The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 507
As he was leaving, Hossantir bent an eye-stalk in his direction and said gravely, "Stay cool, Conway."
Chapter Sixteen
THE WARD was cold and dark. Heavy shielding and insulation protected it against the radiation and heat given off by the ship traffic in the vicinity of the hospital, and there were no windows, because even the light which filtered in from the distant stars could not be allowed to penetrate to this level. For this reason the images appearing on his vehicle's screen had been converted from the nonvisible spectrum which gave the pictures the unreal quality of fantasy, and the scales covering Diagnostician Semlic's eight-limbed, starfish-shaped body shone coldly through the methane mist like multihued diamonds, making it resemble some wondrous, heraldic beast.
Conway had often studied pictures and scanner records of the SNLU life-form, but this was the first time he had seen Semlic outside its refrigerated life-support vehicle. In spite of the proven efficiency of Conway's own insulated vehicle, the Diagnostician was keeping its distance.
"I come in response to your recent invitation," Conway said hesitantly, "and to escape from that madhouse up there for a while. I have no intention of examining any of your patients."
"Oh, Conway, it's you inside that thing!" Semlic moved fractionally closer. "My patients will be greatly relieved by your lack of attention. That furnace you insist on occupying makes them nervous. But if you would park to the right of the observation gallery, just there, you will be able to see and hear everything that goes on. Have you been here before?"
"Twice," Conway replied. "Purely to satisfy my curiosity on both occasions, as well as to enjoy the peace and quiet."
Semlic made a sound which did not translate, then said, "Peace and quiet are relative, Conway. You have to turn the sensitivity of your outside microphone right up to hear me with sufficient volume for your translator to be able to handle my input, and I am speaking loudly for an SNLU. To a being like you, who are nearly deaf, it is quiet. I hope that the environment, busy and noisy as it is to me, will help bring the peace and calm which your mind requires so badly.
"And don't forget," it said as it moved away, "turn your sound sensitivity up and your translator off."
"Thank you," Conway said. For a moment the jeweled starfish shape of the Diagnostician aroused in him an almost childlike sense of wonder, so that a sudden wave of emotion misted his eyes and added to the blurring effect of the methane fog filling the ward as he added, "You are a kind, understanding, and warmhearted being."
Semlic made another untranslatable sound and said, "There is no need to be insulting ..."
For a long time he watched the activity in the busy ward and noticed that a few of the low-temperature nursing staff attending the patients wore lightweight protective suits, indicating that their atmosphere requirements were somewhat different from the ward in general. He saw them doing things to and for their charges which made no sense at all, unless he was to take an SNLU tape, and they worked in the almost total silence of beings with a hypersensitivity to audible vibrations, and at first there was nothing to hear. But the more deeply he concentrated the more aware he became of delicate patterns of sound emerging, of a kind of alien music which was cold and pure and resembled nothing he had ever heard before, and eventually he could distinguish single voices and conversations which were like the cool, passionless, delicate, and ineffably sweet chiming of colliding snowflakes. Gradually the peace and beauty and utter strangeness of it all reached him and the other components of his mind, and gently dissolved away all the stress and conflict and mental confusion.
Even Khone, in whom xenophobia was an evolutionary imperative, could find nothing threatening in these surroundings, and it, too, found the peace and calm which enables the mind either to float without thinking or to think clearly and coolly and without worrying.
Except, that was, for a small, niggling worry over the fact that he had been here for several hours while there was important work awaiting his attention, and besides which, it had been nearly ten hours since he had eaten.
The cold level had served its purpose very well by leaving him in all respects cool. Conway looked around for Semlic, but the SNLU had disappeared into a side ward. He turned on his translator, meaning to ask two nearby patients to pass on his message of thanks to the Diagnostician, but hastily changed his mind.
The delicate chiming and tinkling speech of the two SNLU patients translated as "... Nothing but a whining, hypochondriac cow! If it wasn't such a kindly being, it would tell you so and probably kick you out of the hospital. And the shameless way you try to get its sympathy is not far short of seduction ..." and, in reply, "You have nothing to be seductive with, you jealous old bitch! You're falling apart. But it still knows which one of us is really ill, even when I try to hide it ..."
As he left Conway made a mental note to ask O'Mara what the ultrafrigid SNLUs did about cooling a situation which had become emotionally overheated. And what, for that matter, could he do to calm down the perpetually pregnant Protector of the Unborn he would be calling on as soon as he had something to eat. But he had the feeling that the answer would be the same in both cases, nothing at all.
When he had returned to the normal warmth and light of the interlevel corridors, he stopped to think.
The distance between his present position and the level occupied by the Protector was roughly the same as that to the main dining hall which lay in the opposite direction, which meant that he would have a double journey no matter which area he visited first. But his own quarters were between him and the Protector, and Murchison always liked to have food available—a habit dating back to her nursing days—in case a sudden emergency or sheer fatigue kept her from visiting the dining hall. The menu was not varied, but then all he wanted to do was refuel.
There was another reason for avoiding the dining hall. In spite of the fact that his limbs no longer seemed quite so foreign to him, and the people passing him in the corridor were not nearly so unsettling as they had been before his visit to Semlic's wards, and he felt in control of his alter egos, he was not sure that he could remain so if he were to be exposed to the proximity of masses of food which his taped entities might find nauseating.
It would not look good if he had to pay another visit to Semlic so soon. He did not think that the type of cold comfort he had received was habit-forming, but the law of diminishing returns would most certainly apply.
When he arrived Murchison was dressed, technically awake, but in a powered-down condition, and about to go on duty. They both knew, and they were careful not to mention to each other that they knew, that O'Mara had arranged their free periods to coincide as seldom as possible—the assumption being that it was sometimes better to put off a problem rather than cause unnecessary grief by trying to solve it too soon. Murchison yawned at him and wanted to know what he had been doing and what, apart from sleeping, he intended doing next.
"Food, first," Conway said, yawning in sympathy. "Then I have to check on the condition of the FSOJ. You remember that Protector? You were in at its birth."
She remembered it, all right, and said so in terms which were less than ladylike.
"How long is it since you've had any sleep?" she went on, trying to hide her concern by pretending to be cross. "You look worse than some of the patients in intensive care. Your taped entities will not feel fatigue, because they weren't tired when they donated their brain recordings, but don't let that fool you into thinking that you are tireless."
Conway fought back another yawn, then reached forward suddenly to grab her around the waist. He was pretty sure that his arms were not trembling as he held her, even though his arousal was being matched by equivalent feelings in his alter egos, but the kiss was much less lingering than was usual. Murchison pushed him away gently.
"Do you have to go right away?" he asked, fighting another mammoth yawn.
Murchison laughed. "I'm not going to fool about with you in that condition. You'd probably arrest. Go to bed before you go to sleep. I'll fix you something before I leave, something hidden inside a sandwich so that your mind-friends won't object to what you're eating."
As she busied herself at their food dispenser, she went on, "Thorny is very interested in the birth process in the Protector, and it has asked me to check the patient at frequent intervals. I'll call you if anything unusual develops there, and I'm sure the Seniors in Hudlar OR will do the same."
"I really ought to check them myself," Conway said.
"What's the use of having assistants," she said impatiently, "if you insist on doing all the work yourself?"
Conway, with the remains of his first sandwich in one hand and an unspecified but no doubt nutritious cup of something in the other, sat down on their bed. He said, "Your argument is not without merit."
She gave him an almost sisterly peck on the cheek, a kiss designed to cause minimal arousal in his alter egos as well as his own, and left without another word. O'Mara must have lectured her pretty thoroughly regarding her behavior toward a life-mate who had recently become an acting Diagnostician and who still had to adjust to the attendant emotional confusion.
If he did not adjust soon, he could not look forward to having much fun. The trouble was, Murchison was not giving him much of an opportunity to try.
He awoke suddenly with her hand on his shoulder and the remains of a nightmare, or it might have been an alien wish-fulfillment dream, dissolving into the comfortable reality of their living quarters.
"You were snoring," she said. "You've probably been snoring for the past six hours. The Hudlar OR and Protector teams left recorded messages for you. They obviously didn't think them urgent or important enough to awaken you, and the rest of the hospital continues to go about its business much as usual. Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"No," Conway said, and reached up to grab her around the waist. Her resistance was a token one.
"I don't think O'Mara would approve of this," she said doubtfully. "He warned me that there would be emotional conflicts, serious enough to permanently affect our relationship, if the process of adaptation is not slow and carefully controlled, and—"
"And O'Mara isn't married to the most pulchritudinous female DBDG in the hospital," Conway broke in, and added, "And since when have I been fast and uncontrolled?"
"O'Mara isn't married to anything but his job," she said, laughing, "and I expect his job would divorce him if it could. But our Chief Psychologist knows his stuff, and I would not want to risk prematurely overstimulating your—"
"Shut up," Conway said softly.
It was possible that the Chief Psychologist was right, Conway thought as he gently rolled her onto the bed beside him; O'Mara usually was right. His alter egos were becoming increasingly aroused, and were looking with other-species disfavor on the features occupying the forward skull and the softly curving mammaries of the Earth-human DBDG in such close proximity to them. And when tactile sensations were added to the visual sensory input, their disfavor became extreme.
They reacted with mental images of what should have been going on in the Hudlar, Tralthan, Kelgian, Melfan, Illensan, and Gogleskan equivalent situation, and they insisted that this was utterly and quite revoltingly wrong. What was worse, they tried to make Conway feel that it was wrong, too, and that the life-mate beside him should have been of an entirely different physiological classification, the exact species being dependent on the emotional intensity of the entity who was protesting the most.
Even the Gogleskan was insisting that this activity was all wrong, but it was disassociating itself from the proceedings. Khone was a rugged individualist, a perfect example of a loner among a species which had evolved to the point where solitude was a prime survival characteristic. And suddenly Conway realized that he was using Khone's Gogleskan presence and ability, that he had already used it on several previous occasions to ignore those thoughts and feelings which had to be ignored and to focus his Earth-human mind on those which required the utmost concentration.
The alien protests were still strong, but the protestors were being put in their places and given a low order of priority. Even the Gogleskan objections were being noted but otherwise ignored. He was using the FOKTs unique ability against itself as well as the others, and Khone's race certainly knew how to concentrate on a subject.
"We shouldn't ... be doing ... this," Murchison said breathlessly.
Conway ignored her words but concentrated on everything else. There were times when other-species responses to equivalent situations obtruded, insisting that his partner was too large, too tiny, too fragile, the wrong shape, or in the wrong position. But his visual and tactile sensors were those of a male Earth-human, and the stimuli they were receiving overwhelmed the purely mental interference of the others. Sometimes his alter egos suggested certain actions and movements. These he ignored as well, except in a few instances when he was able to modify them to his own purpose. But toward the end all of the alien interference was swamped out, and the hospital's primary reactor could have blown and he would scarcely have noticed it.
When their elevated pulse and respiration rates had returned to something approaching normal, she continued to hold him tightly, not speaking and even more reluctant to let go. Suddenly she laughed softly.
"I was given precise instruction," she said in a tone which contained both puzzlement and relief, "regarding my behavior toward you for the next few weeks or months. The Chief Psychologist said that I should avoid intimate physical contact, maintain a professional and clinical manner during all conversations, and generally consider myself a widow until you had either come to terms with the tapes riding you, or you had been forced to resume your former Senior Physician status. It was an extremely serious matter, I was told, and great amounts of patience and sympathy would be required to see you through this difficult time. I was to consider you a multiple schizophrenic, with the majority of the personalities concerned feeling no emotional bond with me, and in many cases reacting toward me with physical revulsion. But I was to ignore all this because to do otherwise would be to subject you to the risk of permanent psychological damage."
She kissed the tip of his nose and gave a long, gentle sigh. She went on. "Instead I find no evidence of physical revulsion and ... Well, you don't seem to be entirely your old self. I can't say exactly what the difference is, and I'm not complaining, but you don't appear to be having any psychological difficulties at all and ... and O'Mara will be pleased!"
Conway grinned. "I wasn't trying to please O'Mara ..." he began, when the communicator beeped urgently at them.
Murchison had set it to record any nonurgent messages so that he could sleep undisturbed, and obviously someone thought his problem urgent enough to wake him. He escaped from her clutches by tickling her under the arms, then directed the communicator's vision pickup away from the devastated bed before answering. It was possible that there was an Earth-human male DBDG at the other end.
Edanelt's angular, chitinous features filled the screen as the Melfan Senior said, "I hope I did not disturb you, Conway, but Hudlar's Forty-three and Ten have regained consciousness and are pain-free. They are feeling very lucky to be alive and have not yet had time to think about the disadvantages. This would be the best time to talk to them, if you still wish to do so."
"I do," Conway said. He could not think of anything he wanted to do less just then, and the watching Edanelt and Murchison both knew it. He added, "What about Three?"
"Still unconscious but stable," the Senior replied. "I checked its condition a few minutes before calling you. Hossantir and Yarrence left some hours ago to indulge in these periods of physical and mental collapse which you people seem to need at such ridiculously short intervals. I shall speak to Three when it comes to. The problems of adjustment there are not so serious."
Conway nodded. "I'm on my way."
The prospect of what lay ahead of him had brought the Hudlar material rushing in to fill virtually all of his mind, so that his goodbye to Murchison was nonphysical and lacked even verbal warmth. Fortunately, she had come to accept this kind of behavior from him and would ignore it until he was his old self again. As he turned to go, Conway wondered what there was so special about this pink, flabby, ridiculously weak and unbeautiful entity with whom he had spent most of his adult life.
Chapter Seventeen
"YOU HAVE been very fortunate," Conway said, "very fortunate indeed that neither the baby nor you have suffered permanent damage."
Medically that was quite true, Conway told himself. But the Hudlar in his mind thought otherwise, as did the members of the recovery ward staff who had withdrawn to a discreet distance to enable the patient and its physician to talk privately.
"Having said that," Conway went on, "I regret to tell you that you, personally, have not escaped the long-term and perhaps emotionally distressing effects of your injuries."
He knew that he was not being very subtle in his approach, but in many ways the FROB life-form was as direct and forthright as the Kelgians, although much more polite.
"The reason for this is that organ replacement surgery was necessary to keep both of you alive," he continued, appealing to the patient's maternal instincts in the hope that the good news about the young Hudlar would in some measure diminish the misfortune which would shortly befall the older one. "Your offspring will be born without complications, will be healthy, and will be fully capable of leading a normal life on or off its home planet. You, regrettably, will not."
The Hudlar's speaking membrane vibrated with the expected question.
Conway thought for a moment before replying, not wanting to pitch the explanation at too elementary a level. This Hudlar was a mining specialist and highly intelligent; otherwise it and its life-mate would not have been working the Menelden asteroids. So he told Forty-three that while infant Hudlars sometimes fell seriously ill and a few might even die, adults were never sick, nor were they anything but physically perfect until the advent of senility. The reason for this was that they developed an immunity to their home planet's pathogens which was as complete and perfect as any purely biochemical system could be, and no other species known to Federation medical science could match it. The FROB immune system was such that it would not allow foreign biological material of any kind to attach itself to their bodies without instantly initiating the process of rejection. Fortunately, their superefficient immune system could be neutralized when necessary, and one of these occasions was when vital organs or limbs from a donor were used as surgical replacements.
