The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 288
"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 realise 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 multi-environment 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."
Theoretically his Senior Physician's armband should have cleared the way so far as nurses and subordinate grades of doctor were concerned, but the corridor was crowded as usual with six-legged, elephantine Tralthans, the giant crablike natives of Melf IV, silver-furred Kelgian caterpillars and other junior members of the staff who happened to have the advantage of weight. An added hazard was the entity bearing down on them in what was nothing less than a massive refrigerator mounted on balloon tyres. So it was not simple politeness which made him suggest that Surreshun should lead the way—its half-track mounted water tank would effectively clear a way through everything but Tralthans.
Surreshun belonged to a species which did not possess a heart or, indeed, any other form of muscular pump to circulate its blood. Physically it was a large, fleshy doughnut which rolled continually because to stop rolling was to die—its ring-like body circulated while its blood, operating on a form of gravity feed system, remained still. Even the simplest medical examination or treatment necessitated the doctor rotating with his patient, and surgery would have called for the entire theatre staff, their instruments and lighting to be attached to an elaborate ferris wheel.
It was hard to imagine how such an odd species had evolved in the first place. Life for them must have begun in a wide, shallow tidal pool so constituted that the tide washed continually around it instead of going in and out. Surreshun's ancestors must have been very small, simple creatures which had been rolled continually by the circular tides, picking up food as they went. Gradually they had evolved specialised internal musculature and organs which enabled them to do the rolling instead of trusting to the tides or currents, also manipulatory and locomotor appendages in the shape of a fringe of short tentacles sprouting from the inner edge of their ring-like bodies and with the sensory, respiratory and ingestion apparatus positioned between them. Eventually had come intelligence, an increasing measure of control over their environment, nuclear power and spaceflight—which was where Surreshun had come on the scene, its capsule leaking water vapour at a controlled rate while it whirled and tumbled along a rapidly decaying orbit giving every indication—to Earth-human eyes, that was—of being in a distressed condition.
So far as the crew of the Monitor Corps cruiser which had also been in orbit around the planet was concerned it was a simple rescue operation, but to Surreshun's friends observing the incident from the thick, soupy ocean in which they lived it was plainly the abduction of a perfectly healthy astronaut in a fully functioning space vehicle.
As they entered the dining hall Conway put that highly embarrassing error out of his mind while he 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 Diagnostician-in-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 fog-horn.
The sounds were picked up by their Translator packs, relayed to the great computer in the bowels of the hospital and re-transmitted by the packs as a flat, 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.
But it quickly became plain that the delay would be longer than a few minutes—Thornnastor, it appeared, would not be itself during the next few days and it had to take this opportunity to talk. There was a Creppelian octopoid, physiological classification AMSL, which had been admitted suffering from some exotic disease which refused to respond to local treatment. Thornnastor would have to take the available Educator Tapes on the species and those of any similar race which might prove helpful in the diagnosis and treatment. Conway would understand, therefore, that it would be in no condition to discuss sensibly any subject not directly relating to sick octopuses.
Conway understood 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 needed for the treatment of an e-t patient had to be furnished by an Educator Tape, which was simply the brain record of some 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 one of that species' tapes until treatment was completed, after which the tape was erased. The sole exceptions to this rule were Senior Physicians with teaching duties and Diagnosticians.
Because the tapes did not impart only physiological data—the complete memory and personality of the entity who had originally possessed the knowledge was transferred as well. In effect a Diagnostician spent much of his, her or its professional life as a voluntary schizophrenic. The entities apparently sharing one's mind could be unpleasant, aggressive individuals—geniuses, even medical geniuses, were rarely charming people—with all sorts of alien peeves and phobias. For the next few days Thornnastor would be a very unhappy and confused beastie indeed.
As it discussed the coming assignment, however, Thornnastor's mind was anything but confused. All around them people finished their lunches and walked, undulated, and in one case flew out to be replaced by a similar assortment of extra-terrestrials, and still Thornnastor continued to discuss methods of processing the data and specimens they would be sending him and the efficient organisation of this planet-sized medical examination. As the being responsible for analysing 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 drily.
"... 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 after-effects?"
"Not a bit and none at all," said Conway reassuringly. He went on to 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 afterwards 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, familiarising 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 Kelgians and the hospital's Tralthan maternity section. Despite the fact that one species was covered in thick, silver fur and crawled like a giant caterpillar and the other resembled a six-legged elephant, they were fairly easy to deal with because they had the same atmosphere and gravity requirements as Conway. But he was also responsible for a small ward of Hudlars, beings with hide like flexible armour 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, even though he was fortunate enough to have assistants who were nearly killing themselves in their efforts to prove how well they could handle things without him.
The courses of treatment or convalescence were well advanced, but he felt obliged to have a word with them all and say goodbye because they would be discharged and back on their home planets long before he returned from Meatball.
Chapter Two
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 called her, suggesting a trip to the recreation level when she came off duty, but discovered 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. Conway promised to collect her in six hours.
His next call was to the office of Colonel Skempton, the senior Monitor Corps officer at the hospital and the man most likely to have the latest information on the Meatball situation. A helpful Major placed the bulky Meatball file in his hands and apologised for the absence of the Colonel—apparently it was the middle of the night so far as Skempton was concerned. Conway yawned suddenly, remembering that his own shift should have ended a long time ago, then began to study the file.
Christened Meatball because Galactic Survey Reference NT117/136/3 was verbally cumbersome and because Captain Williamson of the cultural contact and survey vessel Descartes steadfastly refused the honour of having such an odd and distasteful planet named after him, the place had to be seen to be believed. 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 or rooted itself temporarily on the organic 'land' surface. But an enormous area of the planet was covered by a thick layer of animal life which in some sections was nearly a mile deep. 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 sub-surface minerals or simply to choke off and cannibalise each other.
During the course of this slow, gargantuan struggle these living strata heaved themselves into hills and valleys, altering the shape of lakes and coastlines and changing the topography of the planet from month to month.
The data gathered by Descartes before and during its single landing attempt had led to a great deal of theorising by the ship's specialists.
It had been generally agreed 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 towards the surface for the purpose of breathing, ingestion and the elimination of wastes. It should also possess a means of defence around its perimeter to keep less intelligent strata from insinuating themselves between it and the ground below or from slipping over it and choking it off from surface air, water and food. They were assuming that intelligence in a massive organism of this kind would require a permanent base from which to grow.
The second possibility would be a fairly small life-form, smooth-skinned and flexible so as to enable it to slip between the carpets on its way to and from the surface. It should also be able to withstand enormous pressure and to move fast enough to escape the ingestive processes of the large types whose metabolism and movements were slow. Their fixed base, if they needed one, would be a cave or tunnel system in the underlying rock.
If either life-form existed it was unlikely to possess an advanced technology—large industrial complexes or cities were impossible on this heaving, ever-changing world. Tools, if they had been developed at all, were almost certainly small, crude and unspecialised ...
But even the most beautiful of theories has to be proved. Captain Williamson had chosen an area containing a large clearing composed of some thick, dry, leathery material on which to set down his ship. The stuff looked dead and insensitive so that the tail flare should not cause pain to life in the area, intelligent or otherwise. But the clearing had slowly opened an enormous mouth and tried to swallow them while their stern was pelted with small rocks or pieces of metal. Descartes had taken off hurriedly with one of the pieces of metal still inside the ship's hull.
Shortly afterwards the lump of metal had entered Sector General with a casualty caused by the too-hurried takeoff and, when it was realised what exactly it was and what it could do, the normally highminded medical types at the hospital began to think covetous thoughts.
Basically it was a small, unspecialised, thought-controlled tool. Any desired shape, degree of hardness or cutting edge could be had—immediately—just by thinking at it. Nobody knew how or for what purpose it was used on Meatball, but it was obviously the product of very high intelligence which was philosophically rather than technologically oriented. In Sector General, however, there was not a surgeon of any species who had not already offered the equivalent of a right arm to possess one of them.
But there was only one available and in all probability it was immensely valuable and should by rights be returned to its owner. At the same time the hospital needed it and as many others as it was possible to lay their hands on, and all they had to offer by way of trade were their medical facilities—if and when they made contact with the users of these wonderful tools.
When Surreshun's vehicle had gone tumbling into orbit they had thought that problem at least was solved. But the big, water-breathing, constantly rotating doughnut knew nothing at all about the tools or their users. Obviously there was an intelligent species on Meatball which even Surreshun knew nothing about.
Conway returned the file to the Major and left to collect Murchison. He found himself yawning so hard that he was in danger of dislocating his jaw.
Half an hour 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 clifftops 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 realised 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. He would probably spend the rest of his date yawning in Murchison's face. 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.
Later as he was taking her back to her quarters Conway told her all he knew about his new assignment. Their farewell promised to be tender and very warm indeed, but it lasted only until the servo responsible for the section trundled up and said, "I perceive that you are beings of classification DBDG and are of differing genders, and note further that you have been in close juxtaposition for a period of two minutes fifty-three seconds. In the circumstances I must respectfully remind you of Regulation Twenty-one regarding the entertaining of visitors in DBDG Nurses Quarters ..."
