigestion. But if it is intelligent or if there are smaller intelligent beings on the planet who maybe use, or have trained, the bigger beasties to serve them-that is a strong possibility, our cultural contact people say-then they are bound to be curious and try to communicate.. ."
"The imagination boggles," said Conway, smiling. "At the present moment I'm trying hard not to think about the medical problems a beastie the size of a subcontinent would have. But to return to the here and now, Lieutenant Harrison, we are both very much obliged for the information you've given us, and we hope you won't mind if we come again to-"
"Any time," said Harrison. "Glad to help. You see, most of the nurses here have mandibles or tentacles or too many feet. .. No offense, Doctor Prilicla
"None taken," said Prilicla.
... And my ideas regarding ministering angels are rather old fashioned," he ended as they turned to go. His expression looked decidedly woebegone.
In the corridor Conway called Murchison's quarters. By the time he had finished explaining what he wanted her to do she was fully awake.
"I'm on duty in two hours and don't have any free time for another six," she said, yawning. "And normally I do not spend my precious time off doing a Mata Han on lonely patients. But if this one has information which might help Doctor Mannon I don't mind at all. I'd do anything for that man.
"How about me?"
"For you, dear, almost anything. 'Bye."
Conway racked the handset and said to Prilicla, "Something gained entrance to that ship. Harrison suffered the same type of mild hallucination or mental confusion that the OR staff experienced. But I keep thinking about that hole in the outer skin-a disembodied intelligence shouldn't have to make a hole to get in. And those rocks hitting the stern. Suppose this was only a side-effect of the major, nonmaterial influence-a disturbance analogous to the poltergeist phenomena. Where does that leave us?"
Prilicla didn't know.
"I'll probably regret it," said Conway, "but I think I'll call O'Mara. .
But it was the Chief Psychologist who did all the talking at first. Mannon had just left his office after having told O'Mara that the Hudlar patient's condition had deteriorated suddenly, necessitating a second operation not later than noon tomorrow. The Senior Physician, it had been obvious, held no hopes for the patient's survival, but had said that what little chance it did have would be fractionally increased if they operated quickly.
O'Mara ended, "This doesn't give you much time to prove your theory, Conway. Now, what did you want to say to me?"
The news about Mannon had put Conway badly off his stride, so that he was woefully aware that his report on the Meatball incident and his ideas regarding it sounded weak and, what was worse where O'Mara was concerned, incoherent. The psychologist had little patience with people who did not think clearly and say exactly what they meant.
And the whole affair is so peculiar,'' he concluded awkwardly, "that I'm almost convinced now that the Meatball business has nothing to do with Mannon's trouble, except that...
"Conway!" said O'Mara sharply. "You're talking in circles, dithering! You must realize that if two peculiar events occur with only a small separation in time then the probability is high that they have a common cause. I don't mind too much if your theory is downright ridiculous- at least you arrived at it by a tortuous form of logic-but I do mind you ceasing to think at all. Being wrong, Doctor, is infinitely preferable to being stupid!"
For a few seconds Conway breathed heavily through his nose, trying to control his anger enough to reply. But O'Mara saved him the trouble by breaking the connection.
"He was not very polite to you, friend Conway," said Prilicla. "Toward the end he sounded quite bad-tempered. This is a significant improvement over his feelings for you this morning..
Conway laughed in spite of himself. He said, "One of these days you will forget to say the right thing, Doctor, and everyone in the hospital will drop dead!"
The galling part of the whole affair was that they did not know what exactly they were looking for, and now their time for finding it had been cut in half. All they could do was to continue gathering information and hope that something would emerge from it. But even the questions sounded nonsensical-variations of "Have you done or omitted to do something during the past few days which might lead you to suspect that something was influencing your mind?" They were loosely worded, silly, almost meaningless questions, but they went on asking them until Prilicia's pencil-thin legs were rubbery with fatigue-the empath's stamina was proportional to its strength, which was practically nonexistent-and it had to retire. Doggedly Conway went on asking them, feeling more tired, angrier and more stupid with every hour which passed.
Deliberately he refrained from contacting Mannon again-the Doctor at that time would, if anything, be a demoralizing influence. He called Skempton to ask if Descartes' medical officer had made a report, and was sworn at horribly because it was the middle of the Colonel's night. But he did find out that the Chief Psychologist had called seeking the same information, saying that he preferred his facts to come from the official report rather than through an emotionally involved Doctor with a disembodied ax to grind. Then the totally unexpected happened in that Conway's sources of information went suddenly dry on him.
Apparently O'Mara was bringing in certain operating room staff for their periodic testing before their psych tests were due, and most of them had been people who had been very helpful about admitting their mistakes to Conway. It was not suggested in so many words that Conway had broken confidence and blabbed to O'Mara, but at the same time nobody would talk about anything.
Conway felt weary and discouraged and stupid, but mostly weary. It was too near breakfast time, however, to go to bed.
After his rounds Conway had an early lunch with Mannon and Prilicla, then accompanied the doctor to O'Mara's office while the empath left for the Hudlar theater to monitor the emotional radiation of the staff during their preparations. The Chief Psychologist looked a little tired, which was unusual, and rather grumpy, which was usually a good sign.
"Are you assisting Senior Physician Mannon in this operation, Doctor?"
"No, sir, observing," Conway replied. "But from inside the theater. If anything funny is going on-f mean, the Hudlar tape might confuse me and I want to be as alert as possible-"
"Alert, he says." O'Mara's tone was scathing. "You look asleep on your feet." To Mannon he said, "You will be relieved to know that I, too, am beginning to suspect something funny is going on, and this time I'll be observing from the observation blister. And now if you'll lie on the couch, Mannon, I'll give you the Hudlar tape myself..
Mannon sat on the edge of the low couch. His knees were nearly level with his chin and he had half-folded his arms across his chest so that his posture was almost a fetal position, sitting up. When he spoke his tone was pleading, desperate. He said, "Look. I've worked with empaths and telepaths before. Empaths receive but do not project emotion, and telepaths can only communicate with other telepaths of their own species-they've tried occasionally, but all they did was give me a slight mental itch. But that day in the theater I was in complete mental control of myself-f am absolutely sure of this! Yet you all keep trying to tell me that something unsubstantial, invisible and undetectable influenced my judgment. It would be much simpler if you admitted that this thing you're looking for is nonexistent as well, but you're all too damned-"
"Excuse me," said O'Mara, pushing Mannon backward and lowering the massive helmet into position. He spent a few minutes positioning the electrodes, then switched on. Mannon's eyes began to glaze as the memories and experience of one of the greatest Hudlar physicians who had ever lived flooded into his brain.
Just before he lost consciousness completely he muttered, "My trouble is that no matter what I say or do, you believe only the best about me..
Two hours later they were in the theater. Mannon wore a heavy operating suit and Conway a lighter type which relied only on its gravity neutralizers for protection. The G-plates under the floor were set for a pull of five gravities, the Hudlar normal, but the pressure was only a fraction higher than the Earth norm-Hudlars were not unduly bothered by low pressure and could, in fact, work quite without protection in the vacuum of space. But if something went disastrously wrong and the patient needed full, home-planet pressure, Conway would have to leave in a hurry. Conway had a direct line to Prilicla and O'Mara in the observation blister and another, and completely separate, channel linking him with Mannon and the operating staff.
O'Mara's voice crackled suddenly in his ear-piece. "Prilicla is getting emotional echoes, Doctor. Also the radiation indicative of a minor error having been made-minor level anxiety and confusion..
"Yehudi is here," said Conway softly.
"What?"
"The little man who isn't there," Conway replied, and went on, misquoting slightly, "The little man upon the stair. He isn't there again today, Oh, gee I wish he'd go away...
O'Mara grunted, then said, "Despite what I told Mannon in my office there is still no real proof that anything untoward is happening. My remarks then were designed to help both Doctor and patient by bolstering Mannon's weakening self-confidence-something which they failed to do. So it would be better for Mannon and yourself if your little man came in and introduced himself."
The patient was brought in at that moment and transferred to the table. Mannon's hands, projecting from the heavy arms of the suit, were encased only in thin, transparent plastic, but should full Hudlar pressure become necessary he could snap on heavy gauntlets within a few seconds. But to open a Hudlar at all in these conditions was to cause an immediate decompression, so that the subsequent procedures had to be done quickly.
Physiological classification FROB, the Hudlar was a low, squat, immensely powerful being somewhat reminiscent of an armadillo with a tegument like flexible armor plate. Inside and out the Hudlars were tough-so much so that Hudlar medical science was a almost complete stranger to surgery. If a patient could not be cured by medication very often it could not be cured at all, because surgery on that planet was impracticable if not downright impossible. But in Sector General, where pressure and gravity of any desired combination could be produced at a few minutes notice, Mannon and a few others had been nibbling at the edges of the hitherto impossible.
Conway watched him make a triangular incision in the incredibly tough tegument and clamp back the flap. Immediately a bright yellow, inverted cone of mist flicked into being above the operative field-a fine spray of blood under pressure escaping from the severed capillaries. A nurse quickly interposed a sheet of plastic between the opening and Mannon s visor while another positioned a mirror which gave him an indirect view of the operative field. In four and a half minutes he had controlled the bleeding. He should have done it in two.
Mannon seemed to be reading Conway's mind, because he said, "The first time was faster than this-I was thinking two or three moves ahead, you know how it is. But I found I was making incisions now that I shouldn't have made until several seconds later. If it had happened once it would have been bad enough, but five times...! I had to withdraw before I killed the patient there and then.
"And now," he added in a voice thick with self-loathing, "I'm trying to be careful and the result will be the same.
Conway remained silent.
"Such a piddling little growth, too," Mannon went on. "So near the surface and a natural for the first attempt at Hudlar surgery. Simply cut away the growth, encase the three severed blood vessels in the area with plastic tubing, and the patient's blood pressure and our special clamps should make a perfect seal until the veins regenerate in a few months. But this. .. ! Have you ever seen such a botched-up mess...
More than half of the growth, a grayish, spongy mass which seemed to be more than half vegetable, remained in position. Five major blood vessels in the area had been severed-two of necessity, the rest by "accident"-and encased in tubing. But these lengths of artificial vein were too short or insecurely clamped-or perhaps the movement of the heart had pulled one of the vessels partially out of its tube. The only thing which had saved the patient's life had been Mannon's insistence that it was not to be allowed to regain consciousness since the first operation. The slightest physical effort could have pulled one of those vessels free of its tubing and caused a massive internal hemorrhage and, with the tremendous pulse rate and pressure of the Hudlar species, death within a few minutes.
On O'Mara's channel Conway said harshly, "Any echoes? Anything at all?"
"Nothing," said O'Mara.
"This is ridiculous!" Conway burst out. "If there is an intelligence, disembodied or otherwise, it should possess the attributes-curiosity, the ability to use tools, and so on. Now this hospital is a large and interesting place, with no barriers we know of to the movements of the entity we are trying to find. Why then had it stayed in one place? Why didn't it go prowling around Descartes? What makes it stay in this area? Is it frightened, or stupid, or disembodied even?
"There is little likelihood of finding a complex technology on Meatball," Conway went on quickly, "but a good chance of them being well advanced in the philosophical sciences. If something physical boarded Descartes, there is a definite lower limit to the mass of an intelligent being..
"If you want to ask questions of anyone, Doctor," O'Mara said quietly, "I will throw a little of my weight behind them. But there isn't much time."
Conway thought for a moment, then said, "Thank you, sir. I'd like you to get Murchison for me. She's in-"
"At a time like this," said O'Mara in a dangerous voice, "he wants to call his . .
"She's with Harrison at the moment," said Conway. "I want to establish a physical connection between the Lieutenant and this theater, even though he has never been within fifty levels of the place. Would you ask her to ask him..
It was a long, involved, many-sided question, designed to tell him how a small, intelligent life-form had reached this area without detection. It was also a stupid question because any intelligence which affected the minds of Earth-humans and e-ts alike could not have remained undetected with an empath like Prilicla around. Which left him back where he started with a nonmaterial something which refused, or was incapable of, moving beyond the environs of the theater.
"Harrison says he had lots of delusions during the trip back," O'Mara's voice sounded suddenly. "He says the ship's doctor said this was normal considering all the dope he had in him. He also says he was completely out when he arrived here and doesn't know how or where he came in. And now I suppose we contact Reception, Doctor. I'm patching you in, just in case I ask the wrong questions..
Seconds later a slow, flat, translated voice which could have belonged to anything said, "Lieutenant Harrison was not processed in the usual way. Being a corpsman whose medical background was known in detail he was admitted to Service Lock Fifteen into the charge of Major Edwards.
Edwards was not available, but his office promised O'Mara that they would have him in a few minutes.
All at once Conway felt like giving up. Lock Fifteen was too far away-a difficult, complicated journey involving three major changes of environment. For their hypothetical invader, who was also a stranger to the hospital, to find its way to this theater would have necessitated it taking mental control of someone and being carried. But if that was the case Prilicla would have detected its presence. Prilicla could detect anything which thought-from the smallest insect to the slow emanations of a mind deeply and totally unconscious. No living thing could shut its mind down completely and still be alive.
Which meant that the invader might not be alive!
A few feet distant Mannon had signaled for a nurse to stand by the pressure cock. A sudden return to Hudlar normal pressure would diminish the violence of any bleeding which might occur, but it would also make it impossible for Mannon to operate without heavy gloves. Not only that, the pressure increase would cause the operative field to subside within the opening, where movement transmitted from the nearby heart would make delicate work impossible. At present, despite the danger of a wrong incision, the complex of blood vessels was distended, separate and relatively motionless.
Suddenly it happened. Bright yellow blood spurted out, so violently that it hit Mannon's visor with an audible slap. Driven by the patient's enormous blood pressure and pulse rate the severed vein whipped about like a miniature unheld hose-pipe. Mannon got to it, lost it, tried again. The spurting became a thin, wavering spray and stopped. The nurse at the pressure cock relaxed visibly while the one at Mannon's side cleaned his visor.
Mannon moved back slightly while the field was sucked clear. Through the visor his eyes glittered oddly in the sweating white mask of his face. Time was important now. Hudlars were tough, but there were limits-they could not stand decompression indefinitely. There would be a gradual movement of body fluid toward the opening in the tegument, a strain on vital organs in the vicinity and an even greater increase in blood pressure. To be successful the operation could not last for much more than thirty minutes and more than half the time had gone merely in opening up the seat of the trouble. Even if the growth was removed, its removal entailed damage to underlying blood vessels which had to be repaired with great care before Mannon withdrew.
They all knew that speed was essential, but to Conway it seemed suddenly as if he was watching a film which was steadily being speeded up. Mannon's hands were moving faster than Conway had ever seen them move before. And faster still.
"I don't like this," said O'Mara harshly. "It looks like he's regained his confidence, but more likely that he's ceased caring-about himself, that is. He still cares about the patient, obviously, even though he knows it hasn't much chance. And the tragic thing about it is that it never did have much chance, Thornnastor tells me. If it hadn't been for your hypothetical friend's interference Mannon wouldn't have worried too much about losing this patient-it would have been one of his very few failures. When he made that first slip it wrecked his self-confidence and now he's-"
"Something made him slip," said Conway firmly.
"You've tried convincing him of that, with what result?" the psychologist snapped back. He went on, "Prilicla is seriously agitated and its shakes are getting worse by the minute. But Mannon is, or was, a pretty stable type I don't think he'll crack until after the operation. Though with these serious, dedicated types whose profession is their whole life it's hard to say what might happen."
"Edwards here," said a new voice. "What is it?"
"Go ahead, Conway," said the psychologist. "You ask the questions. Right now I've other things on my mind."
The spongy growth had been lifted clear, but a great many small blood vessels had been severed to accomplish this and the job of repairing them would be much more difficult than anything which had gone before. Insinuating the severed ends into the tubing, far enough so that they would not simply squirm out again when circulation was restored, was a difficult, repetitious, nerve-wracking procedure.
There were only eighteen minutes left.
"I remember Harrison well," the distant Edwards replied when Conway had explained what he wanted to know. "His suit was damaged in the leg section only, so we couldn't write it off-those things carry a full set of tools and survival gear and are expensive. And naturally we decontaminated it! The regulations expressly state that-"
"It still may have been a carrier of some kind, Major," Conway said quickly. "How thoroughly did you carry out this decon-"
"Thoroughly," said the Major, beginning to sound annoyed. "If it was carrying any kind of bug or parasite it is defunct now. The suit together with all its attachments was sterilized with high-pressure steam and irradiated-it went through the same sterilization procedure as your surgical instruments, in fact. Does that satisfy you, Doctor?"
"Yes," said Conway softly. "Yes indeed."
He now had the link-up between Meatball and the operating theater, via Harrison's suit and the sterilization chamber. But that wasn't all he had. He had Yehudi!
Beside him Mannon had stopped. The surgeon's hands were trembling as he said desperately, "I need eight pairs of hands, or instruments that can do eight different operations at once. This isn't going well, Conway. Not well at all. .
"Don't do anything for a minute, Doctor," Conway said urgently, then began calling out instructions for the nurses to file past him carrying their instrument trays. O'Mara started shouting to know what was going on, but Conway was concentrating too hard to answer him. Then one of the Kelgian nurses made a noise like a foghorn breathing in, the DBLF equivalent of a shriek of surprise, because suddenly there was a medium sized box spanner among the forceps on her tray.
"You won't believe this," said Conway joyfully as he carried the- thing-to Mannon and placed it in the surgeon's hands, "but if you'll just listen for a minute and then do as I tell you..
Mannon was back at work in less than a minute.
Hesitantly at first, but then with growing confidence and speed, he resumed the delicate repair work. Occasionally he whistled through his teeth or swore luridly, but this was normal behavior for Mannon during a difficult op which was promising to go well. In the observation blister Conway could see the happily scowling, baffled face of the Chief Psychologist and the fragile,. spidery body of the empath. Prilicla was still trembling, but very slowly. It was a type of reaction not often seen in a Cinrusskin off its native planet, indicating a nearby source of emotional radiation which was intense and altogether pleasant.
After the operation they had all wanted to question Harrison about Meatball, but before they could do so Conway had first to explain what had happened again to the Lieutenant.
"...And while we still have no idea what they look like," Conway was saying, "we do know that they are highly intelligent and in their own fashion technically advanced. By that I mean they fashion and use tools...
"Indeed yes," said Mannon dryly, and the thing in his hand became a metallic sphere, a miniature bust of Beethoven and a set of Tralthan dentures. Since it had become certain that the Hudlar would be another one of Mannon's successes rather than a failure he had begun to regain his sense of humor.
..... But the tool-making stage must have followed a long way after the development of the philosophical sciences," Conway went on. "The imagination boggles at the conditions in which they evolved. These tools are not designed for manual use, the natives may not possess hands as we know them. But they have minds...
Under the mental control of its owner the "tool" had cut a way into Descartes beside Harrison's station, but during the sudden takeoff it had been unable to get back and a new source of mental control, the Lieutenant, had unwittingly taken over. It had become the foothold which Harrison had needed so badly, only to give under his weight because it had not really been part of the ship's structure. When the attachments of Harrison's suit had been sterilized in the same room as the surgical instruments and when a nurse had come looking for a certain instrument for the theater, it again became what was wanted.
From then on there was confusion over instrument counts and falling scalpels which did not cut and sprayers which behaved oddly indeed, and Mannon had used a knife which had followed his mind instead of his hands, with near-fatal results for the patient. But the second time it happened Mannon knew that he was holding a small, unspecialized, all purpose tool which was subject to mental as well as manual control, and some of the shapes he had made it take and the things he had made it do would make Conway remember that operation for the rest of his life.
..... This. . . gadget.. . is probably of great value to its owner," Conway finished seriously. "By rights we should return it. But we need it here, many more of them if possible! Your people have got to make contact and set up trade relations. There's bound to be something we have or can do that they want. .
"I'd give my right arm for one," said Mannon, then added, grinning, "My right leg, anyway."
The Lieutenant returned his smile. He said, "As I remember the place, Doctor, there was no shortage of raw meat."
O'Mara, who had been unusually silent until then, said very seriously, "Normally I am not a covetous man. But consider the things this hospital could do with just ten of those things, or even five. We have one and, if we were doing the right thing, we would put it back where we found it- obviously a tool like this is of enormous value. This means that we will have to buy or conduct some form of trade for them, and to do this we must first learn to communicate with their owners."
He looked at each of them in turn, then went on sardonically. "One hesitates to mention such sordid commercial matters to pure-minded, dedicated medical men like yourselves, but I must do so to explain why, when Descartes eventually makes contact with the beings who use the tools, I want Conway and whoever else he may select to investigate the medical situation on Meatball.
"Our interest will not be entirely commercial, however," he added quickly, "but it seems to me that if we have to go in for the practice of barter and exchange, the only thing we have to trade is our medical knowledge and facilities."
VERTIGO
It was perhaps inevitable that when the long-awaited indication of intelligent life at last appeared the majority of the ship's observers were looking somewhere else, that it did not appear in the batteries of telescopes that were being trained on the surface or on the still and cine films being taken by Descartes' planetary probes, but on the vessel's close approach radar screens.
In Descartes' control room the Captain jabbed a button on his console and said sharply, "Communications...
"We have it, sir," came the reply. "A telescope locked onto the radar bearing-the image is on your repeater screen Five. It is a two- or three stage chemically fueled vehicle with the second stage still firing. This means we will be able to reconstruct its flight path and pinpoint the launch area with fair accuracy. It is emitting complex patterns of radio frequency radiation indicative of high-speed telemetry channels. The second stage has just cut out and is falling away. The third stage, if it is a third stage, has not ignited. . . It's in trouble!"
The alien spacecraft, a slim, shining cylinder pointed at one end and thickened and blunt at the other, had begun to tumble. Slowly at first but with steadily increasing speed it swung and whirled end over end.
"Ordnance?" asked the Captain.
"Apart from the tumbling action," said a slower, more precise voice, "the vessel seems to have been inserted into a very neat circular orbit. It is most unlikely that this orbit was taken up by accident. The lack of sophistication-relative, that is-in the vehicle's design and the fact that its nearest approach to us will be a little under two hundred miles all point to the conclusion that it is either an artificial satellite or a manned orbiting vehicle rather than a missile directed at this ship.
"If it is manned," the voice added with more feeling, "the crew must be in serious trouble . .
"Yes," said the Captain, who treated words like nuggets of some rare and precious metal. He went on, "Astrogation, prepare intersecting and matching orbits, please. Power Room, stand by."
As the tremendous bulk of Descartes closed with the tiny alien craft it became apparent that, as well as tumbling dizzily end over end, the other vessel was leaking. The rapid spin made it impossible to say with certainty whether it was a fuel leak from the unfired third stage or air escaping from the command module if it was, in fact, a manned vehicle.
The obvious procedure was to check the spin with tractor beams as gently as possible so as to avoid straining the hull structure, then defuel the unfired third stage to remove the fire hazard before bringing the craft alongside. If the vessel was manned and the leak was of air rather than fuel, it could then be taken into Descartes' cargo hold where rescue and first contact proceedings would be possible-at leisure since Meatball's air was suited to human beings and the reverse, presumably, also held true.
It was expected to be a fairly simple rescue operation, at first...
"Tractor stations Six and Seven, sir. The alien spacecraft won't stay put. We've slowed it to a stop three times and each time it applies steering thrust and recommences spinning. For some reason it is deliberately fighting our efforts to bring it to rest. The speed and quality of the reaction suggests direction by an on-the-spot intelligence. We can apply more force, but only at the risk of damaging the vessel's hull-it is incredibly fragile by present-day standards, sir."
"I suggest using all necessary force to immediately check the spin, opening its tanks and jettisoning all fuel into space then whisking it into the cargo hold. With normal air pressure around it again there will be no danger to the crew and we will have time to..."
"Astrogation, here. Negative to that, I'm afraid, sir. Our computation shows that the vessel took off from the sea-more accurately, from beneath the sea, because there is no visible evidence of floating gantries or other launch facilities in the area. We can reproduce Meatball air because it is virtually the same as our own, but not that animal and vegetable soup they use for water, and all the indications point toward the crew being water breathers."
For a few seconds the Captain did not reply. He was thinking about the alien crew member or members and their reasons for behaving as they were doing. Whether the reason was technical, physiological, psychological or simply alien was, however, of secondary importance. The main thing was to render assistance as quickly as possible.
If his own ship could not aid the other vessel directly it could, in a matter of days, take it to a place which possessed all the necessary facilities for doing so. Transportation itself posed only a minor problem-the spinning vehicle could be towed without checking its spin by attaching a magnetic grapple to its center of rotation, and with the shipside attachment point also rotating so that the line would not twist-shorten and bring the alien craft crashing into Descartes' side. During the trip the larger ship's hyper-drive field could be expanded to enclose both vessels.
His chief concern was over the leak and his complete ignorance of how long a period the alien spacecraft had intended to stay in orbit. He had also, if he wanted to establish friendly relations with the people on Meatball, to make the correct decision quickly.
He knew that in the early days of human space flight leakage was a quite normal occurrence, for there had been many occasions when it had been preferable to carry extra air supplies rather than pay the severe weight penalty of making the craft completely airtight. On the other hand the leak and spinning were more likely to be emergency conditions with the time available for their correction strictly limited. Since the alien astronaut or astronauts would not, for some odd reason, let him immobilize their ship to make a more thorough investigation of its condition and because he could not reproduce their environment anyway, his duty was plain. Probably his hesitancy was due to misplaced professional pride because he was passing responsibility for a particularly sticky one to others.
Quickly and with his usual economy of words the Captain issued the necessary orders and, less than half an hour after it had first been sighted, the alien spacecraft was on its way to Sector General.
With quiet insistence the PA was repeating, "Will Senior Physician Conway please contact Major O'Mara. .
Conway quickly sized up the traffic situation in the corridor, jumped across the path of a Tralthan intern who was lumbering down on him on six elephantine feet, rubbed fur briefly with a Kelgian caterpillar who was moving in the opposite direction and, while squeezing himself against the wall to avoid being run over by something in a highly refrigerated box on wheels, unracked the hand-set of the communicator.
As soon as he had established contact the PA began insisting quietly that somebody else contact somebody else.
"Are you doing anything important at the moment, Doctor?" asked the Chief Psychologist without preamble. "Engaged on vital research, perhaps, or in performing some life-or-death operation?" O'Mara paused, then added dryly, "You realize, of course, that these questions are purely rhetorical . .
Conway sighed and said, "I was just going to lunch."
"Fine," said O'Mara. "In that case you will be delighted to know that the natives of Meatball have put a spacecraft into orbit-judging by its looks it may well be their first. It got into difficulties-Colonel Skempton can give you the details-and Descartes is bringing it here for us to deal with. It will arrive in just under three hours and I suggest you take an ambulance ship and heavy rescue gear out to it with a view to extricating its crew. I shall also suggest that Doctors Mannon and Prilicla be detached from their normal duties to assist you, since you three are going to be our specialists in Meatball matters."
"I understand," said Conway eagerly.
"Right," said the Major. "And I'm glad, Doctor, that you realize that there are things more important than food. A less enlightened and able psychologist than myself might wonder at this sudden hunger which develops whenever an important assignment is mentioned. I, of course, realize that this is not an outward symptom of a sense of insecurity but sheer, blasted greed!
"You will have arrangements to make, Doctor," he concluded pleasantly. "Off."
Skempton's office was fairly close so that Conway needed just fifteen minutes-which included the time taken to don a protective suit for the two hundred yards of the journey which lay through the levels of the Illensan chlorine breathers-to reach it.
"Good morning," said Skempton while Conway was still opening his mouth. "Tip the stuff off that chair and sit down. O'Mara has been in touch. I've decided to return Descartes to Meatball as soon as it leaves the distressed spacecraft. To native observers it might appear that the vehicle was taken-one might almost say kidnapped-and Descartes should be on hand to note reactions, make contact if possible and give reassurances. I'd be obliged if you would extricate, treat and return this patient to Meatball as quickly as possible-you can imagine the boon this would be to our cultural contact people.
"This is a copy of the report on the incident radioed from Descartes," the Colonel went on without, apparently, even pausing for breath. "And you will need this analysis of water taken from the sea around the takeoff-the actual samples will be available as soon as Descartes arrives. Should you need further background information on Meatball or on contact procedures call on Lieutenant Harrison, who is due for discharge now and who will be glad to assist. Try not to slam the door, Doctor."
The Colonel began excavating deeply in the layer of paperwork covering his desk and Conway closed his mouth again and left. In the outer office he asked permission to use the communicator and got to work.
An unoccupied ward in the Chalder section was the obvious place to house the new patient. The giant denizens of Chalderescol II were water breathers, although the tepid, greenish water in which they lived was almost one hundred percent pure compared with the soupy environment of Meatball's seas. The analysis would allow Dietetics and Environmental Control to synthesize the food content of the water-but not to reproduce the living organisms it contained. That would have to wait until the samples arrived and they had a chance to study and breed these organisms, just as the E.C. people could reproduce the gravity and water pressure, but would have to wait for the arrival of the spacecraft to add the finishing touches to the patient's quarters.
Next he arranged for an ambulance ship with heavy rescue equipment, crew and medical support to be made available prior to Descartes' arrival. The tender should be prepared to transfer a patient of unknown physiological classification who was probably injured and decompressed and close to terminal by this time, and he wanted a rescue team experienced in the rapid emergency transfer of shipwreck survivors.
Conway was about to make a final call, to Thornnastor, the Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology, when he hesitated.
He was not quite sure whether he wanted to ask a series of specific questions-even a series of hypothetical questions-or to indulge in several minutes worrying out loud. It was vitally important that he treat and cure this patient. Quite apart from it being his and the hospital's job to do so, successful treatment would be the ideal way of opening communications with the natives of Meatball and ultimately laying hands on more of those wonderful, thought-controlled surgical instruments.
But what were the owners of those fabulous tools really like? Were they small and completely unspecialized with no fixed physical shape like the tools they used or, considering the mental abilities needed to develop the tools in the first place, were they little more than physically helpless brains dependent on their thought-controlled instruments to feed them, protect them and furnish all their physical needs? Conway badly wanted to know what to expect when the ship arrived. But Diagnosticians, as everyone knew, were unpredictable and even more impatient of muddy or confused thinking than was the Chief Psychologist.
He would be better advised, Conway told himself, to let his questions wait until he had actually seen his patient, which would be in just over an hour from now. The intervening period he would spend studying Descartes' report.
And having lunch.
The Monitor Survey cruiser popped into normal space, the alien spacecraft spinning like an unwieldy propeller astern, then just as quickly reentered hyperspace for the return trip to Meatball. The rescue tender closed in, snagged the towline which had been left by Descartes and fixed the free end to a rotating attachment point of its own.
Space suited Doctors Mannon and Prilicla, Lieutenant Harrison and Conway watched from the tender's open airlock.
"It's still leaking," said Mannon. "That's a good sign-there is still pressure inside . .
"Unless it's a fuel leak," Harrison said.
"What do you feel?" asked Conway.
Prilicla's fragile, eggshell body and six pipe-stem legs were beginning to quiver violently so it was obvious that it was feeling something.
"The vessel contains one living entity," said Prilicla slowly. "Its emotional radiation is comprised chiefly of fear and feelings of pain and suffocation. I would say that these feelings have been with it for many days-the radiation is subdued and lacking in clarity due to developing unconsciousness. But the quality of that entity's mentation leaves no doubt that it is intelligent and not simply an experimental animal..
"It's nice to know," said Mannon dryly, "that we're not going to all this trouble for an instrument package or a Meatball space puppy...
"We haven't much time," said Conway.
He was thinking that their patient must be pretty far gone by now. It's fear was understandable, of course, and its pain, suffocation and diminished consciousness were probably due to injury, intense hunger and foul breathing water. He tried to put himself in the Meatball astronaut's position.
Even though the pilot had been badly confused by the apparently uncontrollable spinning, the being had deliberately sought to maintain the spin when Descartes tried to take it aboard because it must have been smart enough to realize that a tumbling ship could not be drawn into the cruiser's hold. Possibly it could have checked its own spin with steering power if Descartes had not been so eager to rush to its aid-but that was simply a possibility, of course, and the spacecraft had been leaking badly as well. Now it was still leaking and spinning and, with its occupant barely conscious, Conway thought he could risk frightening it just a little more by checking the spin and moving the vehicle into the tender and the patient as quickly as possible into the water-filled compartment where they could work on it.
But as soon as the immaterial fingers of the tractor beams reached out an equally invisible force seemed to grip Prilicla's fragile body and shake it furiously.
"Doctor," said the empath, "the being is radiating extreme fear. It is forcing coherent thought from a mind which is close to panic. It is losing consciousness rapidly, perhaps dying. . . Look! It is using steering thrust!"
"Cut!" shouted Conway to the tractor beamers. The alien spacecraft, which had almost come to rest, began to spin slowly as vapor jetted from lateral vents in the nose and stern. After a few minutes the jets became irregular, weaker and finally ceased altogether, leaving the vehicle spinning at approximately half its original speed. Prilicla still looked as if its body was being shaken by a high wind.
"Doctor," said Conway suddenly, "considering the kind of tools these people use I wonder if some kind of psionic force is being used against you-you are shaking like a leaf."
When it replied Prilicla's voice was, of course, devoid of all emotion. "It is not thinking directly at anyone, friend Conway," said the empath. "Its emotional radiation is composed chiefly of fear and despair. Perceptions are diminishing and it seems to be struggling to avoid a final catastrophe . .
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" said Mannon suddenly.
"If you mean am I thinking of setting the thing spinning at full speed again," Conway replied. "The answer is yes. But there's no logical reason for doing so, is there?"
A few seconds later the tractor beam men reversed polarity to increase the vessel's spin. Almost immediately Prilicla's trembling ceased and it said, "The being feels much better now-relatively, that is. Its vitality is still very low."
Prilicla began to tremble again and this time Conway knew that his own feelings of angry frustration were affecting the little being. He tried to make his thinking cooler and more constructive, even though he knew that the situation was essentially the same as it had been when Descartes had first tried to aid the Meatball astronaut, that they were making no progress at all.
But there were a few things he could do which would help the patient, however indirectly.
The vapor escaping from the vehicle should be analyzed to see if it was fuel or simply water from the being's life-support system. Much valuable data could be gained from a direct look at the patient-even if it was only possible to see it through the wrong end of a periscope, since the vessel did not possess a direct-vision port. They should also seek means of entering the vessel to examine and reassure the occupant before transferring it to the ambulance and the wards.
Closely followed by Lieutenant Harrison, Conway pulled himself along the towing cable toward the spinning ship. By the time they had gone a few yards both men were turning with the rotating cable so that when they reached the spacecraft it seemed steady while the rest of creation whirled around them in dizzying circles. Mannon stayed in the airlock, insisting that he was too old for such acrobatics, and Prilicla approached the vessel drifting free and using its spacesuit propulsors for maneuvering.
Now that the patient was almost unconscious the Cinrusskin had to be close to detect subtle changes in its emotional radiation. But the long, tubular hull was hurtling silently past the little being like the vanes of some tremendous windmill.
Conway did not voice his concern, however. With Prilicla one did not need to.
"I appreciate your feelings, friend Conway," said Prilicla, "but I do not think that I was born, despite my physiological classification, to be swatted."
At the hull they transferred from the towing cable and used wrist and boot magnets to cling to the spinning ship, noting that the magnetic grapple placed there by Descartes had seriously dented the hull plating and that the area was obscured by a fog of escaping vapor. Their own suit magnets left shallow grooves in the plating as well. The metal was not much thicker than paper, and Conway felt that if he made a too sudden movement he would kick a hole in it.
"It isn't quite as bad as that, Doctor," said the Lieutenant. "In our own early days of space flight-before gravity control, hyper spatial travel and atomic motors made considerations of weight of little or no importance-vehicles had to be built as light as possible. So much so that the fuel contents were sometimes used to help stiffen the structure.
"Nevertheless," said Conway, "I feel as if I am lying on very thin ice-I can even hear water or fuel gurgling underneath. Will you check the stern, please. I'll head forward."
They took samples of the escaping vapor from several points and they tapped and sounded and listened carefully with sensitive microphones to the noises coming from inside the ship. There was no response from the occupant, and Prilicla told them that it was unaware of their presence. The only signs of life from the interior were mechanical. There seemed to be an unusually large amount of machinery, to judge from the sounds they could hear, in addition to the gurgling of liquid. And as they moved toward the extremities of the vessel, centrifugal force added another complication.
The closer they moved toward the bow or stern, the greater was the force tending to fling them off the spinning ship.
Conway's head was pointing toward the ship's bow so that the centrifugal force was imposing a negative G on his body. It was not really uncomfortable as yet, however-he felt a little pop-eyed but there was no redding out of vision. His greatest discomfort came from the sight of the ambulance ship, Prilicla and the vast, tubular Christmas tree which was Sector General sweeping around the apparently steady ship's bows. When he closed his eyes the feeling of vertigo diminished, but then he could not see what he was doing.
The farther forward he went the more power his suit magnets needed to hold him against the smooth metal of the ship's hull, but he could not increase the power too much because the thin plating was beginning to ripple under the magnets and he was afraid of tearing open the hull. But a few feet ahead there was a stubby, projecting pipe which was possibly some kind of periscope and he began to slide himself carefully toward it. Suddenly he began to slip forward and grabbed instinctively for the pipe as he slithered past.
The projection bent alarmingly in his hand and he let go hurriedly, noticing the cloud of vapor which had formed around it, and he felt himself being flung away like a stone from a slingshot.
"Where the blazes are you, Doctor?" said Mannon. "Last time around you were there, now you aren't .
"I don't know, Doctor," Conway replied angrily. He lit one of his suit's distress flares and added, "Can you see me now?"
As he felt the tractor beams focus on him and begin to draw him back to the tender, Conway went on, "This is ridiculous! We're taking far too long over what should be a simple rescue job. Lieutenant Harrison and Doctor Prilicla, go back to the tender, please. We'll try another approach."
While they were discussing it Conway had the spacecraft photographed from every angle and had the tender's lab begin a detailed analysis of the samples Harrison and himself had gathered. They were still trying to find another approach when the prints and completed analyzes reached them several hours later.
It had been established that all the leaks in the alien spacecraft were of water rather than fuel, that the water was for breathing purposes only since it did not contain the usual animal and vegetable matter found in the Meatball ocean samples and that, compared with these local samples, its CO2 content was rather high-the water was, in brief, dangerously stale.
A close study of the photographs by Harrison, who was quite an authority on early space flight, suggested that the flared-out stern of the ship contained a heat shield to which was mounted a solid fuel retro pack. It was now plain that, rather than an unignited final stage, the long cylindrical vehicle contained little more than the life-support equipment which, judging by its size, must be pretty crude. Having made this statement the Lieutenant promptly had second, more charitable thoughts and added that while air-breathing astronauts could carry compressed air with them a water breather could not very well compress its water.
The point of the nose cone contained small panels which would probably open to release the landing parachutes. About five feet astern of this was another panel which was about fifteen inches wide and six feet deep. This was an odd shape for an entry and exit hatch for the pilot, but Harrison was convinced that it could be nothing else. He added that the lack of sophistication shown in the vehicle's construction made it unlikely that the exit panel was the outer seal of an airlock, that it was almost certainly a simple hatch opening into the command module.
If Doctor Conway was to open this hatch, he warned, centrifugal force would empty the ship of its water-or to be quite accurate, of half its water-within a few seconds. The same force would see to it that the water in the stern section remained there, but it was almost certain that the astronaut was in the nose cone.
Conway yawned furiously and rubbed his eyes. He said, "I have to see the patient to get some idea of its injuries and to prepare accommodation, Lieutenant. Suppose I cut a way in amidships at the center of rotation. An appreciable quantity of its water has already leaked away and centrifugal force has caused the remainder to be pushed toward the nose and stern, so that the middle of the ship would be empty and the additional loss of water caused by my entry would be slight."
"I agree, Doctor," said Harrison. "But the structure of the ship might be such that you would open a seam into the water-filled sections-it's so fragile there is even the danger that centrifugal force might pull it apart. ~
Conway shook his head. "If we put a wide, thin-metal band around the waist section, and if the band included a hinged, airtight hatch big enough for a man, we can seal the edges of the band to the ship with fast-setting cement-no welding, of course, as the heat might damage the skin-and rig a temporary airlock over the hatch. That would allow me to get in without-"
"That would be a very tricky job," said Mannon, "on a spinning ship."
Harrison said, "Yes. But we can set up a light, tubular framework anchored to the hull by magnets. The band and airlock could be set up working from that. It will take a little time, though."
Prilicla did not comment. Cinrus skins were notoriously lacking in physical stamina and the little empath had attached itself to the ceiling with six, sucker-tipped legs and had gone to sleep.
Mannon, the Lieutenant and Conway were ordering material and specialized assistance from the Hospital and beginning to organize a work party when the tender's radioman said, "I have Major O'Mara for you on Screen Two."
"Doctor Conway," said the Chief Psychologist, when he was able to see and be seen. "Rumors have reached me that you are trying-and may have already succeeded, in fact-to set up a new record for the length of time taken to transfer a patient from ship to ward. I have no need to remind you of the urgency and importance of this matter, but I will anyway. It is urgent, Doctor, and important. Off."
"You sarcastic. . ." began Conway angrily to the already fading image, then quickly controlled his feelings because they were beginning to make Prilicla twitch in its sleep.
"Maybe," said the Lieutenant, looking speculatively at Mannon, "my leg isn't properly healed since I broke it during that landing on Meatball. A friendly, cooperative doctor might decide to send me back to Level Two-eighty-three, Ward Four."
"The same friendly, helpful doctor," said Mannon dryly, "might decide a certain Earth-human nurse in 283-Four had something to do with your relapse, and he might send you to.. . say, 241-Seven. There is nothing like being fussed over by a nurse with four eyes and far too many legs to cure a man of baying at the moon."
Conway laughed. "Ignore him, Harrison. At times his mind is even nastier than O'Mara's. Right now there isn't anything more we can do and it has been a long, hard day. Let's go to bed before we go to sleep."
Another day went by without any significant progress being made. Because of the need for urgency the team setting up the framework tried to hurry the job, with the result that they lost tools, sections of framework and on several occasions men overboard. The men could be retrieved easily enough by tractor beams, but the tools and framework sections were not equipped with signal flares and were usually lost. Cursing the necessity for having to perform a tricky job of construction on a space going merry-go-round, the men went back to work.
Progress became much slower but a little more certain, the number of dents and furrows put in the spacecraft's hull by tools and space boots had become uncountable, and the fog of water vapor escaping from the vessel continued to increase.
In a desperate attempt to speed things up, and much against Prilicla's wishes, Conway tried slowing the craft's rate of spin again. There were no signs of panic from the occupant this time, the empath reported, because it was too deeply unconscious to care. It added that it could not describe the patient's emotional radiation to anyone but another empath, but that it was its considered professional opinion that if full spin was not restored the patient would die very shortly.
Next day the framework was completed and work started on fitting the metal band which would take the temporary airlock. While the lock structure was going up Conway and Harrison attached safety lines to the framework and examined the hull. The Lieutenant discovered quite a lot about the steering jets and the circuits to the retro pack, while Conway could only stare baffled at the long, narrow exit hatch or stare through the tiny glass port-it was only a few inches in diameter-which showed little more than a shutter which opened and closed rapidly. And it was not until the following day that the Lieutenant and himself were able to enter the alien spacecraft.
Its occupant was still alive, Prilicla said, but only just.
As expected the waist section of the spacecraft was almost empty of water. Centrifugal force had caused it to collect toward the extremities of the ship, but their spotlights reflected off a dazzling fog of water vapor and droplets which, a quick investigation showed, were being stirred up by the operation of a system of sprocket wheels and chain drives that ran the length of the ship.
Moving carefully so as not to snag a hand between a gear wheel and its chain or inadvertently stick a boot through the fragile hull into space, the Lieutenant moved aft while Conway went forward. They did this so as to ensure that the vessel's center of gravity stayed as closely as possible to its center of rotation, for any imbalance introduced now would shake loose the framework and probably tear holes in the sides of the ship.
"I realize that the circulation and purification of water requires heavier hardware than an air recycling system," said Conway, speaking to Harrison and the tender, "but surely there should be a higher proportion of electrical to mechanical systems? I can't move more than a few yards forward and all I can see are gear wheels and chains drives. The circulation system sets up a strong current, as well, and I'm in danger of being drawn into the works."
The fine, ever-present mist of bubbles made it difficult to see clearly, but for a moment he caught a glimpse of something which was not part of the machinery-something that was brown and convoluted and with a suggestion of fronds or short tentacles sprouting from it, something organic. The being was hemmed in on all sides by revolving machinery, and it also seemed to be rotating, but there was so little of its body visible that he could not be sure.
"I see it," said Conway. "Not enough for accurate classification, though. It doesn't seem to be wearing a pressure suit so this must be its equivalent of shirt-sleeve conditions. But we can't get at the brute without tearing its ship apart and killing it in the process." He swore, then went on furiously, "This is ridiculous, insane! I'm supposed to come out here, immobilize the patient, transfer it to a ward and give treatment. But this blasted thing can't be immobilized without...
"Suppose there is something wrong with its life-support system," the Lieutenant broke in. "Something which requires gravity, or artificial gravity in the form of centrifugal force, to restore proper function. If we could somehow repair this malfunctioning equipment. .
"But why?" said Conway suddenly, as a vague idea that had been lurking at the back of his mind began to creep out into the light. "I mean, why should we assume that it is malfunctioning.. ." He paused, then said, "We'll open the valves of a couple of oxygen tanks in here to freshen up the beastie's air-I mean water. It's only a first-aid measure, I'm afraid, until we're in a position to do something more positive. Then back to the tender, I'm beginning to get some odd ideas about this astronaut and I'd like to test them."
They returned to the control room without taking off their suits, and were met by Prilicla who told them that the patient's condition seemed a little better although it was still unconscious. The empath added that the reason for this might be that the being was injured and in an advanced state of malnutrition as well as having been close to death through asphyxiation. Conway began telling them about his idea and sketching the alien ship as he talked.
"If this is the center of spin," he said when the drawing was complete, "and the distance from that point to the pilot's position is this, and the rate of rotation is this, can you tell me how closely does the apparent gravity in the pilot's position approach that of Meatball itself?"
"Just a minute," said Harrison as he took Conway's pen and began to scribble. A few minutes later-he had taken extra time to double check his calculations-he said, "Very close, Doctor. Identical, in fact."
"Which means," said Conway thoughtfully, "that we have here a beastie which can't, for some very good physiological reason no doubt, live without gravity, for whom weightless conditions are fatal. .
"Excuse me, Doctor," the quiet voice of the radioman cut in. "I have Major O'Mara for you on Screen Two..
Conway felt the idea which was beginning to take shape at the back of his mind being blown into tatters. Spin, he thought furiously, trying to draw it back; centrifugal force, wheels within wheels! But the square, craggy features of the Chief Psychologist were filling the screen and it was impossible to think of anything else.
O'Mara spoke pleasantly-a very bad sign. He said, "Your recent activity has been impressive, Doctor-especially when it took the form of man-made meteorite activity in the shape of dropped tools and structural material. But I'm concerned about your patient. We all are-even, and especially, the Captain of Descartes who has recently returned to Meatball.
"The Captain has run into trouble," the psychologist continued, "in the shape of three missiles with nuclear warheads which were directed at his ship. One of them went off course and dirtied up a large area of Meatball ocean, and the other two came so close that he had to use full emergency thrust to avoid them. He says that establishing communications and friendly contact with the inhabitants in these circumstances is impossible, that they obviously think he has kidnapped their astronaut for some ghastly purpose of his own, and that the return of the being in a happy and healthy condition is the only means there is of retrieving the situation... Doctor Conway, your mouth is open. Either say something or close it!"
"Sorry, sir," said Conway absently. "I was thinking. There is something I would like to try, and perhaps you could help me with it-by getting Colonel Skempton's support, I mean. We're wasting time out here, I realize that now, and I want to bring the spacecraft inside the hospital. Still spinning, of course-at first, anyway. Cargo Lock Thirty is big enough to take it and is close enough to the water-filled corridor leading to the ward we are preparing for this patient. But I'm afraid the Colonel will be a bit sticky about allowing the spacecraft into the hospital."
The Colonel was very sticky indeed, despite Conway's arguments and the support given by O'Mara. Skempton, for the third time, gave a firm and unequivocal negative.
He said, "I realize the urgency of this matter. I fully appreciate its importance to our future hopes of trading with Meatball and I sympathize with your technical problems. But you are not, repeat not, going to bring a chemically powered spacecraft with a live retro pack inside this hospital! If it accidentally ignited we might have a hole blown in the hull which would cause a lethal pressure drop on a dozen levels, or the vehicle might go bulleting into the central computer or gravity-control sections!"
"Excuse me," said Conway angrily, and turned to the Lieutenant. He asked, "Can you ignite that retro pack, working from the ambulance ship, or disconnect it?"
"I probably couldn't disconnect it without inadvertently setting it off and burning myself to a crisp," Harrison replied slowly, "but I know enough to be able to set up a relay which.. . Yes, we could ignite it from this control room."
"Go to it, Lieutenant," said Conway, and returned to the image of Skempton. "I take it, sir, that you have no objection to taking the vessel aboard after its retro pack has been fired? Or to furnishing the special equipment I will need in the cargo lock and ward?"
"The maintenance officer on that level has orders to cooperate," said Skempton. "Good luck, Doctor. Off."
While Harrison set up his relay, Prilicla kept an emotional eye on the patient while Mannon and himself worked out the being's approximate size and weight based on the brief look Conway had had of the astronaut and on the dimensions of its ship. This information would be needed quickly if the special transporter and the rotating operating theater were to be ready in time.
"I'm still here, Doctor," said O'Mara sharply, "and I have a question. Your idea that the being needs gravity, either normal or artificial, to live I can understand, but strapping it onto an elaborate merry go-round. .
"Not a merry-go-round, sir," said Conway. "It will be mounted vertically, like a ferris wheel."
O'Mara breathed heavily through his nose. "I suppose you are quite sure that you know what you're doing, Doctor?"
"Well.. ." began Conway.
"Ask a stupid question," said the psychologist, and broke the connection.
It took longer than the Lieutenant had estimated to set up his relay- everything took longer than estimated on this assignment!-and Prilicla reported that the patient's condition was rapidly worsening. But at last the spacecraft's retros flared out for the number of seconds necessary to have brought it out of its original orbit and the ambulance ship kept pace with it, spinning it with opposing tractors as soon as thrust disappeared so that the occupant would still have the gravity it needed. There were complications even so. Immediately the retros cut out, panels opened in the nose cone and the landing parachute tumbled out and within seconds the spinning ship had wound the parachute untidily around itself.
The short period of thrust had added to the hull damage as well.
"It's leaking like a sieve!" Conway burst out. "Shoot another magnetic grapple to it. Keep it spinning and get us to Lock Thirty quick! How is the patient?"
"Conscious now," said Prilicla, trembling. "Just barely conscious and radiating extreme fear . .
Still spinning, the vehicle was maneuvered into the enormous mouth of Lock Thirty. Inside the lock chamber the artificial gravity grids under the deck were set at neutral so that the weightless conditions of space were duplicated there. Conway's feeling of vertigo, which had been with him since he had first seen the ship, was intensified by the sight of the alien vessel whirling ponderously in the enclosed space, flinging out streamers of coldly steaming water as it spun.
Then suddenly the lock's outer seal clanged shut, the tractors smoothly checked the ship's spin as, simultaneously, the artificial gravity of the deck was brought up to Meatball normal. Within a few seconds the spacecraft was resting horizontally on the deck.
"How is it?" began Conway anxiously.
Prilicla said, "Fear.. . no, extreme anxiety. The radiation is quite strong now-otherwise the being seems all right, or at least improved..
The empath gave the impression of not believing its own feelings.
The spacecraft was lifted gently and a long, low trolley mounted on balloon wheels rolled under it. Water began pouring into the lock chamber from the seal which had opened into the adjacent water-filled section. Prilicla ran up the wall and across the ceiling until it was in position a few yards above the nose of the vessel, and Mannon, Harrison and Conway waded, then swam, in the same direction. When they reached it they clustered around the forward section, ignoring the team which was throwing straps around the hull and fastening it to the trolley prior to moving it into the nearby corridor of the water-breathers, while they cut into the thin hull plating and carefully peeled it away.
Conway insisted on extreme care during this operation so as to avoid damaging the life-support machinery.
Gradually the nose section became little more than a skeleton and the astronaut lay revealed, like a leathery, brown caterpillar with its tail in its mouth that was caught on one of the innermost gear wheels of a giant clock. By this time the vessel was completely submerged, oxygen was being released into the water all around it, and Prilicla was reporting the patient's feelings as being extremely anxious and confused.
"It's confused.. ." said a familiar, irascible voice and Conway discovered O'Mara swimming beside him. Colonel Skempton was dogpaddling along on his other side, but silently. The psychologist went on, "This is an important one, Doctor, in case you've forgotten-hence our close personal interest. But now why don't you pull that glorified alarm clock apart and get the patient out of there? You've proved your theory that it needed gravity to live, and we're supplying that now. .
"No, sir," said Conway, "not just yet...
"Obviously the rotation of the being inside the capsule," Colonel Skempton broke in, "compensates for the ship's spin, thus allowing the pilot a stationary view of the outside world."
"I don't know," said Conway doggedly. "The ship's rotation does not quite match that of the astronaut inside it. In my opinion we should wait until we can transfer it quickly to the ferris wheel, which will almost exactly duplicate module conditions. I have an idea-it may be a pretty wild one-that we aren't out of the woods yet."
"But transferring the whole ship into the ward when the patient alone could be moved there in a fraction of the time. .
"No," said Conway.
"He's the Doctor," said O'Mara, before the argument could develop further, and smoothly directed the Colonel's attention to the system of paddle-wheels which kept the water-breathing astronaut's air circulating.
The enormous trolley, its weight supported in the water to a large extent by air-filled balloon tires, was manhandled along the corridor and into the tremendous tank which was one of the combined theater/wards of the hospital's water-breathing patients. Suddenly there was another complication.
"Doctor! It's coming out!"
One of the men swarming around the nose section must have accidentally pushed the astronaut's ejection button, because the narrow hatch had swung open and the system of gears, sprocket wheels and chain drives was sliding into new positions. Something which looked like three five foot diameter tires was rolling toward the opening.
The innermost tire of the three was the astronaut while the two on each side of it had a metallic look and a series of tubes running from them into the central, organic tire-probably food storage tanks, Conway thought. His theory was borne out when the outer sections stopped just inside the hatch and the alien, still trailing one of the feeding tubes, rolled out of its ship. Still turning it began to fall slowly toward the floor eight feet below.
Harrison, who was nearest, tried to break its fall but could only get one hand to it. The being tipped over and hit the floor flat on its side. It bounced slowly just once and came to rest, motionless.
"It is unconscious again, dying! Quickly, friend Conway!"
The normally polite and self-effacing empath had turned the volume of its suit radio to maximum so as to attract attention quickly. Conway acknowledged with a wave-he was already swimming toward the fallen astronaut as fast as he could-and yelled at Harrison, "Get it upright, man! Turn it!"
"What.. ." began Harrison, but he nevertheless got both hands under the alien and began to lift.
Mannon, O'Mara and Conway arrived together. With four of them working on it they quickly lifted the being into an upright position, but when Conway tried to get them to roll it, it wobbled like a huge, soggy hoop and tended to fold in on itself. Prilicla, at great danger to life and its extremely fragile limbs, landed beside them and deafened everyone with details of the astronaut's emotional radiation-which was now virtually nonexistent.
Conway yelled directions to the other three to lift the alien to waist height while keeping it upright and turning. Within a few seconds he had O'Mara pulling down on his side, Mannon lifting on his and the Lieutenant and himself at each flank turning and steadying the great, flaccid, ring-shaped body.
"Cut your volume, Prilicla!" O'Mara shouted. Then in a quieter, furious voice he snarled, "I suppose one of us knows what we're doing?"
"I think so," said Conway. "Can you speed it up-it was rotating much faster than this inside its ship. Prilicla?"
"It . . . it is barely alive, friend Conway."
They did everything possible to speed the alien's rotation while at the same time moving it toward the accommodation prepared for it. This contained the elaborate ferris wheel which Conway had ordered and a watery atmosphere which duplicated the soup of Meatball's oceans. It was not an exact duplicate because the material suspended in the soup was a nonliving synthetic rather than the living organisms found in the original, but it had the same food value and, because it was nontoxic so far as the other water breathers who were likely to use the ward were concerned, the astronaut's quarters were contained by a transparent plastic film rather than metal plating and a lock chamber. This also helped speed the process of getting the patient into its ward and onto the wheel.
Finally it was in position, strapped down and turning in the direction and at the same velocity as its "couch" on the spacecraft. Mannon, Prilicla and Conway attached themselves as close to the center of the wheel and their rotating patient as possible and, as their examination proceeded, theater staff, special instruments, diagnostic equipment and the very special, thought-controlled "tool" from Meatball added themselves or were attached to the framework of the wheel and whirled up and over and around through the nearly opaque soup.
The patient was still deeply unconscious at the end of the first hour.
For the benefit of O'Mara and Skempton, who had relinquished their places on the wheel to members of the theater staff, Conway said, "Even at close range it is difficult to see through this stuff, but as the process of breathing is involuntary and includes ingestion, and as the patient has been short of food and air for a long time, I'd prefer not to work in clear, food-free water at this time."
"My favorite medicine," said Mannon, "is food."
"I keep wondering how such a life-form got started," Conway went on. "I suppose it all began in some wide, shallow, tidal pool-so constituted that the tidal effects caused the water to wash constantly around it instead of going in and out. The patient might then have evolved from some early beastie which was continually rolled around in the shallows by the circular tides, picking up food as it went. Eventually this prehistoric creature evolved specialized internal musculature and organs which allowed it to do the rolling instead of trusting to the tides and currents, also manipulatory appendages in the form of this fringe of short tentacles sprouting from the inner circumference of its body between the series of gill mouths and eyes. Its visual equipment must operate like some form of coeleostat since the contents of its field of vision are constantly rotating.
"Reproduction is probably by direct fission," he went on, "and they keep rolling for every moment of their lives, because to stop is to die."
"But why?" O'Mara broke in. "Why must it roll when water and food can be sucked in without it having to move?"
"Do you know what is wrong with the patient, Doctor?" Skempton asked sharply, then added worriedly, "Can you treat it?"
Mannon made a noise which could have been a snort of derision, a bark of laughter or perhaps merely a strangled cough.
Conway said, "Yes and no, sir. Or, in a sense, the answer should be yes to both questions." He glanced at O'Mara to include the psychologist and went on, "It has to 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 its blood to circulate-it uses a form of gravity feed system instead of a muscular pump. You see, this creature has no heart, none at all. When it stops rolling its circulation stops and it dies within a few minutes.
"The trouble is," he ended grimly, "we may have almost stopped its circulation once too often."
"I disagree, friend Conway," said Priicla, who never disagreed with anyone as a rule. The empath's body and pipe stem legs were quivering, but slowly in the manner of a Cinrusskin who was being exposed to emotion of a comfortable type. It went on, "The patient is regaining consciousness quickly. It is fully conscious now. There is a suggestion of dull, unlocalized pain which is almost certainly caused by hunger, but this is already beginning to fade. It is feeling slightly anxious, very excited and intensely curious.
"Curious?" said Conway.
"Curiosity is the predominating emotion, Doctor."
"Our early astronauts," said O'Mara, "were very special people, too .
It was more than an hour later by the time they were finished, medically speaking, with the Meatball astronaut and were climbing out of their suits. A Corps linguist was sharing the ferris wheel with the alien with the intention of adding, with the minimum of delay, a new e-t language to the memory banks of the hospital's translation computer, and Colonel Skempton had left to compose a rather tricky message to the Captain of Descartes.
"The news isn't all good," Conway said, grinning with relief despite himself. "For one thing, our 'patient' wasn't suffering from anything other than malnutrition, partial asphyxiation and general mishandling as a result of being rescued-or rather by-by Descartes. As well, it shows no special aptitude in the use of the thought-controlled tools and seems completely unfamiliar with the things. This can only mean that there is another intelligent race on Meatball. But when our friend can talk properly I don't think there will be much difficulty getting it to help us find the real owners-it doesn't hold any grudges for the number of times we nearly killed it, Prilicla says, and.., and I don't know how we managed to come out of this so well after all the stupid mistakes we made."
"And if you are trying to extract a compliment from me for another brilliant piece of deductive reasoning, or your lucky guess," said O'Mara sourly, "you are wasting your time and mine. .
Mannon said, "Let's all have lunch."
Turning to go, O'Mara said, "You know I don't eat in public-it gives the impression that I am an ordinary human being like everyone else. Besides, I'll be too busy working out a set of tests for yet another so-called intelligent species . .
BLOOD BROTHER
This is not a purely medical assignment, Doctor," said O'Mara when Conway was summoned to the Chief Psychologist's office three days later, "although that is the most important, naturally. Should your problems develop political complications-"
"I shall be guided by the vast experience of the cultural-contact specialists of the Monitor Corps," said Conway.
"Your tone, Doctor Conway," said O'Mara dryly, "is an implied criticism of the splendid body of men and creatures to which I have the honor to belong..
The third person in the room continued to make gurgling sounds as it rotated ponderously like some large, organic prayer wheel, but otherwise said nothing.
..... But we're wasting time," O'Mara went on. "You have two days before your ship leaves for Meatball-time enough, I should think, to tidy up any personal or professional loose ends. You had better study the details of this project as much as possible, while you still have comfortable surroundings in which to work."
He continued, "I have decided, reluctantly, to exclude Doctor Prilicla from this assignment-Meatball is no place for a being who is so hypersensitive to emotional radiation that it practically curls up and dies if anyone thinks a harsh thought at it. Instead you will have Surreshun here, who has volunteered to act as your guide and adviser-although why it is doing so when it was quite literally by and nearly killed by us is a mystery to me . .
"It is because I am so brave and generous and forgiving," said Surreshun in its flat, Translated voice. Still rotating, it added, "I am also farsighted and altruistic and concerned only with the ultimate good of both our species."
"Yes," said O'Mara in a carefully neutral voice. "But our purpose it not completely altruistic. We plan to investigate and assess the medical requirements on your home planet with a view to rendering assistance in this area. Since we are also generous, altruistic and.., and highly ethical this assistance will be given freely in any case, but if you should offer to make available to us a number of those instruments, quasiliving implements, tools or what ever you choose to call them which originate on your planet-"
"But Surreshun has already told us that its race does not use them.. ." began Conway.
"And I believe it," said Major O'Mara. "But we know that they come from its home planet and it is your problem-one of your problems, Doctor-to find the people who do use them. And now, if there are no other questions . .
A few minutes later they were in the corridor. Conway looked at his watch and said, "Lunch. I don't know about you, but I always think better with my mouth full. The water breathers' section is just two levels above us- "It is kind of you to offer but I realize how inconvenient it is for
your species to eat in my environment," replied Surreshun. "My life-support equipment contains an interesting selection of food and, although I am completely unselfish and thoughtful where the comfort of my friends is concerned, I shall be returning home in two days and the opportunities of experiencing multienvironment conditions and contacts are therefore limited. I should prefer to use the dining facilities of your warm-blooded oxygen breathers."
Conway's sigh of relief was untranslatable. He merely said, "After you.
As they entered the dining hall Conway tried to decide whether to eat standing up like a Tralthan or risk giving himself a multiple hernia on a Melfan torture rack. All the Earth-human tables were taken.
Conway insinuated himself into a Melfan chair while Surreshun, whose food supply was suspended in the water it breathed, parked its mobile life-support system as close as possible to the table. He was about to order when there was an interruption. Thornnastor, the Diagnosticianin-Charge of Pathology, lumbered up, directed an eye at each of them while the other two surveyed the room at large and made a noise like a modulated foghorn.
The sounds were retransmitted in the usual toneless voice saying, "I saw you come in, Doctor and Friend Surreshun, and wondered if we might discuss your assignment for a few minutes-before you begin your meal . .
Like all its fellow Tralthans Thornnastor was a vegetarian. Conway had the choice of eating salad-a food which he considered fit only for rabbits-or waiting, as his superior had suggested, on a steak.
At the tables around them people finished their lunches and walked, undulated and, in one case, flew out to be replaced by a similar assortment of extraterrestrials, and still Thornnastor continued to discuss methods of processing the data and specimens they would be sending him and the efficient organization of this planet-sized medical examination. As the being responsible for analyzing this mass of incoming data it had very definite ideas on how the job should be handled.
But finally the pathologist lumbered off, Conway ordered his steak and for a few minutes he performed major surgery with knife and fork in silence. Then he became aware that Surreshun's Translator was making a low, erratic growling sound which was probably the equivalent of the untranslatable noise an Earth-human would make clearing his throat. He asked, "You have a question?"
"Yes," said Surreshun. It made another untranslatable sound then went on, "Brave and resourceful and emotionally stable as I am..
"Modest, too," said Conway dryly.
I cannot help but feel slightly concerned over tomorrow's visit to the being O'Mara's office. Specifically, will it hurt and are there any mental aftereffects?"
"Not a bit and none at all," said Conway reassuringly. He went onto explain the procedure used for taking a brain recording or Educator Tape, adding that the whole affair was entirely voluntary and should the idea cause Surreshun mental or physical distress it could change its mind at any time without loss of respect. It was doing the hospital a great service by allowing O'Mara to prepare this tape, a tape which would enable them to gain a full and valuable understanding of Surreshun's world and society~
Surreshun was still making the equivalent of "Aw, shucks noises when they finished their meal. Shortly afterward it left for a roll around the water-filled AUGL ward and Conway headed for his own section.
Before morning he would have to make a start on tidying up loose ends, familiarizing himself with Meatball conditions and drawing up some fairly detailed plans for procedure prior to arrival-if for no other reason than to give the corpsman who would be assisting him the idea that Sector General doctors knew what they were doing.
Currently in his charge were a ward of silver furred caterpillar Kelgians and the hospital's Tralthan maternity section. He was also responsible for a small ward of Hudlars, with their hide like flexible armor plate, whose artificial gravity system was set at five Gs and whose atmosphere was a dense, high-pressure fog-and the oddball TLTU classification entity hailing from he knew not where who breathed superheated steam. It took more than a few hours to tidy up such a collection of loose ends.
The courses of treatment or convalescence were well advanced, but he felt obliged to have a word with them all and say good-bye because they would be discharged and back on their home planets long before he returned from Meatball.
Conway had a hurried and unbalanced meal off an instrument trolley, and then decided to call Murchison. Reaction to his lengthy bout of medical dedication was setting in, he thought cynically, and he was beginning to think only of his own selfish pleasure...
But in Pathology they told him that Murchison was on duty in the methane section, encased in a small half-track vehicle-heavily insulated, jammed with heaters inside, hung with refrigerators outside-which was the only way of entering the Cold Section without both freezing herself to death within seconds and blasting the life out of every patient in the ward with her body heat.
He was able to get through to her on a relay from the ward's duty room but, remembering the ears both human and otherwise which were probably listening in, he spoke briefly and professionally about his coming assignment and the possibility that she might be able to join him on Meatball in her capacity as a pathologist, and suggested that they discuss the details on the recreation level when she came off duty. He discovered that that would not be for six hours. While she spoke he could hear in the background the ineffably sweet and delicate tinkling-like the chiming of colliding snowflakes, he thought-of a ward full of intelligent crystals talking to each other.
Six hours later they were in the recreation level, where trick lighting and some really inspired landscaping gave an illusion of spaciousness, lying on a small, tropical beach enclosed on two sides by cliffs and open to a sea which seemed to stretch for miles. Only the alien vegetation growing from the cliff tops kept it from looking like a tropical bay anywhere on Earth, but then space was at a premium in Sector General and the people who worked together were expected to play together as well.
Conway was feeling very tired and he realized suddenly that he would have been due to start tomorrow morning's rounds in two hours' time if he still had had rounds to make. But tomorrow-today, that was- would be even busier and, if he knew his O'Mara, Conway would not be completely himself.
When he awakened, Murchison was leaning over him with an expression which was a mixture of amusement, irritation and concern. Punching him not too gently in the stomach she said, "You went to sleep on me, in the middle of a sentence, over an hour ago! I don't like that-it makes me feel insecure, unwanted, unattractive to men." She went on punishing his diaphragm. "I expected to hear some inside information, at least. Some idea of the problems or dangers of your new job and how long you will be gone. At very least I expected a warm and tender farewell . .
"If you want to fight," said Conway laughing, "let's wrestle..."
But she slipped free and took off for the water. With Conway close behind she dived into the area of turbulence surrounding a Tralthan who was being taught how to swim. He thought he had lost her until a slim, tanned arm came around his neck from behind and he swallowed half of the artificial ocean.
While they were catching their breath again on the hot, artificial sand, Conway told her about the new assignment and about the tape taken from Surreshun which he was expected to take shortly. Descartes was not due to leave for another thirty-six hours, but for most of that time Conway would have delusions of being an animated doughnut which probably considered all Earth-human females as shapeless and unlovely bags of dough, or perhaps something much worse.
They left the recreation level a few minutes later, talking about the best way of wangling her release from Thornnastor, to whose elephantine species the word romance was just an unTranslatable noise.
There was no real necessity for them to leave the recreation level, of course. It was just that the Earth-human DBDGs were the only race in the Galactic Federation with a nudity taboo, and one of the very few member species with an aversion to making love in public.
Surreshun had already gone when Conway arrived in Major O'Mara's office. "You know it all already, Doctor," said the psychologist as he and Lieutenant Craythorne, his assistant, hooked him up to the Educator. "But I am nevertheless required to warn you that the first few minutes following memory transfer are the worst-it is then that the human mind feels sure that it is being taken over by the alien alter ego. This is a purely subjective phenomenon caused by the sudden influx of alien memories and experience. You must try to maintain flexibility of mind and adapt to these alien, sometimes very alien, impressions as quickly as possible. How you do this is up to you. Since this is a completely new tape I shall monitor your reactions in case of trouble. How do you feel?"
"Fine," said Conway, and yawned.
"Don't show off," said O'Mara, and threw the switch.
Conway came to a few seconds later in a small, square, alien room whose planes and outlines, like its furnishings, were too straight and sharp-edged. Two grotesque entities-a small part of his mind insisted they were his friends-towered over him, studying him with flat, wet eyes set in two faces made of shapeless pink dough. The room, its occupants and himself were motionless and...
He was dying!
Conway was aware suddenly that he had pushed O'Mara onto the floor and that he was sitting on the edge of the treatment couch, fists clenched, arms crossed tightly over his chest, swaying rapidly back and forth. But the movement did not help at all-the room was still too horrifying, dizzyingly steady! He was sick with vertigo, his vision was fading, he was choking, losing all sense of touch...
"Take it easy, lad," said O'Mara gently. "Don't fight it. Adapt."
Conway tried to swear at him but the sound which came out was like the bleat of a terrified small animal. He rocked forward and back, faster and faster, waggling his head from side to side. The room jerked and rolled about but it was still too steady. The steadiness was terrifying and lethal. How, Conway asked himself in utter desperation, does one adapt to dying?
"Pull up his sleeve, Lieutenant," said O'Mara urgently, "and hold him steady."
Conway lost control then. The alien entity who apparently had control would not allow anyone to immobilize its body-that was unthinkable! He jumped to his feet and staggered into O'Mara's desk. Still trying to find a movement which would pacify the alien inside his mind Conway crawled on hands and knees through the organized clutter on top of the desk, rolling and shaking his head.
But the alien in his mind was dizzy from standing still and the Earth human portion was dizzy from too much movement. Conway was no psychologist but he knew that if he did not think of something quickly he would end up as a patient-of O'Mara's-instead of a doctor, because his alien was firmly convinced that it was dying, right now.
Even by proxy, dying was going to be a severe traumatic experience.
He had had an idea when he climbed onto the desk, but it was hard to recall it when most of his mind was in the grip of panic reaction. Someone tried to pull him off and he kicked until they let go, but the effort made him lose his balance and he tumbled head first onto O'Mara's swivel chair. He felt himself rolling toward the floor and instinctively shot out his leg to check the fall. The chair swiveled more than 180 degrees, so he kicked out again, and again. The chair continued to rotate, erratically at first, but then more smoothly as he got the hang of it.
His body was jackknifed on its side around the back of the chair, the left thigh and knee resting flat on the seat while the right foot kicked steadily against the floor. It was not too difficult to imagine that the filing cabinets, bookshelves, office door and the figures of O'Mara and Craythorne were all lying on their sides and that he, Conway, was rotating in the vertical plane. His panic began to subside a little.
"If you stop me," said Conway, meaning every word, "I'll kick you in the face...
Craythorne's expression was ludicrous as his face wobbled into sight. O'Mara's was hidden by the open door of the drug cabinet.
Defensively Conway went on, "This is not simply revulsion to a suddenly introduced alien viewpoint-believe me, Surreshun as a person is more human than most of the taped entities I've had recently. But I can't take this one! I'm not the psychologist around here, but I don't think any sane person can adapt to a continually recurring death agony.
"On Meatball," he continued grimly, "there is no such thing as pretending to be dead, sleeping or unconsciousness. You are either moving and alive or still and dead. Even the young of Surreshun's race rotate during gestation until-"
"You've made your point, Doctor," said O'Mara, approaching once again. His right hand, palm upward, held three tablets. "I won't give you a shot because stopping you to do so will cause distress, obviously. Instead I'll give you three of these sleep-bombs. The effects will be sudden and you will be out for at least forty-eight hours. I shall erase the tape while you're unconscious. There will be a few residual memories and impressions when you awaken, but no panic.
"Now open your mouth, Doctor. Your eyes will close by themselves
Conway awoke in a tiny cabin whose austere color scheme told him that he was aboard a Federation cruiser and whose wall plaque narrowed it down to Cultural Contact and Survey vessel Descartes. An officer wearing Major's insignia was sitting in the single, fold-down chair, overcrowding the cabin while studying one of the thick Meatball files. He looked up.
"Edwards, ship's medical officer," he said pleasantly. "Nice to have you with us, Doctor. Are you awake?"
Conway yawned furiously and said, "Half."
"In that case," said Edwards, moving into the corridor so that Conway could have room to dress, "the Captain wants to see us.
Descartes was a large ship and its control room was spacious enough to contain Surreshun's life-support system without too much inconvenience to the officers manning it. Captain Williamson had invited the roller to spend most of its time there-a compliment which could be appreciated by any astronaut regardless of species-and for a being who did not know the meaning of sleep it had the advantage of always being manned. Surreshun could talk to them, after a fashion.
The vessel's computer was tiny compared with the monster which handled Translation at Sector General, and even then only a fraction of its capacity could be spared for translation purposes since it still had to serve the ship. As a result the Captain's attempts at communicating complex psycho political ideas to Surreshun were not meeting with much success.
The officer standing behind the Captain turned and he recognized Harrison. Conway nodded and said, "How's the leg, Lieutenant?"
"Fine, thank you," said Harrison. He added seriously, "It troubles me a little when it rains, but that isn't often in a spaceship..
"If you must make conversation, Harrison," said the Captain with controlled irritation, "please make intelligent conversation." To Conway he said briskly, "Doctor, its governmental system is completely beyond me-if anything it appears to be a form of paramilitary anarchy. But we must contact its superiors or, failing this, its mate or close relatives. Trouble is, Surreshun doesn't even understand the concept of parental affection and its sex relationships seem to be unusually complex..
"That they are," said Conway with feeling.
"Obviously you know more than we do on this subject," said the Captain, looking relieved. "I had hoped for this. As well as sharing minds for a few minutes it was also your patient, I'm told?"
Conway nodded. "It was not really a patient, sir, since it wasn't sick, but it cooperated during the many physiological and psychological tests. It is still anxious to return home and almost as anxious for us to make friendly contact with its people. What is the problem, sir?"
Basically the Captain's problem was that he had a suspicious mind and he was giving the Meatball natives credit for having similar minds. So far as they were concerned Surreshun, the first being of their race to go into space, had been swallowed up by Descartes' cargo lock and taken away.
"They expected to lose me," Surreshun put in at that point, "but they did not expect to have me stolen."
Their subsequent reaction on Descartes' return was predictable- every form of nastiness of which they were capable had been hurled at the ship. The nuclear missiles were easily evaded or knocked out, but Williamson had withdrawn because their warheads had been of a particularly dirty type and surface life would have been seriously affected by fallout if the attack had been allowed to continue. Now he was returning again, this time with Meatball's first astronaut, and he must prove to the planetary authorities and/or Surreshun's friends that nothing unpleasant had happened to it.
The easiest way of doing this would be to go into orbit beyond the range of their missiles and let Surreshun itself spend as much time as necessary convincing its people that it had not been tortured or had its mind taken over by some form of monstrous alien life like the Captain. Its vehicle's communications equipment had been duplicated so there was no technical problem. Nevertheless, Williamson felt that the proper procedure would be for him to communicate with the Meatball authorities and apologize for the mistake before Surreshun spoke.
"The original purpose of this exercise was to make friendly contact with these people," Williamson concluded, "even before you people at the hospital got so excited about these thought-controlled tools and decided that you wanted more of them."
"My reason for being here is not altogether commercial," said Conway, in the tone of one whose conscience is not altogether clear. He went on, 'So far as the present problem is concerned, I can help you. The difficulty stems from your not understanding their complete lack of parental and filial affection or any other emotional ties other than the brief but very intense bond which exists prior to and during the mating process. You see, they really do hate their fathers and everyone else who . .
"Help us, he said," muttered Edwards.
Everyone else who is directly related to them," Conway went on.
"As well, some of Surreshun's more unusual memories have remained in my mind. This sometimes occurs after exposure to an unusually alien personality, and these people are unusual. .
The structure of Meatball's society until the fairly recent past had been a complete reversal of what most intelligent species considered normal. Outwardly it was an anarchy in which the most respected people were the rugged individualist, the far travelers, the beings who lived dangerously and continually sought for new experiences. Cooperation and self-imposed discipline was necessary for mutual protection, of course, since the species had many natural enemies, but this was completely foreign to their natures and only the cowards and weaklings who put safety and comfort above all else were able to overcome the shame of close physical cooperation.
In the early days this stratum of society was considered to be the lowest of the low, but it had been one of them who had devised a method of allowing a person to rotate and live without having to travel along the sea bed. This, the ability to live while remaining stationary, was analogous to the discovery of fire or the wheel on Earth and had been the beginning of technological development on Meatball.
As the desire for comfort, safety and cooperation grew the number of rugged individualists dwindled-they tended to be killed off rather frequently, in any case. Real power came to lie in the stubby tentacles of the beings who worried about the future or who were so curious about the world around them that they were willing to do shameful things and give up practically all of their physical freedom to satisfy it. They made a token admission of guilt and lack of authority, but they were, in fact, the real rulers. The individualists who were nominally the rulers had become figureheads with one rather important exception.
The reason for this topsy-turvy arrangement was a deep, sex-based revulsion toward all blood relations. Since the rollers of Meatball had evolved in a fairly small and confined area and had been forced to move continually within this area, physical contact for mating purposes-a wholly instinctive affair in presapient times-was much more likely to occur between relatives than complete strangers, they had evolved an effective safeguard against inbreeding.
Surreshun's species reproduced hermaphroditically. Each parent after mating grew their twin offspring, one on each side of their bodies like continuous 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 onto its side, stop and die. But this type of fatality occurred less frequently now that there were machines to maintain the parent's rotation until it was out of danger. But the points where the children eventually detached themselves form their parents remained very sensitive areas to everyone concerned and their positions were governed by hereditary factors. The result was that any close blood relation trying to make mating contact caused itself and the other being considerable pain. The rollers really did hate their fathers and every other relative. They had no choice.
..... And the very brief period of courtship," Conway added in conclusion, "explains the apparent boastfulness we have observed in Surreshun. During a chance convergence on the sea bottom there is never much time to impress an intended mate with the strength and beauty of one's personality, so that modesty is definitely a no survival characteristic."
The Captain gave Surreshun a long, thoughtful look, then turned back to Conway. "I take it, Doctor, that our friend, because of the long training and discipline necessary to its becoming Meatball's first astronaut, belongs to the lowest social stratum even though unofficially it may be quite well thought of?"
Conway shook his head. "You're forgetting, sir, the importance- again this is tied in with the avoidance of inbreeding-which these people place on the far travelers who bring back new blood and knowledge. In this respect Surreshun is unique. As the planet's first astronaut it is top dog no matter which way you view it-it is the most respected being on its world and its influence is, well, considerable."
The Captain did not speak, but his features were stretching themselves into the unusual, for them, configuration of a smile.
"Speaking as one who had been inside looking out," said Conway, "you can be sure that it doesn't hold a grudge over being kidnapped-it feels obligated to us, in fact-and that it will cooperate during contact procedure. Just remember, sir, to stress our differences to these people. They are the strangest species we have encountered-which is literally true. Be especially careful not to talk about us all being brothers under the epidermis, or that we belong to the great, galaxy-wide family of intelligent life. 'Family' and 'brother' are dirty words!"
Shortly afterward Williamson called a meeting of the cultural contact and communications specialists to discuss Conway's new information. Despite the poor translation facilities available on Descartes, by the time the watch-keeping officers in the control room had been relieved for the second time they had completed plans for making contact with the natives of Meatball.
But the senior cultural-contact specialist was still not satisfied-he wanted to study the culture in depth. Normal civilizations, he insisted, were based upon the extension of family ties to tribe, village and country until eventually the world was untied. He could not see how a civilization could rise without such cooperation at family and tribal level, but he thought that a closer study of personal relationships, might clarify things. Perhaps Doctor Conway would like to take the Surreshun tape again?
Conway was tired, irritable and hungry. His reply was forestalled by Major Edwards who said, "No! Definitely not! O'Mara has given me strict instructions about this. With respect, Doctor, he forbids it even if you are stupid enough to volunteer. This is one species whose tapes are unusable. Dammit, I'm hungry and I don't want more sandwiches!"
"Me, too," said Conway.
"Why are doctors always hungry?" asked the CC officer.
"Gentlemen," said the Captain tiredly.
"Speaking personally," Conway said, "it is because my entire adult life had been devoted to the unselfish service of others and my wide powers of healing and surgical skill instantly available at any time of the day or night. The tenets of my great and altruistic profession demand no less. These sacrifices-the long hours, inadequate sleep and irregular meals-I suffer willingly and without complaint. If I should think of food more often than seems normal for lesser beings it is because some medical emergency may arise to make the next meal uncertain and eating now will enable me to bring a greater degree of skill-even laymen like yourselves must appreciate the effect of malnutrition on mind and muscle- to the aid of my patient."
He added dryly, "There is no need to stare, gentlemen. I am merely preparing my mind for contact with Surreshun's people by pretending that modesty does not exist."
For the remainder of the voyage Conway divided his time between Communications and Control talking to the Captain, Edwards and Surreshun. But by the time Descartes materialized inside the Meatball solar system he had gained very little useful information on the practice of medicine on the planet and even less about its medical practitioners.
Contact with his opposite numbers on Meatball was essential for the success of the assignment.
But curative surgery and medicine were very recent developments which had become possible only when the species learned how to rotate while remaining in one position. There were vague references to another species, however, who acted as physicians of sorts. From Surreshun's description they seemed to be part physician, part parasite and part predator. Carrying one of them was a very risky business which very often caused imbalance, stoppage and death in the patient's continually rotating body. The doctor, Surreshun insisted, was more to be feared than the disease.
With the limited translation facilities it was unable to explain how the beings communicated with their patients. Surreshun had never met one personally nor was it on rolling-together terms with anyone who had. The nearest it could express it was that they made direct contact with the patient's soul.
"Oh Lord," said Edwards, "what next?"
"Are you praying or just relieving your feelings?" asked Conway.
The Major grinned, then went on seriously, "If our friend uses the word 'soul' it is because your hospital translator carries the word with an equivalent Meatball meaning. You'll just have to signal the hospital to find out what that overgrown electronic brain thinks a soul is."
"O'Mara," said Conway, "will begin wondering about my mental health again. .
By the time the answer arrived Captain Williamson had successfully made his apologies to the Meatball non-authorities and Surreshun had painted such a glowing picture of the utter strangeness of the Earth humans that their welcome was assured. Descartes had been requested to remain in orbit, however, until a suitable landing area had been marked out and cleared.
"According to this," said Edwards as he passed the signal flimsy to Conway, "the computer's definition of 'soul' is simply 'the life of principle.' O'Mara says the programmers did not want to confuse it with religious and philosophical factors by including material or immortal souls. So far as the translation computer is concerned if a thing is alive then it has a soul. Apparently Meatball physicians make direct contact with their patients' life-principle."
"Faith healing, do you think?"
"I don't know, Doctor," said Edwards. "It seems to me that your Chief Psychologist isn't being much help on this one. And if you think I'm going to help by giving you Surreshun's tape again, save your breath."
Conway was surprised at the normal appearance of Meatball as seen from orbit. It was not until the ship was within ten miles of the surface that the slow wrinklings and twitchings of the vast carpets of animal tissue which crawled over the land surface became obvious, and the unnatural stillness of the thick, soupy sea. Only along the shorelines was there activity. Here the sea was stirred into a yellow-green forth by water-dwelling predators large and small tearing furiously at the living coastline while the "land" fought just as viciously back.
Descartes came down about two miles off a peaceful stretch of coast in the center of an area marked with brightly colored floats, completely hidden in the cloud of steam produced by its tail flare. As the stern slipped below the surface, thrust was reduced and it came to rest gently on the sandy sea bottom. The great mass of boiled water produced by the flare drifted slowly away on the tide and the people began to roll up.
Literally, thought Conway.
Like great soggy doughnuts they rolled out of the green liquid fog and up to the base of the ship, then around and around it. When outcroppings of rock or a spiky sea growth got in the way they wobbled ponderously around it, sometimes laying themselves almost flat for an instant if forced to reverse direction, but always maintaining their constant rate of rotation and the maximum possible distance from each other.
Conway waited for a decent interval to allow Surreshun to descend the ramp and be properly welcomed by its non-friends. He was wearing a lightweight suit identical to the type used in the water breather's section of the hospital, both for comfort and to show as much as possible of his oddly shaped body to the natives. He stepped off the side of the ramp and fell slowly toward the sea bottom, listening to the translated voices of Surreshun, the VIPs and the louder members of the circling crowd.
When he touched bottom he thought he was being attacked at first. Every being in the vicinity of the ship tried to score the nearest possible miss on him and each one said something as it passed. The suit mike picked up the sound as a burbling grunt but the translator, because it was a simple message within the capabilities of the ship's computer, relayed it as "Welcome stranger."
There could be no doubt about their sincerity-on this cockeyed world the warmth of a welcome was directly proportional to the degree of strangeness. And they did not mind answering questions one little bit. From here on in, Conway was sure his job would be easy.
Almost the first thing he discovered was that they had no real need of his professional services.
It was a society whose members never stopped moving through and around "towns" which were simply facilities for manufacture, learning or research rather than large groupings of living quarters-on Meatball there were no living quarters. After a period of work on a mechanically rotated frame the doughnut slipped out of its retaining harness and rolled away to seek food, exercise, excitement or strange company somewhere across the sea bed.
There was no sleep, no physical contact other than for reproduction, no tall buildings, no burial places.
When one of the rollers stopped due to age, accident or a run-in with one of the predators or a poison-spined plant it was ignored. The generation of internal gases which took place shortly after death caused the body to float to the surface where the birds and fish disposed of it.
Conway spoke to several beings who were too old to roll and who were being kept alive by artificial feeding while they were rotated in their individual ferris wheels. He was never quite sure whether they were kept alive because of their value to the community or simply the subject of experimentation. He knew that he was seeing geriatrics being practiced, but other than a similar form of assistance with difficult births this was the only form of medicine he encountered.
Meanwhile the survey teams were mapping the planet and bringing in specimens by the boatload. Most of this material was sent to Sector General for processing and very soon detailed analysis suggestions for treatment began coming from Thornnastor. According to the Diagnostician-Pathologist Meatball had a medical problem of the utmost urgency. Conway and Edwards, who had had a preliminary look at the data and a number of low-level flights over the planetary surface, could not have agreed more.
"We can begin a preliminary diagnosis of the planet's troubles," said Conway angrily, "which are caused by the rollers being too damned free with the use of nuclear weapons! But we still badly need a local appreciation of the medical situation and that we are not getting. The big question is-"
"Is there a doctor in the house?" said Edwards, grinning. "And if so, where?"
"Exactly," said Conway. He did not laugh.
Outside the direct vision port the slow, turgid waves reflected the moonlight through a curtain of surface mist. The moon, which was approaching Roche's Limit and disintegration, would pose the inhabitants of Meatball yet another major problem-but not for another million years or so. At the moment it was a great jagged crescent illuminating the sea, the two hundred feet of Descartes which projected above the surface and the strangely peaceful shoreline.
Peaceful because it was dead and the predators refused to eat carrion.
"If I built a rotating framework for myself would O'Mara.. . ?" began Conway.
Edwards shook his head. "Surreshun's tape is more dangerous than you think-you were very lucky not to have lost all of your marbles, permanently. Besides, O'Mara has already thought of that idea and discarded it. Rotating yourself while under the influence of the tape, either in a swivel chair or in a gadget built by our machine shop, will fool your mind for only a few minutes, he says. But I'll ask him again, if you like?"
"I'll take your word for it," said Conway. Thoughtfully, he went on, "The question I keep asking myself is where on this planet is a doctor most likely to be found. Suppose the answer is where the greatest number of casualties occur, that is, along the coastlines-"
"Not necessarily," Edwards objected. "One doesn't normally find a doctor in a slaughterhouse. And don't forget that there is another intelligent race on this planet, the makers of those thought-controlled tools. Isn't it possible that your doctors belong to this race and your answer lies outside the roller culture entirely?"
"True," said Conway. "But here we have the willing cooperation of the natives and we should make all possible use of it. I shall ask permission, I think, to follow one of our far-traveling doughnuts next time it sets off on a trip. It may be like having a third party along on a honeymoon and I may be told politely where to go with my request, but it is obvious that there are no doctors in the towns or settled areas and it is only the travelers who have a chance of meeting one. Meanwhile," he ended, "let's try to find that other intelligent species."
Two days later Conway made contact with a non-relative of Surreshun who worked in the nearby power station, a nuclear reactor in which he felt almost at home because it had four solid walls and a roof. The roller was planning a trip along an unsettled stretch of coast at the end of its current work period which, Conway estimated, would last two or three days. The being's name was Camsaug and it did not mind Conway coming along provided he did not stay too close if certain circumstances arose. It described the circumstances in detail and without apparent shame.
Camsaug had heard about the "protectors," but only at second or third hand. They did not cut people and sew them up again as Conway's doctors did-it did not know what they did exactly, only that they often killed the people they were supposed to protect. They were stupid, slow moving beings who for some odd reason stayed close to the most active and dangerous stretches of shore.
"Not a slaughterhouse, Major, a battlefield," said Conway smugly. "You expect to find doctors on a battlefield. .
But they could not wait for Camsaug to start its vacation-Thornnastor's reports, the samples brought in by the scout ships and their own unaided eyes left no doubt about the urgency of the situation.
Meatball was a very sick planet. Surreshun's people had been much too free in the use of their newly discovered atomic energy. Their reason for this was that they were an expanding culture which could not afford to be hampered by the constant threat of the massive land beasts. By detonating a series of nuclear devices a few miles inland, taking good care that the wind would not blow the fallout onto their own living area, of course, they had killed large areas of the land beast. They were now able to establish bases on the dead land to further their scientific investigation in many fields.
They did not care that they spread blight and cancer over vast areas far inland-the great carpets were their natural enemy. Hundreds of their people were stopped and eaten by the land beasts every year and now they were simply getting their own back.
"Are these carpets alive and intelligent?" asked Conway angrily as their scout ship made a low-level run over an area which seemed to be afflicted with advanced gangrene. "Or are there small, intelligent organisms living in or under it? No matter which, Surreshun's people will have to stop chucking their filthy bombs about!"
"I agree," said Edwards. "But we'll have to tell them tactfully. We are their guests, you know."
"You shouldn't have to tell a man tactfully to stop killing himself!"
"You must have had unusually intelligent patients, Doctor," said Edwards dryly. He went on, "If the carpets are intelligent and not just stomachs with the attachments for keeping them filled they should have eyes, ears and some kind of nervous system capable of reacting to outside stimuli-"
"When Descartes landed first there was quite a reaction," said Harrison from the pilot's position. "The beastie tried to swallow us! We'll be passing close to the original landing site in a few minutes. Do you want to look at it?"
"Yes, please," said Conway. Thoughtfully, he added, "Opening a mouth could be an instinctive reaction from a hungry and unintelligent beast. But intelligence of some kind was present because those thought controlled tools came aboard."
They cleared the diseased area and began to chase their shadow across large patches of vivid green vegetation. Unlike the types which recycled air and wastes these were tiny plants which served no apparent purpose. The specimens which Conway had examined in Descartes' lab had had very long, thin roots and four wide leaves which rolled up tight to display their yellow undersides when they were shaded from the light. Their scout ship trailed a line of rolled-up leaves in the wake of its shadow as if the surface was a bright green oscilloscope screen and the ship's shadow a high-persistency spot.
Somewhere in the back of Conway's mind an idea began to take shape, but it dissolved again as they reached the original landing site and began to circle.
It was just a shallow crater with a lumpy bottom, Conway thought, and not at all like a mouth. Harrison asked if they wanted to land, in a tone which left no doubt that he expected the answer to be "No."
"Yes," said Conway.
They landed in the center of the crater. The doctors put on heavy duty suits as protection against the plants which, both on land and under sea, defended themselves by lashing out with poison-thorn branches or shooting lethal quills at anything that came too close. The ground gave no indication of opening up and swallowing them so they went outside, leaving Harrison ready to take off in a hurry should it decide to change its mind.
Nothing happened while they explored the crater and immediate surroundings, so they set up the portable drilling rig to take back some local samples of skin and underlying tissue. All scout ships carried these rigs and specimens had been taken from hundreds of areas all over the planet. But here the specimen was far from typical-they had to drill through nearly fifty feet of dry, fibrous skin before they came to the pink, spongy, underlying tissue. They transferred the rig to a position outside the crater and tried again. Here the skin was only twenty feet thick, the planetary average.
"This bothers me," said Conway suddenly. "There was no oral cavity, no evidence of operating musculature, no sign of any kind of opening. It can't be a mouth!"
"It wasn't an eye it opened," said Harrison on the suit frequency. "I was there.., here, I mean."
"It looks just like scar tissue," said Conway. "But it's too deep to have been formed only as a result of burning by Descartes' tail flare. And why did it just happen to have a mouth here anyway, just where the ship decided to land? The chances against that happening are millions to one. And why haven't other mouths been discovered inland? We've surveyed every square mile of the land mass, but the only surface mouth to appear was a few minutes after Descartes landed. Why?"
"It saw us coming and.. ." began Harrison.
"What with?" said Edwards.
..... Or fit us land, then, and decided to form a mouth..