The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 708
"Neither were ninety-odd percent of the Federation citizens," he said, "so I'm not offended. It is a small but very exclusive company that can charge the Earth and moon for its services, which is to provide handcrafted, custom-built garments made from the original, handwoven or spun tweeds and fine worsted materials. In these days of cheap, synthesized clothing there are people who are willing and wealthy enough to pay our prices, or even to try bribing their way onto our waiting list. But in spite of the fearsome prices we charge, the profit margin isn't excessive. We have to maintain herds of sheep and other wool-bearing animals, who are classified as protected species. They still need to be shorn periodically, which is how we get the raw material for our weaving mill, but the high level and cost of health care our animals are given you wouldn't believe.
"My job requires periodic inspection visits to our herds," he went on, "which includes feeling the quality of wool on a few of the animals before shearing. But they are never, ever allowed to take sick or catch any infectious diseases. So I'm sorry. This information isn't very useful to you, is it?"
"Probably not useful," she agreed, "but interesting. We'll need to give it some serious thought."
"And I'm not a tailor," he ended, "just an impeccably dressed company figurehead, when I'm not wearing a hospital nightshirt."
Murchison smiled and nodded. "We were all wondering why an apparently non-urgent case like yours was referred to Sector General. Maybe one of your rich and influential clients might have had something to do with it, especially if he happened to be a highly placed medic anxious to get onto your waiting list."
"But surely not influential enough," said Hewlitt, "to have an ambulance ship like Rhabwar assisting with my case. Why am I considered that important?"
He knew at once from her sudden lack of expression that she was not going to answer. Instead she smiled again am said firmly, "No more questions, Patient Hewlitt. You can count sheep if you like, but go to sleep."
She continued to watch him until he closed his eyes; then he heard her resume the quiet, intermittent tapping on her console. In the darkness behind his closed lids, the background silence of a ship in hyperflight became diluted by the soft, metallic creaking and humming noises interspersed with the distant, muffled, and barely audible voices of the crew that drifted aft along the communications well, sounds that at other times he would not have been aware of hearing. He lay for a subjective eternity, trying not to think about anything at all while wriggling to relieve the increasing discomfort of his sinfully comfortable bed until he could take it no longer.
"I'm not sleeping," he said, opening his eyes.
"That is what your monitor has been telling me for the past two hours," said Murchison, trying to hide her irritation behind a smile. "But it is always nice to have verbal corroboration. What am I going to do with you?"
Hewlitt recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one and remained silent.
She went on, "You are forbidden all medication, which, naturally, includes sedation. Rhabwar doesn't have an entertainment channel to bore you to sleep because the occupants of the casualty deck are usually in no condition to be entertained. Danalta will be relieving me in an hour. Unless you want to spend the rest of the night watching it change shape, which is not a pretty sight, our closest equivalent to in-flight entertainment is the ship's log of past operations. I can run that on the main screen if you like, with the nonmedical summary. Some of the material will provide useful background information for tomorrow's briefing on Etla."
"And will it bore me to sleep?" asked Hewlitt.
"I very much doubt it," she replied. "Raise the backrest until you can see the whole screen without dislocating your neck. Okay? Here we go ..."
There had been time to call up the library information on Rhabwar before they had moved him on board, so he already knew that he was on a special ambulance ship whose primary purpose was the deep-space rescue, retrieval, and preliminary treatment of life-forms in distress whose physiological classifications were hitherto unknown to the Federation. In the case of a distress call from a Federation vessel, whose flight plan, planet of origin, and crew species were known, it was simpler to dispatch a rescue vessel from the home planet with a team of same-species medics and life support on board.
With the retrieval of Rhabwar's type of casualty, the situation was different and potentially more dangerous. In addition to being traumatized and their ability to observe and reason logically reduced by pain, shock, fear, and confusion, its casualties were more often as not thrown into a panic reaction caused by the sight of the grotesque creatures who were trying to rescue them. That was why Rhabwar's crew had to include other-species technology experts and first-contact specialists as well as medics.
When it was not engaged on specialist rescue missions, the ship was expected to respond to the more general type of emergency ranging from large-scale space structural accidents to the coordination of medical disaster relief operations on-planet. But the majority of the missions, as well as being the most entertaining and hair-raising, were those which the log noted as requiring unique solutions.
The present mission, he had overheard Murchison tell Naydrad, would probably hold the all-time record for being both the weirdest and least dangerous they had ever been assigned.
Because his hearing was very good he had also overheard the medical team making obscure references to problems they had encountered on previous missions, to beings called the Dewatti, a pregnant Gogleskan called Khone, and the Blind Ones and their incredibly savage servants, the Protectors of the Unborn, among others. But now, as the images of devastated ships, drifting masses of space wreckage with the dead or dying debris it contained, and the pictures of barely living organic wreckage occupying his own and the other beds around him filled the screen, those references were no longer obscure.
Murchison had been right. The pictures that were unfolding were not conducive to sleep, and so keen was he not to miss anything that he closed his eyes only to blink. He noticed neither the arrival of Danalta or the pathologist's departure, and he grew aware of events beyond the borders of the big viewscreen only when the deck lighting came on, the screen darkened, and he felt the gentle downdraft from Prilicla's wings as the Cinrusskin hovered above his bed.
"Good morning, friend Hewlitt," it said. "We have emerged from hyperspace and will be landing in five hours' time. I feel from you the emotional radiation characteristic of a high level of fatigue, although you consciously admitted its presence. It would look bad for all of us if you yawned your way through the briefing, so relax, empty your mind, and close your eyes for ten seconds and you will find yourself asleep. Trust me."
Chapter Seventeen
RHABWAR possessed the delta-wing configuration and flight characteristics but not the armament of a Monitor Corps light cruiser. It was the largest class of vessel in service capable of aerodynamic maneuvering within an atmosphere as well as being able to land with minimal effect on the local environment. That was not an important consideration here because, so far as Hewlitt could see, the area where he had played and strayed in his youth remained as he remembered it, a wreckage-strewn, overgrown wilderness. While the ship was descending onto a clear area midway between his former home and the clump of tall trees with the ravine running through them, he was able to trace with his finger on the main viewscreen the path he had taken all those years ago.
Present at the briefing, which was held on the casualty deck because it was the largest compartment in the ship, were the medical team, Captain Fletcher, Hewlitt, and, onscreen, the grey, fur-covered features of Colonel Shech-Rar, commander of the local Monitor Corps base. The officer projected the image of a very busy and impatient Orligian.
"Your names and Rhabwar's reputation precede you, Doctor," it broke in before Prilicla had completed its friendly, informal introductions. "Let us not waste time. Sector General has requested my full cooperation during your stay here. What is the nature of your mission, how long will it take, and what facilities will you require?"
Hewlitt, who had been introduced as a nonmedical advisor, wondered whether its service career had been spent among too many Kelgians or two few Cinrusskins or if its bad manners were an inherited characteristic.
"Regrettably, Colonel," Prilicla replied, with no detectable change in its friendly manner, "I am not at liberty to divulge the precise details of our mission, other than to say that it involves the investigation of incidents which took place over twenty years ago and which may have an important bearing on a present medical research project. It is not a matter of Federation security, a Galactic Secret, or anything of a sensitive or important nature for which, I am sure, you would have full clearance. At present the information is restricted because of simple patient confidentiality. As soon as the investigation has been completed and evaluated, I have no doubt that you will be informed of the results."
"Is there a possibility that your investigation will pose a health risk," said Shech-Rar, "either to my base personnel or the native population? This was Etla the Sick, remember. We succeeded in clearing it of all its ghastly diseases many years ago, and our ongoing cultural contact mission would not be helped if the people were given an unnecessary reminder of their past. Do not try to obscure your purpose with a screen of medical polysyllables, Doctor. Can you give me this assurance?"
"Yes," said Prilicla.
Shech-Rar showed its teeth, whether in a smile or a scowl Hewlitt could not be sure, then said, "A clear, single-syllable answer. Good. But when a vessel like Rhabwar arrives on a confidential mission that is neither important nor sensitive, that is curious and so am I. No matter, Doctor. What do you need from me?"
It took only a few minutes for Prilicla to detail its requirements, but it was obvious from Shech-Rar's voice when it spoke that suspicion had replaced its former impatience.
"I was not assigned here until five years after these incidents took place," said the colonel, "so I have no direct responsibility in the matter. The flyer accident to the subject's parents, which to my mind is the only incident worthy of attention, was fully investigated. The findings were that the cause was a combination of adverse weather conditions, a power system malfunction that affected the control linkages, and pilot error, the error being in not waiting until the storm had passed. You are welcome to a copy of the report. But why is it that young people with long lives ahead of them take needless risks while the old ones, with much less time remaining, are so careful?"
The colonel made an untranslatable sound, as if irritated with itself for digressing into philosophy, and went on, "In spite of what you have told me, the arrival of Rhabwar and your team here is the true measure of the mission's importance. However, if your investigation is likely to uncover any long-past act of negligence or other misbehavior on the part of any of my officers, I will not allow you to question them until I have satisfied myself that they have Corps legal representation before answering any charges. Is that understood, Doctor?"
The empath's fragile body and limbs trembled for a moment, as if it was sensing Shech-Rar's emotional radiation at extreme range; then it said, "I assure you, Colonel, it is not that kind of investigation. We require permission to explore the locality where the incidents took place and, if they are still on Etla, interview the beings concerned. We are interested in their recollections, nothing more, and will make allowances for any lapses of memory. The approximate timing of the event is known to us, but we will need your help in identifying the people concerned. At present we do not even know their names."
"That information will be on my predecessor's file," said the colonel. "Wait."
Rather than the transmission ending, when Shech-Rar's image disappeared it was replaced by the Monitor Corps symbol on a field of deep blue, indicating that the wait was not expected to be a long one. On Rhabwar everyone remained silent, not wishing to start a discussion that was sure to be interrupted. Hewlitt watched the screen until the hairy features of the colonel reappeared.
"The names you require," said Shech-Rar without preamble, "are Stillman, Hamilton, and Telford. Major Stillman, who was then a surgeon-lieutenant, is now retired but still attached to the base as an Etlan cultural advisor, as is Dr. Hamilton, the civilian specialist in other-species dentistry. Should you need to interview it, Surgeon-Captain Telford, the senior base medical officer at the time, was posted to Dutha three years ago. The present encumbent, Surgeon-Lieutenant Krack-Yar, will make the hospital records available and discuss them with you on request."
"The matter is not important enough to warrant going to Dutha," said Prilicla. "In the absence of the original medical officer, a copy of its records and the flyer accident investigation report will be fine, as soon as you find it convenient, Colonel."
Shech-Rar looked at someone offscreen, nodded, then said, "Is fifteen minutes soon enough?"
"You don't believe in wasting time, Colonel," said Prilicla. "Thank you, yes."
"Rather than send you the names, locations, and a map," said Shech-Rar, "it will waste even less of your time if Major Stillman acts as your guide and escort. He can take you over the ground and introduce you to the people concerned as well as, hopefully, telling me what you are really doing here ..."
Definitely, thought Hewlitt, the colonel had spent a long time among Kelgians.
"The residence you mentioned," it went on, "is no longer occupied by Earth-humans. Do you still need to visit it?"
For an instant the Cinrusskin's hover became less stable. Then it recovered and said, "Yes, Colonel. If only to apologize for landing Rhabwar uninvited in their backyard."
Being an emotion sensitive, Prilicla always tried to avoid doing or saying anything that would cause an unpleasant emotional reaction in others, because the other person's anger or distress would be shared by the empath. Even though the colonel was well beyond the range of its empathic faculty, the habit of always saying the right thing was strong. But there were times, Hewlitt had found, when the little entity could be very economical with the truth. He had the feeling that this was one of them.
"Major Stillman will meet you at your airlock in three hours," said the colonel. "Is there anything else you need from me, Doctor?"
Before Prilicla could finish saying no and thanking it again, the transmission ended.
"I could have taken you to the site, and the house, without Stillman's help," said Hewlitt. "Why do you want to go to the house anyway? The real reason, I mean, not the polite, socially acceptable one that you gave the colonel."
"If we refused the assistance of the local Monitor Corps, friend Hewlitt," said Prilicla, "the colonel would be sure that we were trying to hide something. We are not hiding anything, because we still don't know if there is anything to hide except, perhaps, our own future embarrassment.
"I have no good reason to visit the house," it went on, "other than to cover old ground in the hope that a useful idea will occur to us, or to you, while we are doing so. I feel you radiating disbelief combined with disappointment. Perhaps you were expecting a more substantial reason. But the truth is that we have no clear idea of what, if anything, we will find there.
"We will proceed with the briefing now ..."
They might not know what they were looking for, Hewlitt thought, but Captain Fletcher and the entire medical team were going out well equipped to find it. His translator was working, but the language was too specialized and technical for him to understand and make a contribution, so he listened without speaking until there was an interruption from the wall speaker.
"Communications. The material promised by Colonel Shech-Rar has come in. Instructions?"
"Put it on our repeater screen, friend Haslam, and run the accident report first," said Prilicla. It drifted closer until the downdraft from its wings stirred his hair, and went on, "You are welcome to remain, friend Hewlitt, but if at any time you find this material or our conversation distressing, please feel free to return to your bed and raise the hush field."
"It happened a long time ago," he said. "I was too young to be told all the details, but now I want to know. Thank you, but I feel sure that I'll be all right."
"I will know how you feel, friend Hewlitt," said Prilicla. "Proceed, friend Haslam."
The report began with the service ID pictures of his parents, which surprised him because they looked no older than he was now, and in his mind they had always been so much bigger and older than himself. They had been looking very serious for the camera, he thought as the other personal and physiological details unrolled, but that must have been one of the few times when they had not smiled at him. The memories came flooding back, sharp and clear and corroborating in every detail the reconstruction of the accident investigators.
At the time his father had been too busy to even to look at him, but his mother had smiled and told him not to be afraid as she climbed over the backrest of the copilot's position to squeeze down beside him. She had held him very tightly in her lap with one arm while her free hand redeployed the safety harness around both of them. Outside the canopy, the sky and the tree-covered mountains were spinning around them, with the trees coming so close that he could see individual branches. Then she had pushed his head forward, folding him in two on her lap with the back of his head pressed between her breasts. There had been a sudden shock that flung them sideways and apart, a loud, tearing crash, and the feeling of rain on his face and cold air rushing past as he fell.
He remembered an explosion of pain as he hit the ground, but nothing else until one of the rescue party that had responded to the flyer's automatic distress beacon asked him where he was hurt.
According to the report, the flyer's canopy had been speared by one of the treetops and was found still lodged in the upper branches, while the rest of the ship crashed to the ground and rolled down the mountain for a distance of forty-five meters before breaking up and catching fire. Because the local vegetation was sodden after a day of heavy rain, the flames did not travel up the slope to the point where the sole survivor, the seven-year-old Hewlitt boy, was lying. The report went on to discuss at length the technical evidence gathered by the investigators, which Prilicla passed over for later study by Captain Fletcher, and ended with brief details of the autopsy, disposal, and treatment of the victims.
