by James White
Choosing her words with care, she said, “As yet I am too ignorant and confused by all this to ask the right questions. But could I begin by asking for a detailed clarification of your own duties and responsibilities, and the class of patient you treat?”
The answer left her feeling more confused than ever.
“I don’t treat patients,” Danalta replied, “and unless there was a major surgical emergency, I would not be asked to do so. As for my duties, I am part of the medical team on Rhabwar. That is the hospital’s special ambulance ship, which carries an operational crew of Monitor Corps officers and a medical team that assumes overall authority once the ship has reached the location of the vessel in distress or, as the case may be, the site of the disaster.
“The medical team,” it went on, ignoring Cha Thrat’s confusion, “which is led by the Cinrusskin empath, Prilicla, also comprises Pathologist Murchison, an Earth-human female; Charge Nurse Naydrad, a Kelgian experienced in space rescue work; and myself. My job is to use the shape-changing ability to reach and render first aid to casualties who might be trapped in areas inaccessible to beings of limited physical adaptability, and do whatever I can to help the injured until the rescue crew is able to extricate and move them to the ambulance ship for rapid transfer to the hospital here. You will understand that by extruding limbs and sensors of any required shape, useful work can be done in the very restricted conditions found inside a badly damaged space vessel, and there are times when I can make a valuable contribution. But in honesty I must say that the real work is done by the hospital.
“And that,” it concluded, “is how I fit into this medical madhouse.”
With every word, Cha Thrat’s confusion had increased. Able and physically gifted this entity might be, but was it, in truth, merely a servant? But if Danalta had sensed her confusion, it mistook the reason for it.
“I have other uses, too, of course,” it went on, and made a very Earth-human barking sound with its un-Earthly mouth. “As a comparative newcomer to the hospital, they send me to meet new arrivals like you on the assumption that—Pay attention, Cha Thrat! They’re bringing in your ex-patient.”
Two of the silver-furred beings, identified by Danalta as Kelgian operating room nurses, moved Chiang in on a powered litter, even though the ship ruler was quite capable of walking and was constantly reminding them of this fact. The Earth-human’s torso was draped in a green sheet so that only its head was visible. Chiang’s protests continued while they were transferring it to the examination table, until one of the nurses, in a manner completely lacking in the respect due a ruler, reminded it that it was a fully grown, mature entity who should stop acting like an infant.
Before the nurse had finished speaking, a six-legged, exoskeletal being with a high, richly marked carapace entered and approached the examination table. Silently it held out its pincers and waited while a nurse sprayed them with something that dried into a thin, transparent film.
“That is Senior Physician Edanelt,” Danalta said. “It is a Melfan, physiological classification ELNT, whose reputation as a surgeon is—”
“Apologies for my personal ignorance,” Cha Thrat broke in. “Beyond the fact that I am a DCNF, the Earth-human is a DBDG, and the Melfan is an ELNT, I know nothing of your classification system.”
“You’ll learn,” the shape-changer said. “But for now, just watch and be ready for questions.”
But there were no questions. While the examination proceeded, Edanelt did not speak and neither did the nurses or the patient. Cha Thrat learned the purpose of one of the mechanisms, a deep scanner that showed in minute detail the subdermal blood supply network, musculature, bone structure, and even the movement of the deepest underlying organs. The images were relayed to the observation gallery’s screen, together with a mass of physiological data that was presented graphically but in a form that was completely unintelligible to her.
“That is something else you will learn,” Danalta said.
Cha Thrat had been watching the screen closely, so captivated by Edanelt’s meticulous charting of her surgical repair work that she had not realized that she had been thinking aloud. She looked up in time to see the arrival of yet another and even more incredible being.
“That,” Danalta said simply, “is Prilicla.”
It was an insect, an enormous, incredibly fragile, flying insect that was tiny in comparison with the other beings in the room. From its tubular, exoskeletal body there projected six pencil-thin legs, four even more delicately formed manipulators, and four sets of wide, iridescent wings that were beating slowly as it flew toward the examination table and hovered above it. Suddenly it flipped over, attached its sucker-tipped legs to the ceiling, and curved its extensible eyes down to regard the patient.
From somewhere in its body came a series of musical clicks and trills, which her translator relayed as “Friend Chiang, you look as if you’ve been in a war.”
“We’re not savages!” Cha Thrat protested angrily. “There hasn’t been a war on Sommaradva for eight generations—”
She stopped abruptly as the long, incredibly thin legs and partly folded wings of the insect began to shake. It was as if there were a strong wind blowing through the room. Everyone on and around the examination table was staring at the little being, and then they were turning to look up at the observation gallery. At her.
“Prilicla is a true empath,” Danalta said sharply. “It feels what you are feeling. Please control your emotions!”
It was very difficult to control her emotions: not only her anger at the implied insult to her now unwarlike race but also the feeling of utter disbelief that such control was necessary. She had often been forced to hide her feelings before superiors or patients, but trying to control them was a new experience. With a great effort, which in some obscure fashion seemed to be a negation of effort, she made herself calm.
“Thank you, new friend,” the empath trilled at her. It was no longer trembling as it returned its attention to Chiang.
“I’m wasting your valuable time, Doctors,” the Earth-human said. “Honestly, I feel fine.”
Prilicla dropped from the ceiling to hover above the site of Chiang’s recent injuries, and touched the scar tissue with a cluster of feather-light digits. It said, “I know how you feel, friend Chiang. And we are not wasting our time. Would you refuse us, a Melfan and a Cinrusskin who are both keen to enlarge our other-species experience, the opportunity of tinkering with an Earth-human, even a perfectly healthy one?”
“I suppose not,” Chiang said. It made another soft, barking sound and added, “But you would have found it more interesting if you’d seen me after the crash.”
The empath returned to the ceiling. To the Melfan it said, “What is your assessment, friend Edanelt?”
“The work is not as I would have performed it,” the Melfan replied, “but it is adequate.”
“Friend Edanelt,” the empath said gently, with a brief glance in the direction of the gallery, “we are all aware, with the exception of the newest member of our staff, that you consider as merely adequate the kind of surgery which Conway himself would describe as exemplary. It would be interesting to discuss the pre- and postoperative history.”
“That was my thought as well,” the Melfan said. There was a rapid, irregular tapping of its six boney feet, and it turned to face the observation gallery. “Will you join us, please.”
Quickly Cha Thrat disentangled herself from the alien chair and followed Danalta into the ward and across to the group at the table, aware that it was now her turn to undergo an even more searching examination, one that would establish her professional rather than her physical fitness to practice in Sector General.
The prospect must have worried her more than she realized because the empath was beginning to tremble again. And it was disconcerting, even frightening, to be so close to the Cinrusskin. On Sommaradva, large insects were to be avoided because they invariably possessed lethal stings. Her instincts told her to s
wat or run away from this one. She had hated insects and always avoided looking closely at them. Now she had no choice.
But there was a subtle visual attraction in the intricate symmetry of the extraordinarily fragile body and trembling limbs, whose dark sheen seemed to be reflecting colors that were not present in the room. The head was an alien, convoluted eggshell, so finely structured that the sensory and manipulatory organs that it supported seemed ready to fall off at the first sudden movement. But it was the complex structure and coloration of the partially folded wings, seemingly made of iridescent gossamer stretched across a framework of impossibly thin twigs, that made her realize that, alien or not, this insect was one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen—and she could see it very clearly because its limbs were no longer trembling.
“Thank you again, Cha Thrat,” the empath said. “You learn quickly. And don’t worry. We are your friends and are wishing for your success.”
Edanelt’s feet were making irregular clicking noises against the floor, a sound that might possibly be indicating impatience. It said, “Please present your patient, Doctor.”
For a moment she looked down at the Earth-human, at the pink, oddly formed alien body that, as a result of the accident, had become so familiar to her. She remembered how it had looked when she first saw it: the bleeding, open wounds and the fractured, protruding bones; the general condition that strongly indicated the immediate use of comforting medication until casualty termination. Even now she could not find the words to explain why she had not ended this Earth-human’s life. She looked up again at the Cinrusskin.
Prilicla did not speak, but she felt as if waves of reassurance and encouragement were emanating from the little empath. That was a ridiculous idea, of course, and probably the result of wishful and not very lucid thinking, but she felt comforted nonetheless.
“This patient,” Cha Thrat said calmly, “was one of three occupants of an aircraft that crashed into a mountain lake. A Sommaradvan pilot and another Earth-human were taken from the wreck before it sank, but they were already dead. The patient was taken ashore and looked at by a healer who was insufficiently qualified, and, knowing that I was spending a recreation period in the area, he sent for me.
“The patient had sustained many incised and lacerated wounds to the limbs and torso caused by violent contact with the metal of the aircraft,” she went on. “There was continuing blood loss. Differences in the appearance of the limbs on the right and left sides indicated the presence of multiple fractures, one of which was visible where it projected through the tegument of the left leg. There was no evidence of blood coming from the patient’s breathing and speaking orifices, so it was assumed that no serious injuries had been sustained in the lung and abdominal areas. Naturally, very careful consideration had to be given before I agreed to take the case.”
“Naturally,” Edanelt said. “You were faced with treating a member of an off-planet species, one possessing a physiology and metabolism of which you had no previous experience. Or had you previous experience? Did you consider sending for same-species medical assistance?”
“I had not seen an Earth-human before that time,” Cha Thrat replied. “I knew that one of their ships was in orbit around Sommaradva and that the process of establishing friendly contact was well advanced. I had heard that they were traveling widely among our principal cities, and that they often used our air transport, presumably to gain some experience of our level of technology. I sent a message to the nearest city hoping that they would relay it to the Earth-humans, but it was unlikely that it would arrive in time. The area is remote, mountainous, heavily forested, and thinly populated. The facilities were limited and time was short.”
“I understand,” Edanelt said. “Describe your procedure.”
Remembering, Cha Thrat looked again at the network of scars and the dark, contused areas where the subdermal bleeding had not completely dispersed.
“At the time of treatment I was not aware of the fact that native pathogens have no effect on life-forms which evolved on a different planet, and it seemed to me that there was a grave danger of infection. It was also thought that Sommaradvan medication and anesthetics would be ineffective if not lethal. The only indicated procedure was to thoroughly irrigate the wounds, particularly those associated with the fractures, with distilled water. While reducing the fractures, some minor repairs were required to damaged blood vessels in the area. The incised wounds were sutured, covered, and the fractured limbs immobilized. The work was done very quickly because the patient was conscious and …”
“Not for long,” Chiang said in a low voice. “I passed out.”
“ … and the pulse seemed weak and irregular,” she went on, “even though I didn’t know the normal rate. The only means available to counteract shock and the effects of blood loss were external heating, provided by wood fires placed downwind so that smoke and ash would not contaminate the operative field, and pure water given intravenously when consciousness was lost. I was unsure whether our saline solution would be beneficial or toxic. I realize now that I was being overcautious, but I did not want to risk losing a limb.”
“Naturally,” Edanelt said. “Now describe your post-operative treatment.”
“The patient regained consciousness late that evening,” Cha Thrat went on. “It appeared to be mentally and verbally lucid, although the exact meaning of some words were unclear since they referred to the consigning of the faulty aircraft, the whole current situation, and myself to some hypothetical but extremely unpleasant afterlife. Since the native edible vegetation was likely to prove harmful, only water administered orally could be given. The patient complained of severe discomfort at the site of the wounds. Native pain-relief medication could not be given because it might prove toxic, so that the condition could only be treated, however inadequately, by verbal reassurance and encouragement—”
“For three days she never stopped talking,” Chiang said. “Asking questions about my work, and what I would be doing after I returned to active duty, when I was pretty sure that I would be returning in a box. She talked so much, sometimes, that I just fell asleep.”
There was a slight tremor apparent in Prilicla’s limbs. Cha Thrat wondered if the Cinrusskin was sensitive even to the Earth-human’s remembered pain.
She resumed. “In response to several urgent requests, five members of the patient’s species, one of whom was a healer, arrived with supplies of suitable food and supportive medication. Progress toward recovery was rapid thereafter. The Earth-human healer gave advice on diet and medication dosage, and it was free to examine the patient at any time, but I would not allow further surgical intervention. I should explain that on Sommaradva, a surgeon will not share or in any other way avoid personal responsibility for a patient. There was strong criticism, both personal and professional, of my standpoint, particularly from the Earth-human healer. I would not allow the patient to be moved to its ship until eighteen days after the operation, when I was convinced that full recuperation was assured.”
“She watched over me,” Chiang said, barking softly, “like an old mother hen.”
There was silence for what seemed to Cha Thrat to be a very long time, during which everyone looked at the Melfan while it regarded the patient. It was tapping one hard-tipped leg against the floor, but the sound it made was a thoughtful rather than an impatient one.
Finally it said, “Without immediate surgical attention you would undoubtedly have died as a result of your injuries, and you were fortunate indeed to receive the necessary attention from an entity completely unfamiliar with your physiological classification. Fortunate, too, in that the entity concerned was not only skilled, resourceful, and deeply concerned with your aftercare, but made the proper use of the limited facilities available to it. I can find no serious fault with the surgical work performed here, and the patient is, indeed, wasting the hospital’s time.”
Suddenly they were all looking at her, but it was the empath who spoke fir
st.
“From Edanelt,” Prilicla said, “that is praise indeed.”
CHAPTER 3
The private office of the Earth-human O’Mara was large, but the floor area was almost entirely covered by a variety of chairs, benches, recliners and frames designed for the use of the entities having business with the Chief Psychologist. Chiang took the indicated Earth-human chair and Cha Thrat chose a low, convoluted cage that looked as if it might not be too uncomfortable, and sat down.
She saw at once that O’Mara was an old Earth-human. The short, bristling fur covering the top and sides of its head, and the two thick crescents above its eyes, were the gray color of unpainted metal. But the heavy muscle structure apparent in the shoulders, upper limbs, and hands was not that of the other aged Earth-humans she had seen. The flexible, fleshy covers of its eyes, which were similar in color to its hair, did not droop as it studied her in every physical detail.
“You are a stranger among us, Cha Thrat,” it said abruptly. “I am here to help you feel less strange, to answer questions you have been unable or unwilling to ask of others, and to see how your present abilities can be trained and extended so that they may be put to the best possible use by the hospital.”
It turned its attention to Chiang. “My intention was to interview you separately, but for some reason you wish to be present during my initial talk with Cha Thrat. Can it be that you have heard, and believed, some of the things the staff say about me? Do you have delusions of being a gentleman and Cha Thrat a lady, albeit of a different physiological classification, who if not actually in distress is a friend in need of moral support? Is that it, Major?”
Chiang barked quietly but did not speak.
“A question,” Cha Thrat said. “Why do Earth-humans make that strange barking sound?”
O’Mara turned its head to regard her for a long moment, then it exhaled loudly and said, “I had expected your first question to be more … profound. But very well. The sound is called laughing, not barking, and in most cases it is a psychophysical mechanism for the release of minor degrees of tension. An Earth-human laughs because of a sudden relief from worry or fear, or to express scorn or disbelief or sarcasm, or in response to words or a situation that is ridiculous, illogical, or funny, or out of politeness when the situation or words are not funny but the person responsible is of high rank. I shall not even try to explain sarcasm or the Earth-human sense of humor to you, because we don’t fully understand them ourselves. For reasons that will become clearer the longer you stay here, I rarely laugh.”