The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 292
He hesitated, then ended awkwardly, "You see, not only is it my opposite number, I owe it my life as well. There is a close, personal bond between us as if we had become ... become ..."
"Blood brothers?" said Edwards.
The End
Meatball
Sector General 03.4
New Writings in SF-16 – 1969
Chapter One
CONWAY had been worrying about the Meatball problem during the whole of the trip back to the hospital, but only in the past two hours had the process become a constructive one. That had been the period during which he had finally admitted to himself that he could not solve the problem and had begun thinking of the names and professional capabilities of some of the beings, human and otherwise, who might help him find the solution. He was worrying so hard and constructively that he did not know that their ship had materialised the regulation twenty miles from the hospital until the flat, translated voice of Reception rattled from the control-room's speaker.
"Identify yourself, please. Patient, visitor, or staff, and species?"
The Corps lieutenant who was piloting looked back at Conway and Edwards, the mother ship's medical officer and raised an eyebrow.
Edwards cleared his throat nervously and said, "This is scoutship DI-835, tender and communications ship to the Monitor Corps survey and cultural contact vessel Descartes. We have four visitors and one staff member on board. Three are human and two are native Drambons of different —"
"Give physiological classifications, please, or make full-vision contact. All intelligent races refer to themselves as human and consider others to be non-human, so what you call yourself is irrelevent so far as preparing or directing you to suitable accommodation is concerned."
Edwards muted the speaker and said helplessly to Conway, "I know what we are, but how the blazes do I describe Surreshun and the other character to this medical bureaucrat?"
Conway laughed and took the mike without thumbing the transmit switch. He said, "In certain circumstances—if we had a very sick e-t aboard in need of urgent treatment and with exotic food, gravity, temperature, and atmosphere requirements—a medical bureaucrat in Reception could be a very good thing."
In the forward vision screen the lights of Sector Twelve General Hospital blazed against the misty backdrop of the stars. From its thousands of viewports shone light that was yellow or red-orange or a soft, liquid green. But there were patches of darkness as well, and behind these areas of solid plating lay wards and corridors wherein the lighting was so viciously incandescent that the eyes of approaching ships' pilots had to be protected from it, or sections which were so dark and cold that not even the feeble glow which filtered in from local traffic could be allowed to penetrate to their patients.
In addition to the patients, whose numbers and physiological classifications varied from day to day, it housed a medical and maintenance staff made up from members of the sixty-odd—sometimes very odd—intelligent species known to the Galactic Federation. Together they prided themselves that no case was too big, too small, or too hopeless for them, and their professional reputation and facilities were second to none.
Now Conway was about to hand them a case which seemed hopeless from the start and was at the same time the biggest medical and surgical problem they had ever been asked to tackle.
Thumbing the transit switch he said, "This ship contains three Earth-humans of physiological classification DBDG. They are Major Edwards and Lieutenant Harrison of the Monitor Corps and myself, Senior Physician Conway. We are carrying two Drambon natives. Drambo is the native name for the planet—you may still have it listed as Meatball, which was our name for it before we knew it had intelligent life. One of the natives is a CLHG, water-breathing with a warm-blooded oxygen-based metabolism. The other is tentatively classified as SRJH and seems comfortable in either air or water.
"There is no urgency about the transfer," Conway went on, "at the same time the CLHG occupies a physically irksome life-support mechanism and would doubtless feel more comfortable in one of our water-filled levels where it can roll normally. Can you take us at lock Twenty-three or Twenty-four?"
"Lock Twenty-three, Doctor. Do the visitors require special transport or protective devices for the transfer?"
"Negative."
"Very well. Please inform Dietetics regarding food and liquid requirements and the periodicity of their meals. Your arrival has been notified and Colonel Skempton would like to see Major Edwards and Lieutenant Harrison as soon as possible. Major O'Mara would like to see Doctor Conway sooner than that."
"Thank you."
Conway's words were received by the being who was manning the reception board, whose translator pack relayed them to the computer which occupied three whole levels at the nerve-centre of the hospital, which in turn returned them stripped of all emotional overtones to the scaley, furry, or feathery receptionist in the form of hoots, cheeps, growls, or whatever other odd noises the being used as its spoken language.
The emotional overtones did not escape Major Edwards, however, who said, "This O'Mara sounds like a captain I had once—it didn't matter what you said to him so long as it was yes sir. But don't worry, Doctor. I'm a Major, too, and I'll protect you ..."
"Hah," said Conway with even more emotional overtones.
"I worked hard for this braid on my sleeve, Doctor," said Edwards, sounding hurt. "Normally we don't worry too much about rank in the Corps, but no Major is going to tell me what to do or disregard anything I say about you or your work on Meatball—oops, I mean Drambo. What, is this O'Mara character like?"
Conway laughed. "I'm grateful for your offer of protection, but O'Mara doesn't pull rank either, or even believe in it, and it is very hard to describe him in printable language, but I'll try ..."
Sector General was administered and maintained by the Monitor Corps, the Federation's executive and law enforcement arm and, while there were scores of officers in the hospital who outranked him, the limits of Major O'Mara's authority were difficult to define.
As the hospital's chief psychologist O'Mara's prime responsibility was the efficient and smooth integration of its medical staff. But keeping so many different and potentially antagonistic life-forms working in harmony was no easy job. He was constantly on guard to detect and neutralise potentially dangerous inter-personal situations before they could become serious, or in extreme cases to remove the individuals responsible. To this end he was given a large and in many cases the final say in which doctor was assigned where and to whom. It went without saying that he suggested, continually and not at all respectfully, how best the Corps officers responsible for technical support and maintenance at the hospital might best deploy their various abilities ...
"What you should remember when you meet him," Conway went on seriously, "is that he is polite to strangers and patients, and when he begins to like you he relaxes and becomes his natural, bad-tempered, obnoxious self—"
"Sorry, Doctor," said the pilot. "We'll be docking in five minutes and you did say that you wanted to prepare the visitors for transfer."
Conway nodded and Edwards said, "I'll lend a hand, Doctor."
The scoutship entered the enormous cubic cavern which was Lock Twenty-three while they were donning the lightweight suits used for environments where the liquid or gas was lethal but at reasonably normal pressures. They felt the grapples draw them into the adjustable cradle and staggered slightly as the artificial gravity grids were switched on. The Lock's outer seal clanged shut and there was the sound of waterfalls pouring down metal cliffs.
Conway had just finished securing his helmet when its receiver said, "Harrison here, Doctor. The reception team leader says that it will take some time to completely fill the lock with water as well as making it necessary to carry out the full anti-contamination procedure at the other five internal entrances. It is a big lock, pressure of water on the other seals will be severe if—"
"Filling won't be necessary," said Conway. "The Drambon CLCH will be all right so long as the water reaches the top edge of the freight hatch."
"The man says bless you."
They let themselves into the scoutship's hold, carefully avoiding the self-powered life support machinery which kept the first Drambon rotating like an organic prayer wheel as they removed the retaining straps from the freight lashing points.
"We've arrived, Surreshun," said Conway. "In a few minutes you'll be able to say good-bye to that contraption for a few days. How is our friend?"
It was a purely rhetorical question because the second Drambon did not and perhaps could not speak. But if it could not converse it could at least react. Like a great, translucent jellyfish—it would have been completely invisible in water had it not been for its iridescent skin and a few misty internal organs—the Drambon undulated towards them. It curled around Conway like a thick, translucent cocoon for a moment, then transferred its attentions to Edwards.
"Ready when you are, Doctors."
"This is a much better entrance than your first one," said Conway as Edwards helped him manoeuvre Surreshun's life-support equipment out of the hold. "At least this time we know what we are doing."
"There is no need to apologise, friend Conway," said Surreshun in its flat, translated voice. "To a being of my high intelligence and ethical values, sympathy for the mental shortcomings of lesser beings and, of course, foregiveness for any wrongs they may have done me are but small facets of my generous personality."
Conway had not been aware that he was apologising, but to a being to whom the concept of modesty was completely alien it was possible that his words had sounded that way. Diplomatically he said nothing.
Surreshun belonged to a species which did not possess a heart or, for that matter, any other form of muscular pump to circulate its blood. Physically it resembled 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 form of medical treatment or surgery necessitated the doctor, the entire theatre staff, the instruments and lighting all being attached to an elaborate ferris wheel and rotating with the patient.
It was difficult to imagine how such an odd species had been able to evolve in the first place. Life for them must have begun in a large tidal basin so constituted that the tide washed continually around it instead of going in and out. Surreshun's remote ancestors would then have been very small, simple creatures which had been rolled continuously by the circular tides, picking up food from the sea bed as they went. Gradually they would have evolved specialised internal musculature and organs which had enabled them to do the rolling instead of trusting to the tides and currents, also manipulatory and locomotor appendages in the shape of the fringe of short tentacles which sprouted from the inner edge of Surreshun's ring-like body between the sensory, respiratory, and ingestion orifices.
With physical specialisation had come intelligence, an increasing measure of control over their environment, nuclear power, and spaceflight—which was where Surreshun had first come on the scene, its capsule leaking water at a controlled rate while it 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 been orbiting the planet were concerned it was a simple rescue operation, even though they were in fact rescuing a perfectly healthy astronaut in a fully functioning space vessel. And later at Sector General Conway had almost made the misunderstanding a fatal one by trying to immobilise the being for treatment when the only time that Surreshun's species stopped moving was the moment they died.
Maybe he had been apologising to the being without being aware of it, which meant that his subconscious had more sense than he gave it credit for.
Chapter Two
LOCK TWENTY-three's reception team arrived to help them move Surreshun's wheel to the entrance to the water-filled AUGL wards. The team leader, whose black suit had red and yellow striped arms and legs making him look like an updated court jester, swam up to Conway and touched helmets.
"Sorry about this, Doctor," his voice sounded, clearly if somewhat distorted by the transmitting media, "but an emergency has come up suddenly and I don't want to tie up the suit frequency. I'd like all you people to move into the ward as quickly as possible. Surreshun has been through our hands before so we don't have to worry about it, just take charge of the other character wherever it is and ... What the blazes!"
The other character had wrapped itself around his head and shoulders, pinioning his arms and nuzzling at him like a dog with a dozen invisible heads.
"Maybe it likes you," said Conway. "If you ignore it for a minute it will go away."
"Things usually do find me irresistible," said the team leader drily. "I wish the same could be said for females of my own species ..."
Conway swam around and over it, grabbed two large handfuls of the flexible, transparent tegument covering its back and kicked sideways against the water until the being's front end was pointing towards the ward entrance. Great, slow ripples moved along its body and it began undulating towards the corridor leading to the AUGL ward like an iridescent flying carpet. Less gracefully Surreshun's ferris wheel followed close behind.
"An emergency, you said?"
"Yes, Doctor," said the team leader on the suit frequency. "But nothing will happen for another ten minutes, so I can use the suit radio if we keep it brief. My information is that a Kelgian DBLF on the Hudlar operating theatre staff was injured by a muscular spasm and involuntary movement of the patient's forward tentacles during the course of the op. The injuries are complicated by compression effects plus the fact that the constituents of that high-pressure muck which Hudlars breathe are highly toxic to the Kelgian metabolism. But it is the bleeding which is the real cause of the emergency. You know Kelgians."
"Yes, indeed," said Conway.
Even a small punctured or incised wound was a very serious matter for a Kelgian. They were giant, furry caterpillars and only their brain, which was housed in the blunt, conical head section was protected by anything resembling a boney structure. The body consisted of a series of wide, circular bands of muscle which gave it mobility and served to protect, very inadequately, the vital organs within.
The trouble was that to give those tremendous bands of muscle an adequate blood supply the Kelgian pulse rate and pressure was, by Earth standards, abnormally high.
"They haven't been able to control the bleeding very well," the team leader went on, "so they are moving it from the Hudlar section two levels above us to the Kelgian theatre just below, and taking it through the water-filled levels to save time ... Excuse me, Doctor, here they come ..."
Several things happened at once just then. With an untranslatable gurgle of pleasure Surreshun released itself from the wheel and went rolling ponderously along the floor, zig-zagging slowly among the patients and nursing staff who ranged from squat, crab-like Melfans to the forty-foot long tentacled crocodile who were natives of the ocean-covered world of Chalderescol. The other Drambon had twitched itself free of Conway's grip and was drifting away, while high up on the opposite wall a seal had opened and the injured Kelgian was being moved in, attended by too many people for Conway's assistance to be either necessary or desirable.
There were five Earth-humans wearing lightweight suits like his own, two Kelgians, and an Illensan whose transparent envelope showed the cloudy yellow of chlorine inside. One of the Earth-human helmets contained a head which he recognised, that of his friend Mannen who specialised in Hudlar surgery. They swarmed round the Kelgian casualty like a shoal of ungainly fish, pushing and tugging it towards the other side of the ward, the size of the shoal increasing as the reception team leader and his men swam closer to assess the situation. The Drambon jellyfish also moved closer.
At first Conway thought the being was merely curious, but then he saw that the carpet of iridescence was undulating towards the injured being with intent.
"Stop it!" Conway shouted.
They all heard him because he saw them jerk as his voice rattled deafeningly from their suit phones. But they did not know and there was no time to tell them who, what, or even how to stop it.
Cursing the inertia of the water Conway swam furiously towards the injured Kelgian, trying to head the Drambon off. But the big, blood-soaked area of fur on the Kelgian's side was drawing the other like a magnet and, like a magnet, its attraction increased with the inverse square of the distance. Conway did not have time to shout a warning before the Drambon struck softly and clung.
There was a soft explosion of bubbles as the Drambon's probes ruptured the Kelgian's pressure litter and slid into the already damaged suit it had been wearing in the Hudlar theatre and through the thick, silvery fur beneath. Within seconds its transparent body was turning a deepening shade of red as it sucked the blood from the injured Kelgian.
"Quickly," Conway yelled, "get them both to the air-filled section!"
He could have saved his breath because everyone was talking and overloading the suit radio. The direct sound pickup was no help, either—all he could hear was the deep, water-borne growl of the ward's emergency siren and too many voices jabbering at once, until one very loud, translated Chalder voice roared out above the others.
"Animal! Animal!"
His strenuous swimming had overloaded the drying elements in his suit, but those words caused the sweat bathing his body to turn from hot to cold.
Not all the inhabitants of Sector General were vegetarians by any means, and their dietary requirements necessitated vast quantities of meat from extra-terrestrial as well as terrestrial sources to be shipped in. But the meat invariably arrived frozen or otherwise preserved, and for a very good reason. This was to avoid cases of mistaken identity on the part of the larger, meat-eating life-forms who very often came into contact with smaller e-ts who frequently bore a physical resemblance to the former's favourite food.
