by Andre Norton
“It looks like they’ve just realized there’s something strange here and are coming over to investigate us,” remarked Kelly. “They don’t seem to be particularly afraid.”
“That’s right,” retorted Edwards, “and they don’t seem to be awfully curious either. Placid sort of brutes, aren’t they?”
“Do you think we ought to go out and meet them?” asked Schultz.
“Should we roll out the red plush carpet and invite them in for tea?”
“That might not be a bad idea,” answered Bob. “We might at least try to find out if they’re intelligent or not. Just because they look like the zoo doesn’t mean that they can’t be smart people. After all, you don’t have to be anthropomorphic to be intelligent.”
Bob thought for a few seconds. “Schultz, would you and Mandel be willing to go out and see what you can do to find out something about them? We can have a couple of the boys with rocket guns all ready to let them have it, if they make any hostile moves.”
The internist and the psychiatrist looked at each other, as if trying to read the other’s mind. There was no thought of criticizing Edwards for not offering to go out with them; it was tacitly understood that in most cases, his job as synthesist involved letting others collect data for him. Bob was always ready to run any risk necessary in the line of duty. He wasn’t shirking in this case; he was functioning as he should.
Schultz was the first to speak. “My mother told me never to volunteer for anything, but the way you put it—might just as well. O.K. with you, Irv?”
The little psychiatrist shrugged. “Why not? They can’t be any worse than navy officers or surgeons.”
Zip—down went the observation chairs and the men dashed out as soon as pressure could be equalized and the door opened. Their precipitous dash toward the air lock was halted by Livingston, whom they met in the corridor.
“Bob,” he asked, “could you take a look at Slawson? The blood has just about all run in and he doesn’t seem to be getting any results at all. His color hasn’t improved and he’s still pretty dyspneic in spite of the oxygen.”
Edwards hesitated. He didn’t want to forego the interesting experience of observing the inhabitants of Minotaur in their first contact with humans. On the other hand, he’d probably never see a blue man again—and if Slawson didn’t soon make a change for the better, he wouldn’t be seeing this blue man for long.
“O.K., Jack, I’ll be right with you. Tom, will you make arrangements to have the boys covered? And you’d better carry a respirator around your neck; I don’t think it’ll be necessary to wear it unless you have the irresistible urge to sniff a posy.”
“O.K., Bobbie,” said Schultz. “If we make out all right with these critters, we’ll try to line up a date for you, too. It wouldn’t be any worse than some of those dogs I’ve seen you out with.” And he fled down the corridor before Bob could think of a retort.
When Edwards entered the sick bay with the surgeon at his heels, he was greatly perturbed. Livingston had understated the seriousness of the patient’s condition. A glance at the gauge on the oxygen tank showed that the gas was flowing as fast as possible—as yet Slawson was breathing in deep, shuddering, laboring gasps. His skin was still blue, of course—but underlying that color was the dusky bluish-purple that means insufficient oxygenation of the blood.
Bob picked up the stethoscope which lay on the nearby table and set the tips in his ears. He placed the bell on Slawson’s chest, glanced down at his watch and counted for fifteen seconds. “About 140,” he reported. “I can barely count it; heart sounds are rather muffled, too.”
He slipped the stethoscope around to the bases of the lungs and listened intently for a few seconds. “He’s getting some moist rales in the bases, too. Did you give him any atropine?”
“No,” answered Jack, “I thought I’d wait until you saw him. Oh my—if only he had something simple like a rupture of the middle meningeal artery, I’d know what to do. But this beats me.”
“You’re not the only one,” retorted Bob, absently. “Well, it looks as if we’ll just have to fall back on the old-fashioned approach. It’s funny, but when we get stuck on a baffler like this, we have to use the methods of five or six hundred years ago.”
Bob sat down on a bunk and stroked his chin. “Eliminate, sedate and put the part at rest,” he mused. “He doesn’t need sedation—he’s practically knocked out now. And how can we put the blood at rest—that’s just foolish. And so, to eliminate—Jack, how did he act when the blood started to run in?”
“It seemed to do him some good for about the first five minutes.
His respiration slowed down and I thought his color lightened up a little. But then he went right back to where he is now.”
“Hm-m-m.” A few moments of silence supervened, while Edwards pulled at his lower lip. “Jack, how does this sound as a working hypothesis? Slawson inhaled pollen from a flower. The pollen is a complex protein which is partially broken down in the body. It breaks down into two parts, one of which causes the blue coloration, the other which causes the methemoglobinemia.”
“D’you think it’s a true methemoglobinemia?” interrupted the surgeon.
“It doesn’t make too much difference,” answered Edwards. “We know that there’s a stable hemoglobin compound formed, and the red blood cells aren’t carrying oxygen. Soooo—we take out the blood that isn’t working and replace it with some that will. How does that sound to you?”
Livingston considered the matter for a few moments. “What can we lose? He can’t last this way much longer. How much blood do you think we ought to give him?”
“Let’s make it five liters, to start with. I’m sure we have that much in the blood bank. You get set up to cut down on a vein and we’ll bleed him while the transfusion is running in the other arm.”
Just then the intercom in the hallway outside the sick bay piped up. “Testing—Mandel testing.”
Bob cocked an ear at the sound. “Tom must have turned the intercom on so we could all hear what the greeting committee has to say. Good idea. Well, I’ll go up and get the blood while you get going on the phlebotomy.”
As Bob walked into the lab he found Thomas and his assistants still working on their analysis of the mysterious blue blood. It wasn’t with undivided attention, however; you could see that all of them were also extremely interested in the intercom.
“We’re approaching the animals,” said Mandel’s voice. “They apparently have no fear of us. They’re both sitting on their haunches looking at us and occasionally at each other. The color changes in that organ on the neck are phenomenal, and that’s just happened since they caught sight of us. I wonder if that couldn’t be their means of communication?”
That’s a nice conjecture, thought Edwards. We communicate by vibrations of one frequency and wave-length range—why can’t the Minotauians communicate on a different band of vibrations? A little inconvenient on a dark night perhaps—but so is talking and hearing in a boiler factory.
Mandel’s voice broke into his thoughts again. “One of the animals is wearing a sort of rope sling over his shoulders and has a stone ax or hammer hanging from it. They’re intelligent, I guess, at least to the stage where they have artifacts.”
The voice of the irrepressible Schultz interrupted. “Irv, I feel silly. What is the proper procedure in greeting these characters?”
Bob grinned. That clown Schultz—what a man! Well, this wasn’t taking care of Slawson.
“We’re going to try to replace five liters of blood,” he told Thomas, as he took the blood from the refrigerator. “This is all the same batch, isn’t it?”
“That’s right—that’ll be compatible,” answered the pathologist. “We have nothing new to report here. It will probably take hours before we can get this worked out. How is the patient?”
“Not so good,” answered Bob, as he loaded the flasks of blood on a tray. “I don’t even know if this idea will work, but there’s nothing else that I
can see to do. Give me a call if you have anything to report.”
As Bob walked back toward the sick bay he heard the intercom again. “One of the animals has just plucked some leaves off a bush and is holding them out to us. Is that meant to be a gesture of friendship?”
Why does everything have to happen at once? thought Bob. Here was an experience which could happen to few men, that of meeting and greeting the strange inhabitants of a new planet—and at the same time to be caught with one of the screwiest medical conditions ever seen. But the doctor’s conditioning asserted itself—the patient always comes first. So without further thought about what was going on outside the ship he and Livingston set about their sanguinary tasks of replacing Slawson’s useless blood.
Withdraw 100 cc., replace 100 cc.; observe; repeat. Repeat again and again. They worked rapidly; they didn’t attempt to adhere to the usual rate of two or three drops a second. But it took time. More than an hour had elapsed by the time the flask had been emptied of good blood and replaced with the bluish liquid that had been in Slawson’s veins.
This business of transferring blood was not too difficult, of course. The task was sufficiently mechanical so they could keep one ear open for the reports of the men outside the ship. They heard Mandel describe the peculiar hands of the Minotaurans—ten pairs of opposable thumbs on each forelimb. The medial pair was the largest, the next pair slightly smaller; each succeeding pair of digits diminished in size, the most lateral being tiny. The animals walked on the knuckles of the first three or four pairs of digits, the remainder being kept clear of the ground. They had, as far as could be determined, no sense of hearing, although it was possible that they might be conscious of vibrations in objects which they touched.
They seemed peculiarly unpugnacious. They were not fearful, either; they seemed curious about the humans, but in a rather placid sort of way. Mandel inferred that these animals—or were they people?—had no natural enemies and hence had little use for the emotion of fear.
The two doctors who were caring for Slawson knew fear; they were very much afraid that one of the members was going to meet Death on Minotaur. It wouldn’t be the same sort of death that the members of Expedition I had met. It was going to be quicker, more merciful—but just as inevitable unless something could be done.
Edwards, who had been listening to the stricken man’s heart action, stood up with a sigh. “It’s just no go. I thought for a while that those transfusions would do the trick, but he’s just as bad as he was before we started. I wonder—could it be that he got so much pollen into him that he couldn’t absorb it all? Then, maybe, when we gave him the blood we got rid of some of the pollen but he absorbed some more again.”
“It sort of acts like that,” Livingston confirmed. “If that’s the case we might have to give him transfusions until hell freezes over—and I don’t think we have that much blood available.”
“We don’t,” said Bob. “That was the last of his type. Of course we might get some donors from the crew, but type B, Rh negative is quite rare. And besides, if this anoxemia persists for much longer he’s going to have some permanent brain damage. In that case, it might be kinder if he didn’t survive.”
“If we only had more time,” muttered Jack. “I’ll bet that we could find some substance which would have a greater affinity for the pollen than the pollen does for hemoglobin.”
“You mean like the preference that bacteria have for the sulphon-amides instead of para-amino-benzoic acid?” asked Bob.
“That’s the idea; but those things can’t be found out in an hour, even with the equipment we have aboard. I guess that it means that we just keep pouring the oxygen into him and hope for the best. Hey, did you hear that?”
It was Mandel’s voice. “We have established some sort of communication with the pictures we’ve drawn on the sand. It’s hard for them to see directly below them and Schultz and I are both getting tired squatting. I believe it would be perfectly safe for us to bring them aboard ship, where we can show them some photographs and maybe movies. Tom, Bob, what do you think?”
It was Bob who made the decision and spoke first. “You’re in a better position to decide that than I am. If you think it’s O.K., and if they’ll follow you, come ahead. O.K. with you, Kelly?”
“If you say so, Bob. But just to be on the safe side, I’m going to keep them covered while they’re aboard—unobtrusively, of course.”
“All right. But tell your men not to go trigger-happy on us. No shooting unless there’s a direct order from either you or me. And Irv—”
“Yes, Bob.”
“Better take ’em on a sort of orientation tour of the ship first. I don’t know if they’ll understand anything, but it should be impressive. We’ll wait here in the sick bay for you; Slawson has to be watched.”
Perhaps fifteen minutes elapsed before they heard the peculiar slow clicking noise that they would always associate with the walk of the Minotaurans. Bob and Jack had filled in that quarter-hour doing useless little things for their patient, all to no avail. He was getting progressively weaker, and would probably not even survive the visit of their strange guests. They looked up to see the Minotaurans entering the room.
The one who carried the stone ax entered first, followed by his compatriot, then by Schultz and Mandel.
Schultz, as would be expected, performed the introductions with a flourish. “Boys, meet Tom and Jack. Tom and Jack, meet the boys.” The Minotaurans were oblivious of this travesty of courtesy, of course. They grazed at the two doctors with their large limpid yellow eyes, while their neck-organs turned a pleasing shade of chartreuse.
Then their eyes fell on the unconscious blue body of Slawson. With one accord they moved slowly toward the bed and gazed at him for a long moment. Then the larger of the two Minotaurans faced the other and began to manifest all possible color combinations in the mass of tissue which adorned his neck. Reds, greens, yellows, violets, flashes of orange, bands and flecks, stripes and spots—it was a veritable pageant of color. It seemed to make sense to the other, for he swung about on his hind legs and left the room. “Now, what?” asked Bob. “What do you suppose got into him?”
“Should I follow him?” asked Kelly, sticking his head around the edge of the door.
“If you don’t mind, let’s just wait and see what happens,” counseled Mandel. “I have a sneaking suspicion that these boys know what’s going on here. They seem to have an instinct of intuition that far surpasses ours. That boy will be back shortly, I’ll bet anything.” So they waited, impatiently. Stone-Ax sat on his haunches and gazed at them, placidly. It was rather embarrassing, like trying to be polite to a foreigner who doesn’t speak your language. You couldn’t make polite conversation; you couldn’t ask how business conditions were in his country, or how many children he had.
Mandel had given an excellent description; one thing he hadn’t mentioned, though, was that the Minotauran had a peculiar and pleasant body odor. Bob had to sniff and think for several minutes before he could identify the elusive scent. Why, it’s lilac, of course, he thought. Wouldn’t you know it would be a color, too?
His thoughts were interrupted by the clicking pad, pad of the other Minotauran, returning. He wasn’t exactly hurrying, but you could tell that he wasn’t loitering by the wayside, either. He entered the room and everyone was startled to see that he carried a half-dozen nondescript flowers in his mouth.
“Oh, oh—more flowers,” said Jack, excitedly. “Shall we try to stop him?”
Bob had a sudden intuition. “No, let’s not. He can’t do anything to hurt poor Slawson—I’m afraid he’s beyond that stage. Let’s see what they’re going to do.”
Stone-Ax took the flowers in one of his polydactyl appendages, then with the other arm pointed to the oxygen mask strapped to Slawson’s face. He then pointed to his own face and made a gesture which apparently signified removal.
“I guess he wants us to take the oxygen mask off,” said Schultz. “Should I, Bob?”
“Go ahead; we can put it back in a few seconds, if necessary.” The mask was removed. The Minotauran extended his hind legs so his forelimbs were over the level of the bed, then unhesitatingly thrust the flowers in front of Slawson’s nose and mouth. There was a breathless silence in the room. For a moment nothing happened; then Slawson’s stertorous breathing suddenly halted—and he gave a mighty sneeze! The flowers were left there for a few seconds longer, then were thrown to the floor. Then both of these strange beings turned toward the men, gave a curious little inclination of their necks, and, with unaltered dignity, left the room.
The men were too thunderstruck by this strange performance to make any move to delay their departure. With open mouths they looked at each other, at the patient and back at each other again.
“That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.” Schultz was the first to break the silence. “What do you suppose that signified—a religious gesture, or what?”
“I don’t think so,” retorted Bob. “Look at Slawson.”
They looked at the still unconscious man. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the blue color was fading from his skin. And as it faded the labored, gasping respiration slowed down. He seemed to relax, or sink into a more comfortable and relaxed state. He no longer had to fight for his oxygen and was now ready to rest and recuperate.
Tom felt the patient’s pulse. “It’s slower,” he said simply. “One hundred twenty—no, one hundred eight.” He put the stethoscope in his ears and listened to the heart, then the lungs. “Heart action is full and strong and the lungs are practically clear.”
“What’ll we do about those animals?” asked Livingston. “Shouldn’t we try to thank them, or . . . or—” He broke off; how can you thank someone you can’t talk to? How can you do a return favor for a person whose needs or likes are totally beyond your knowledge?
“Just skip it, for now,” said Bob slowly. “I have a hunch that those boys will be back after a while. And we’ll try to do something for them, some day.” And he left the room.