by James White
Very, very slowly a few of the blank areas in the star charts were being mapped and surveyed, but with disappointing results. When the Monitor Corps scoutships discovered a star with planets, it was a rare find — even rarer when the planets included one that harbored life. And if one of the native life-forms was intelligent, jubilation — tempered with a natural concern over what might become a threat to the Pax Galactica — swept the worlds of the Federation. It was then that the Cultural Contact specialists of the Monitor Corps were sent to perform the tricky, time-consuming and often dangerous job of establishing contact in depth.
On the screen appeared a succession of tabulations giving details of the survey operations mounted, the number of ships and personnel involved and a cost figure that had too many digits to be credible. The voice went on, “During the past twenty years they have initiated First Contact procedures on three occasions, all of which resulted in the species concerned being accepted into the Federation. Within the same time period, Sector Twelve General Hospital became fully operational and also initiated First Contacts which resulted in seven new species joining the Federation.
It might have been Gurronsevas’s imagination, but there seemed to be a hint of pride creeping into the library computer’s condescending voice as it continued, “In every case this was accomplished, not by a slow, patient buildup and widening of communications until the exchange of complex philosophical and sociological concepts became possible, but by rescuing and giving medical assistance to a sick or space-wrecked alien.
“In giving this assistance the hospital demonstrated the Federation’s goodwill towards newly-discovered intelligent species more simply and directly than by any time-consuming exchange of concepts.
“As a result there has recently been a change of emphasis in First Contact policy …”
Just as there was only one known way of traveling in hyper-space, there was only one method of sending a distress signal if an accident or malfunction stranded a vessel in normal space between the stars. Tight-beam subspace radio was not a dependable means of interstellar communication, subject as it was to interference and distortion by the radiation from intervening stellar bodies, as well as requiring inordinate amounts of a vessel’s power that a distressed ship was unlikely to have available. But a distress beacon did not have to carry intelligence. It was simply a nuclear-powered device which broadcast a location signal, a subspace scream for help which ran up and down the communications frequencies until, in a matter of days or hours, it died.
Because all Federation vessels were required to file course and passenger details before departure, the position of a distress beacon was usually a good indication of the physiological type of the species that had run into trouble, and an ambulance ship with a matching crew and life-support equipment was sent from the ship’s home planet. But there had been instances, far more than were realized, when the disasters had involved beings unknown to the Federation in urgent need of help which the would-be rescuers were powerless to give.
It was only when the rescue ship concerned was large and powerful enough to extend its hyperspace envelope to include the distressed vessel, or when the casualties could be extricated safely and a suitable life-support provided them within the Federation ship, were they transported to Sector General. The result was that many hitherto unknown life-forms, beings of high intelligence and advanced technology, were lost except as interesting specimens for dissection and study.
Another factor that had to be considered was that, whenever possible, the Federation preferred to make contact with a star-travelling race. Species who were intelligent but planet-bound might give rise to additional problems because there was no certainty whether full contact would help or hinder their future development, give them a technological leg-up or a crushing inferiority complex, when the great, alien starships began dropping out of their skies.
For a long time an answer to these problems had been sought and, in recent years, one had been found.
It had been decided to design and equip one vessel that would respond only to those distress beacons whose positions did not agree with the flight plans filed by Federation starships, a very special ambulance ship that would answer the cries for help of life-forms hitherto unknown to the Federation.
Gradually, as Gurronsevas concentrated more and more deeply on the displays, it seemed that his mind and the darkened casualty deck around him were becoming filled with pictures of devastated ships and drifting masses of space wreckage, and populated with the dead or barely living debris they contained. Sometimes the organic wreckage had to be extricated with great care because it belonged to a species new to the Federation, and beings who were in great pain and mental confusion from their injuries could react violently against the strange and terrifying monsters who were trying to rescue them. But there had been other times when the distressed ship had been undamaged and it was the crew who were urgently in need of assistance. Then it was Rhabwar’s commanding officer, a specialist in other-species technology, who had to find a way into the vessel and solve its alien and life-threatening engineering puzzles before the injured or diseased crew-members, who again might react violently at their rescuers’ approach, could be treated.
The log was filled with such instances.
There was a full description of Rhabwar’s response to the distress signal from a ship of the Blind Ones and their sighted and incredibly violent mind-partners, the Protectors of the Unborn. And there was the vast gestalt creature of unknown name and origin whose miles-long colonizing vessel had been wrecked in interstellar space and a large-scale military as well as major surgical operation had been required to put the scattered pieces together and transport them to their target world. And there had been the Dwerlans and the Ians and the Duwetz, and many others.
Gurronsevas did not know enough about medicine to understand all of the clinical details, but that no longer mattered. So deeply engrossed did he become in the information and incredible events that were unfolding on the screen that, had the food dispenser been less conveniently placed to the console, he would not have bothered to eat. He was beginning to worry about the dangers he might have to face during Rhabwar’s next mission, but in a way he felt almost sorry that he lacked the qualifications to take an active part in it, especially when the ship personnel list revealed that he was already well-acquainted with two members of the medical team, Prilicla and Murchison.
On the screen the wreckage of alien starships and their other-species casualties disappeared to be replaced by a schematic drawing of the ship, and the voice began describing the ship’s deck layout, crew and casualty accommodations, and principal systems, while the relevant areas were graphically highlighted. Gurronsevas tapped hold because the information being presented was becoming just so much meaningless light and noise. He had lost track of time. He was tired and hungry and his mind was too full of strange and wonderful information for sleep. Perhaps it was sheer fatigue that was causing his mind to throw up such fanciful ideas, but as he recalled some of the things that had been said and done to him by the Chief Psychologist and others, and in particular the things that should have been done and had not, his thoughts were making him feel afraid, uncertain, even more confused — and almost hopeful.
Rhabwar was indeed a very special ambulance ship. Soon it would depart on one of its very unusual and probably dangerous missions for which it had been designed. But what was a disgraced Chief Dietitian doing on board, unless O’Mara was trying to give him another chance?
CHAPTER 16
The next four days passed very quickly and without the slightest feeling of boredom, and it was only when complete body and brain fatigue forced him to leave the console that he moved to his concealed resting place behind a set of casualty bed-screens to try, not always successfully, to switch off his mind. Then on the fifth day he was awakened by the lighting being switched on and a voice saying loudly, “Chief Dietitian, this is Lioren. Waken quickly, please. Where are you?”
Gurronsevas’ mind was too confused by suddenly interrupted sleep for him to reply, but by lowering the concealing bed-screen he answered the question and signaled his returning consciousness.
There was a sharpness in Lioren’s tone that Gurronsevas had not heard before as it said, “Have you returned to the hospital or talked to anyone, however briefly, since we last spoke?”
“No,” said Gurronsevas.
“Then you don’t know what has been happening during the past two days?” it asked, making the question sound like an accusation. “Nothing at all?”
“No,” said Gurronsevas again.
Lioren was silent for a moment, then in a friendlier voice it said, “I believe you. If you remained on Rhabwar and know nothing, hopefully you may not be at fault.”
Gurronsevas disliked the implication that he might have lied. He tried to keep his anger in check as he said, “I have spent all of the time studying, doing exactly as I’ve been told, for a change, and thinking about my possible future position here. It is about that, if it could spare a few minutes, that I would like to speak to O’Mara. Now please tell me what you are talking about?”
The other hesitated again, in the way of a person who is trying to impart bad news as gently as possible, then said, “I have two pieces of information for you. The first is inexact and may turn out to be unpleasant for you. The second is very unpleasant for you unless you can assure me that you had nothing to do with the situation. I prefer to tell you the less unpleasant news first.
“It is about Rhabwar’s next mission,” said Lioren. “This is little more than a rumor, you understand, because the mission is being discussed at a very high level by people who rarely gossip. A large number of expensive hyperspace signals have been exchanged about it. Contact with a newly-discovered intelligent species is involved, but there is doubt regarding the ambulance ship’s ability to handle the situation. Rhabwar’s medical team thinks they can help and the cultural contact people insist it is their job. I think the final decision has been taken but implimentation was delayed because of the epidemic.”
“What epidemic?”
Lioren hesitated, then said, “If you have not gone into the hospital or contacted anyone there you would, of course, know nothing. Your ignorance also increases the possibility that you have no responsibility for the situation.”
“What situation?” said Gurronsevas, in a voice so loud with exasperation that it must have reached to the other end of the boarding tube. “What epidemic? And what have I to do with it?”
“Nothing, I hope,” said Lioren. “But stop shouting and I’ll tell you about it.”
According to Lioren an unidentified epidemic had swept through the hospital’s staff and patients three days earlier. Only the warm-blooded oxygen-breathing species had been affected, although not all of them. Hudlars, Nallajims and a few others had escaped, including, for some unknown reason, several members of these species who had succumbed but who, as individuals, appeared to have immunity or were lucky enough not to have been exposed. The symptoms were nausea increasing in severity over the first two days, after which the patients were unable to take food by mouth and had to be fed intravenously. More serious was the fact that over the same period there was a gradual loss of the ability to communicate coherently or coordinate limb and digital movements. It was too soon to say that the IV feeding was successful in all cases; there were too many staff members affected who were too sick to investigate either their own or their patients’ clinical condition properly, but there were indications that the symptoms of nausea and brain dysfunction were receding among those who were being fed intravenously.“… But we can’t keep every warm-blooded oxygen-breather who is affected, close on four hundred of them, on IV feed indefinitely,” Lioren went on, “Even with them working round the clock, there aren’t enough other-species medical staff to handle it. So far there have been no fatalities, but with ordinary patients still requiring treatment or surgery, we are being forced to use trainees and junior medics who are operating beyond their level of competence. Deaths are just a matter of time. We don’t have the people for a proper investigation because the investigators are being affected too, in spite of the same-species barrier nursing precautions.
“Some of the senior medical staff escaped,” Lioren continued. “Diagnostician Conway told me that in its case this might have been because it was concentrating on a Nallajim project at the time and its Educator tape was making it difficult to eat anything that did not look like birdseed. But if that is a factor in its immunity and if there is a correlation between the food eaten or not eaten and the onset of symptoms …”
“Are you suggesting food poisoning?” Gurronsevas broke in, trying to control his anger. “That is insulting, outrageous and impossible!”“… Given the widespread and concurrent onset of nausea symptoms, the obvious diagnosis would be food poisoning,” Lioren went on, ignoring the interruption but answering the question. “The bulk material used for food synthesis is thoroughly tested for quality and purity before shipping, and sealed for transit in a manner that precludes chemical or radiation contamination. The many new taste enhancers recently introduced by you are subject to the same rigorous safety regulations but, because of their number and variety, it is more likely that toxic or infective contamination gained entry through this channel. And I agree, any form of toxicity finding its way into the hospital’s food supply system is highly unlikely, but not impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” said Gurronsevas angrily. “But this is so close to it that …”
“I don’t wish to sound callous,” Lioren broke in, “but if this outbreak is due to contaminated food, your professional embarrassment will be great, and even greater will be the relief of the medical staff because it would mean that they are faced with a medical problem that requires simple treatment. But if it is not food poisoning, and the nausea is a secondary symptom of a condition affecting the brains of several different intelligent life-forms, then we have a much more serious problem. It means that there is a hitherto unknown pathogen loose in the hospital that is capable of crossing the species barrier. Even a non-medical person like yourself knows that that, too, is impossible. But on Cromsag I learned the hard lesson that no possibility should be discounted.”
Gurronsevas did know. From the time when he had made his first journey off-planet he had been told that there was no risk of him contracting other-species’ diseases or infections. A pathogen that had evolved on one world could not affect any living thing that had evolved on another, a fact that greatly simplified the practice of multi-species medicine and surgery. But he had heard it said that the Federation medical authorities were constantly on the lookout for the exception that proved the rule. Regarding Cromsag, he had no idea what had befallen the Padre there, and he felt sure that this was not the time to ask.
“It is most urgent,” Lioren went on, “that the food poisoning possibility be confirmed or eliminated as quickly as possible. The normal procedures for pathological investigation and analysis are too slow and uncertain right now. The investigators are too busy treating patients, or are patients themselves, or they have discounted the food-poisoning theory because it is too unlikely for them to waste time on it. But you will know what to look for and where. Food is your area of expertise, Chief Dietitian.”
“But, but this is inexcusable,” Gurronsevas said angrily. “It is a personal affront. Never before have I been associated with an establishment or a food service operation so lax in its standards of food hygiene that patrons were poisoned wholesale!”
“It may not be food poisoning,” Lioren reminded him firmly. “That is what you and I have to find out.”
“Very well,” said Gurronsevas. He took a deep breath and sought for inner calm before going on, “I would like to have the patients questioned regarding the exact composition of the suspect meals, the time that the meal was eaten, if any unusual taste or consistency was detected, and whether the patient visited any particular s
ection of the hospital or engaged in any activity that was common to all of them and which might have brought it into contact with a source of infection other than the food. Then I want to check on the operation of the main dining hall and subsidiary food computers and call up a breakdown of the menu demand and synthesizer output for the times when the infection is thought to have occurred. I would like to obtain this information at once.”
“I can tell you exactly how one patient behaved,” said Lioren quietly. “But Gurronsevas, please remember that the food poisoning idea is mine alone. Officially you are not in the hospital and, if you are innocent in this matter, it would be wrong to make you reveal yourself.”
“If the symptoms in all cases are uniform,” said Gurronsevas, feeling in no mood for another semi-apology, “an interview with one patient may be enough. Who and what was it?”
“The patient is Lieutenant Braithwaite,” said Lioren. “About twenty minutes after we returned from the dining hall …”
“You dined together?” Gurronsevas broke in sharply. “This is exactly the kind of information I need. Can you remember which dishes you, or it, ordered? Tell me everything you can remember about the meal. Every detail.”
Lioren thought for a moment, then said, “Fortunately, perhaps, my selection was from the Tarlan menu, a single course of shemmutara with faas curds. You can see that I am not adventurous where food is concerned. I did not look closely at Braithwaite’s meal, or the codes it used while ordering, because the sight of most kinds of Earth food causes me internal uneasiness. We took only the main courses because it had a meeting with O’Mara directly after lunch. But I did notice that its platter contained a small, flat slab of synthetic meat, the stuff Earth-humans call steak, with several round, slightly toasted, yellow vegetables, and two other kinds of vegetation that looked like a heap of tiny green spheres and some pallid, round grey domes that looked particularly disgusting. There was a small dab of brownish-yellow, semi-solid material, possibly a condiment of some kind, at the edge of the plate. And, yes, a thick, brown liquid had been poured over the steak …”