Sector general omnibus, p.275
Sector General Omnibus, page 275
“You are assuming that the alien casualties are non-organic life forms,” he replied. “That may not be so. But I have no wish to answer the same questions twice, so keep your communications channel open and listen in while I talk to the captain. I can feel friend Fletcher very badly wanting to talk to me.”
“You’re right, Doctor,” said the captain as he flew onto the control deck a few minutes later. It gestured towards the communicator whose monitor light was showing and went on, “What was that all about? Other-species casualties? What did you find after I left you alone back there?”
Prilicla hesitated, but not for long because the other’s impatience was so intense that it was making him tremble. He said, “I’m not sure what it was that I found, and even less sure of what it means . . .”
Briefly he described the events following the captain’s departure for Rhabwar, the silent but obvious efforts of the robot crew member to entice him to follow it forward to the end of the central passageway where he could go no farther, and all that he had seen, thought, and felt there.
“. . . On the way back,” he continued, “I decided that I had enough time to spare before I fell asleep to explore the ship’s stern, and followed the passageway all the way aft. The inside of of that ship is like a three-dimensional spider’s web, with thin supporting and bracing members, open-netting passageways, and most of all, cable runs linking the major internal structures. Considering the color-coding on the majority of the cable looms I saw—especially those linking the microcircuitry underlying the ship’s outer hull to what is presumably the control center forward—there are close similarities in the overall structure to the layout of major organs, musculature, and central nervous system of an organic life-form. The skin is highly sensitive and we know how it can react to an attack, or what it thinks is an attack, by an outside agency.
“We were safe,” he went on quickly, “because we entered through the damaged hatch, which is analogous to a traumatized and desensitized surface wound. The forward structure obviously houses the brain and . . .”
“Wait, wait,” said the captain, holding up one hand. “Are you telling me that the whole ship is alive? That it’s an intelligent, self-willed star-traveling
machine like its robot crew members, only bigger? And that all that stopped you getting into its computer superbrain—or, from what we overheard you tell Pathologist Murchison, its two superbrains—was a simple, structural impediment and your lack of physical endurance?”
“Not exactly,” Prilicla replied. “There has to be a non-organic interface, but I’m beginning to suspect that the two controlling brains belong to organic life-forms, with feelings. I won’t be able to prove that until you find a way of getting me into the brain housing.
I need to go back inside that ship,” he ended, “for an extended stay.”
The captain and everyone else on the control deck were staring at him, their emotional radiation too complex for indi-ual feelings to be isolated. It was Murchison on the communicator who broke the silence.
“Sir,” it said, “I strongly advise against this. We’re not dealing with ordinary casualties here . . .”
“Define an ‘ordinary casualty,’” said Prilicla quietly.
“. . . being recovered from the usual run of space wreckage,” it went on, ignoring the interruption. “This could be—in fact it was, so far as Terragar was concerned—an actively hostile vessel. Its hyperdrive is out, but otherwise there appears to be only superficial hull damage. In spite of your theory that its sensors are only skin-deep, there may be internal booby-traps that could injure or kill you because you don’t understand the technology behind them. Captain Fletcher is the specialist in other-species technology. At least let him open up this metal cranium before you go in.”
While Murchison had been speaking, the captain had been nodding its head and radiating agreement.
“I agree with both of you,” Prilicla said. “The trouble is that while the captain is a topflight solver of alien puzzles, it is not an empath. The moment-to-moment feelings of the beings we are trying to recover could be a very important guide to whether or not we are doing the rescue work properly. The captain and myself will do it together.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said, gently changing the subject, “is the information you have now enough to send that hyperspace message?”
“Enough for a preliminary report,” the captain replied, radiating anxiety. “My problem will be making it short enough not to drain our power reserves.”
Prilicla was well aware of the problem. Unlike the detonation of a hyperspace distress beacon, which was simply a location signal and an incoherent cry for help, this message had to carry intelligence. It had to carry it in spite of all the intervening sun-spot activity, charged gas clouds, and other forms of stellar interference that would be tearing it into incoherent shreds. The only solution that had been found was to make the message brief and concise and to repeat it as many times as the transmitting station’s available power would allow so that a receiver could process it filter out the interstellar mush, and piece the remaining fragments together to obtain something like the original signal. A surface station with virtually unlimited power reserves, a major space installation like Sector General, or even one of the Monitor Corps’ enormous capital ships could send messages lengthy enough for later processing with clarity. Smaller vessels like Rhab-war had to reduce the possibility of additional local interference from a planet’s gravity field by transmitting their signals from space, and even then they had to trust to the experience and intuition of the person manning the receiver.
But the captain was radiating a level of anxiety greater than that warranted by simple concern over the wording of a condensed situation report.
“Is the necessarily compressed wording of the signal your only problem,” Prilicla asked, “or are the two new aliens a complication?”
“Yes, and no,” the captain replied. “There will be too few words available for me to include either complicated arguments or reasons for what I want done. Are you quite sure that the two new ones you found are organic rather than robotic life-forms? And would you object if the signal expressed doubt on that point?”
“No, and no,” said Prilicla. “The emotional contact was tenuous. Perhaps it is possible for a really advanced computer to have feelings, but there is doubt in my mind. Something else is worrying you, friend Fletcher. What is it?”
The captain sighed, and embarrassment diluted its feelings of anxiety as it said, “This whole situation is potentially very dangerous and, if it isn’t handled correctly, it could develop into a greater threat to the Pax Galactica than the Etlan War . . . I mean, police action. I want to order this solar system to be placed quarantine, interdicted to all service and commercial traffic and contact forbidden to all personnel other than those presently on-site. That includes medical assistance, first-contact specialists or technical investigators, and there must be no exceptions.
“My worry,” it ended quietly, “is whether or not my superiors will obey that order.”
In spite of its efforts at emotional control, the captain was radiating a level of concern that verged on outright fear. Fletcher, as Prilicla knew from long experience of working with it, rarely felt fear even in situations where it would have been warranted. Perhaps, considering their initial contact with the outwardly undamaged but utterly devastated Terragar, the other was frightening itself needlessly. Or, more likely, it understood the nature of this technological threat better than could a medic like himself. Either way, it was a time to offer reassurance.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said, “please remember who and what you are. You are the Corps’ most experienced and respected specialist in the investigation of unique other-species technology, otherwise you would not have been given operational command of this, the greatest and most non-specialized recovery vessel ever built. When your superiors consider this fact, I have no doubt that your orders will be obeyed.
“I’m assuming,” Prilicla went on, “that the medical team will remain here with Rhabwar since we are best-suited to solving a unique problem that is both technological and medical. However, allowances must be made for the natural curiosity of your higher-ranking colleagues. They will probably send at least one fast courier vessel for information-gathering purposes, in addition to the ship we need to transfer the Terragar casualties to Sector General . . .”
“My point exactly!” Fletcher broke in, a burst of anger briefly overshadowing its anxiety. “A quarantine is either in force or it isn’t, but for what may or may not prove to be good, medical reasons, even you are willing to break it. Everyone must be made to realize that we are faced with the technological equivalent of a plague. You and your team know this, you’ve seen what it can, for yourselves, and still you are willing to compromise by . . .” It raised its hands briefly and radiated helplessness. “If I can’t convince you, what chance is there of a mere captain and glorified ambulance driver telling fleet commanders and and higher what to do and making it stick? I don’t have enough bloody rank.”
“Together, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla, “we might have enough. I suggest you draft the signal you wish to send, and if you wouldn’t mind, let me see it and perhaps suggest amendments before transmission with a view to increasing its effectiveness—
“I’d do that anyway,” the captain broke in angrily, “as a matter of professional courtesy. But I won’t promise to insert your changes. Considering the power requirements, that signal must be clear, concise, and contain absolutely no excess verbiage.”
“. . . While you’re doing that,” Prilicla went on gently, as if the interruption was a figment of everyone’s imagination, “I’ll check on the condition of the Earth-human casualties before trying to get close enough to identify the two on the alien ship.”
The captain was radiating feelings of disbelief. “You mean you want to go back
in there?”
“As soon as possible,” he replied.
Within the first few minutes it became clear that he was not urgently required in the medical station. Terragar’s casualties were stable, responding well to treatment, and showing signs of significant improvement although the grafting, reconstructive surgery and lower-limb replacements should be done as soon as Practicable at the hospital. But if he was reading correctly be-tween the lines of dialogue, there was a problem. Unlike his em-Phatic faculty, intuition was not affected by distance.
I think there is something other than the patients’ clinical condition worrying you, friend Murchison,” he said. “What is the Problem, and does it require my presence?”
No, sir,” the other replied quickly. “I’m ashamed to say, the problem is sheer boredom. We’re all cooped up in this bunch of high-tech medical shoeboxes with virtually nothing to fill our time except watch the patients getting better while outside the sun is shining, the sea is blue, and the sand is warm. It’s as environmentally perfect as the hospital’s recreation deck except that it’s bigger and it’s real. Sir, it feels as if we’re on vacation but confined to our hotel bedrooms.
“Subject to the usual safety checks,” it went on, “we’d like permission to take turns exercising and relaxing outside. This really is a lovely place. The casualties would benefit from the fresh air and sunshine as well, especially if our stay here is likely to be extended. Is it?”
“It is,” said Prilicla. “Rhabwar will have to remain in orbit to investigate the alien vessel and its crew, who may themselves be with you soon as casualties. Permission granted, friend Mur-chison. But remember that this is a completely strange as well as a pleasant world, so be very careful.”
“You, too, sir,” she replied.
He ended the transmission as the captain pointed at its own screen and spoke.
“You wanted to see this before I send it off,” it said. “Well, what do you think?”
Prilicla hovered above the screen for a moment, studying it, then he said, “With respect, friend Fletcher, I think it is too polite, too subservient, and too long. You should tell your superiors what you want done, as I will also do, without regard to the high rank of those concerned. Because of our knowledge of the situation here, limited as it is, we have the rank. May I?”
He felt Fletcher’s agreement before it could reply, and dropped his feather-light digits onto the keyboard. The original draft, scaled down, moved to the corner of the screen and the new one appeared. It read:
TO: GALACTIC FEDERATION EXECUTIVE; COPIES FEDERATION MEDICAL COUNCIL; SECTOR TWELVE GENERAL HOSPITAL; MONITOR CORPS HIGH COMMAND; SECTOR MARSHAL DERMOD,
FLEET COMMANDERS, ALL SHIP CAPTAINS, AND OFFICERS OF SUBORDINATE RANK.
WITH IMMEDIATE EFFECT THIS SOLAR SYSTEM IS TO BE PLACED IN QUARANTINE.
REASONS: UNIQUE TECHNOLOGICAL AND/OR MEDICAL THREAT BY DISTRESSED ALIEN SHIP MOUNTING UNIQUE WEAPONRY CAPABLE OF DESTROYING ALL SPACE VESSELS REGARDLESS OF SIZE OR POWER RESOURCES. DISTANCE IS ONLY KNOWN SAFEGUARD.
THREE TERRAGAR SURVIVORS RECOVERED. RHABWAR INVESTIGATING ALIEN SHIP AND TRYING TO CONTACT CREW.
REQUEST TWO COMMUNICATIONS VESSELS TO BE STATIONED MINIMUM OF FIVE MILLION MILES DISTANCE TO RELAY LATER INFORMATION AS IT BECOMES AVAILABLE. ALL OTHER VESSELS AND PERSONNEL REGARDLESS OF SPECIALITY OR RANK ARE EXPRESSLY ORDERED TO STAY CLEAR.
NO REPEAT NO EXCEPTIONS. FLETCHER, COMMANDING RHABWAR
PRILICLA SENIOR PHYSICIAN, SECTOR GENERAL
For a long moment the captain stared at the screen while it regained control of its feelings, then it said reluctantly, “It’s shorter and . . . well, better. But Sector Marshal Dermod doesn’t usually receive messages like this from subordinates. He and his staff will probably have a collective fit. I didn’t realize, Doctor, that you could be so, so . . .”
“Nasty?” said Prilicla. “You’re forgetting, friend Fletcher, that your sector marshal is halfway across the Galaxy, and I am unable to detect its emotional radiation over interstellar distances.”
CHAPTER 13
It was a rule of interspecies medicine to which no exception had ever been found that pathogens which had evolved on one world could not affect or infect any creature belonging to another. There was nothing in this world’s microbiology, therefore, that could threaten her. But that did not stop Danalta, in the respectful manner befitting a subordinate, from insisting that Murchison take no chances with the life-forms that were large enough to see.
The shape-changer had already scouted the beach, shallows, and the trees and undergrowth inland to a distance of five hundred meters, for evidence of large and possibly harmful life-forms. A few varieties of water-breathing and amphibious creatures inhabited the shallows, tiny animals and insects crawled or flew among the tree roots and branches, but none of them were large enough to constitute a physical threat. This did not mean that they could be completely ignored. Pathogens could not jump the off-world species barrier, Danalta reminded her unnecessarily, but insects secreting organic toxins in poison sacs were capable of delivering painful if not lethal stings, the crablike sea-dwellers could nip, and all of them, should they feel threatened or hungry enough, could bite.
That was why she was walking along a golden beach without the gentle abrasion of hot sand between her toes while, “from her uncovered face and the backs of her bare hands, much of the sun’s heat was being reflected away by her white rails In this situation she would have preferred to wear much and the other members of the team would neither have cared or noticed if she had worn nothing at all because Earth-humans were one of the few intelligent species with a nudity taboo. The others covered themselves only when their working environment required the wearing of body protection. In spite of her advancing years, Peter kept telling her with maximum ardor and minimum poetry—and when his brain was not so busy with other-species mind partners that he was unsure of who and what he was and why they were lying together—that she was in very good shape.
She wished he were with her now, under this real sky rather than the artificial one on the hospital’s crowded recreation deck, with his mind his own, its professional concerns forgotten, and his attention concentrated entirely on her. But, she supposed, being the life-mate of the renowned Conway, Sector General’s Diagnostician-in-Charge of Other-Species Surgery, had to have a few disadvantages. He couldn’t take a vacation of opportunity like this just because she wanted to and he probably needed it. She sighed and continued walking.
Beside her Danalta rolled silently over the sand. In keeping with the occasion, and because it liked to give gratuitous exhibitions of its shape-changing prowess, it had adopted the form a recreational plaything much-favored by Earth-humans, a large beach ball. It was covered overall by triangles of garish red, yellow and blue; the eye, ear, and mouth were inconspicuous -. the visual effect was quite realistic, but the track that it made in the sand was too deep to have been made by an air-filled ball. Danalta regardless of the shape it took, was unable to reduce its considerable body-weight. The pretty ball would never bounce. Would you like to move inland?” said Danalta, stopping suddenly and extruding a bright green, Earth-human hand and index finger to point. “That hill is only a mile away and seems to be the highest point on the island. From there we might be able to see features of special interest to explore later, and possibly the nearer islands.”
As well as being a show-off, the polymorph was intensely curious about everything regardless of shape or size, and the harder it was to mimic, the better it liked it.
“Fine,” said Murchison. “But in case we’re needed urgently I want to stay as close as possible to our patients. There’s a stream that runs past the med station into the sea. We’ll go back and follow it inland to its source, which should be on high ground. Do you agree?”
It was a rhetorical question, and even though she wasn’t in the habit of pushing her rank, they both knew it. For the first hundred meters or so, the nearby environment could have been that found on any sun-drenched, tropical island on her home world. The stream was less than two meters wide but fast-flowing so that the stones on its bed were washed clean and showed many different colors and patterns of veining. It was only when her walk, and Danalta’s roll, took them inland and under the trees that the differences began to show. The chlorophyll-green of the leaves looked the same but the shapes were subtly different as was the soft carpet which was not of grass that grew along the banks of the stream from damp earth that was not of Earth. A little shiver of pure wonder made her twitch her shoulders, as it always did when she encountered a completely alien planet that looked and felt so entirely familiar. Then as they moved deeper under the trees, the amount of vegetation bearing large, sunflower-like blooms increased. The petals on many of them had dropped away to reveal clusters of pale green fruit buds. There would be no problem with cross-pollination here, she thought as the insects began to swarm.
