The Galactic Gourmet sg-9 Page 15

  There was a moment’s silence while he stared at the four of them and they at him, then the Kelgian member of the medical team said, “Gurronsevas! You are that Gurronsevas? I thought you had left the hospital.”

  Murchison laughed softly and said, “You were right, Charge Nurse, it had.”

  “Friend Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla as it fluttered gracefully into the air to hover above his head. “You already know Pathologist Murchison and myself, and we were not surprised by your presence because O’Mara told us that you were already on board, and why. Doctor Danalta and, as you can see from the agitated state of its fur, Charge Nurse Naydrad did not expect you, and may have seen you only at a distance. But in a ship of this size there are no distances, so we will have no choice but to become very close acquaintances and, I believe, friends.”

  A large mound of dull green, wrinkled jelly wobbled closer, extruded a single eye, ear and mouth and said, “We have seen each other on several occasions but, as a polymorph, there were personal or clinical reasons why I was looking like something else at the time. You do not show the surprise, even aversion, that many entities display when meeting me for the first time. I am very pleased to make your closer acquaintance.”

  “And I yours, Doctor Danalta,” said Gurronsevas. “Your name and work are familiar to me because to, ah, pass my waiting time here I ran the log of recent missions, including the part you played in many of them. Even though the medical details were beyond me it was fascinating viewing. Towards the end I did not want to pass the time in any other way.”

  Prilicla settled slowly to the deck, its incredibly fragile, iridescent body quivering, but with the slow, gentle tremor that indicated pleasant emotional radiation in the area. It said, “The Chief Dietitian is too polite to mention it, but friend Gurronsevas has feelings of the most intense curiosity. Since the rest of us are fairly normal life-forms I must assume that its curiosity is regarding you, friend Danalta. Would you like to satisfy it?”

  “Of course it would,” said Naydrad, rippling its back fur disdainfully. “Our medical superblob likes nothing better than impressing strangers.”

  And it was also used to dealing with the other’s impoliteness, Gurronsevas saw, because it quickly extruded a three-digited, Kelgian fore-limb and made a gesture with it which disturbed Naydrad’s fur even more and said, “I would be happy to do so. But what is it about me that particularly interests you, Chief Dietitian?”

  As they continued talking, the view from the direct vision panels around them showed that Rhabwar was edging its way through the sprawling, three-dimensional maze of the hospital’s outer structures and the traffic markers. Once it was in clear space, Gurronsevas had learned, thrust would be applied which would take it out to the prescribed Jump distance where the hospital’s more delicate items of equipment would not be affected by Rhabwar’s entry into an artificial universe that the ship had created for itself. But the time was passing very quickly and pleasantly because Danalta liked talking about itself and, unusually with such people, knew how to make the subject interesting.

  Danalta’s physiological classification was TOBS. It belonged to a species that had evolved on a planet with a highly eccentric orbit which produced climatic changes so violent that an incredible degree of physical adaptability was necessary for survival. The species had become dominant on its world and developed intelligence and a civilization, not by competing in the evolution of natural weapons but by refining and perfecting their adaptive capability. When faced by natural enemies or life-threatening events they had the four options of flight, protective mimicry, the assumption of a shape frightening to the attacker, or encasing themselves in a dense, hard shell. The species was basically amoebic but with the ability to extrude any limbs, sense organs or protective tegument necessary to any environment or situation in which it might find itself.“… In pre-sapient times the speed and accuracy of the mimicry was all-important,” Danalta went on, and without a pause in its conversation it took the shape of a scaled-down Tralthan who was a perfect miniature of Gurronsevas himself, then more life-sized replicas of Naydrad and Murchison. “To avert a threat by natural predators, rapid reproduction of the would-be attacker’s actions and behavior patterns were an important part of the process. This meant that we also had to develop the faculty of receptive empathy so that we could know how the other being expected us to look and act although, needless to say, it lacks the range and sensitivity of Doctor Prilicla’s empathic faculty.

  “With such physical and psychological protection available,” it continued, “our species has become impervious to bodily damage other than by physical annihilation or the application of ultra-high temperatures, which are threats posed by modern technology rather than natural enemies. While we have no trouble mimicking an infant in every detail we still, regrettably, die of old age.”

  “Fascinating,” said Gurronsevas. “But surely, with this natural protection available, your species has no great need for doctors?”

  “You are right,” Danalta replied, “there is no need for the healing arts on my world, and I am not a doctor. But to a mimic of my capabilities, and at this point I must say that they are considered much greater than average among my people, an establishment like Sector General represents a tremendous challenge. Because of the work I am able to do on Rhabwar and among the ward patients, my friends insist on giving me that title.

  “Do you have another question, Chief Dietitian?”

  Gurronsevas felt himself warming towards this utterly strange being who, like himself, had come here solely because of the professional challenge.

  While he was still trying to frame his simple question, which to a species as weird as Danalta’s might give offense in a politely roundabout fashion, he felt a sudden dizziness. Rhabwar had reached Jump distance and entered hyperspace, a fact confirmed by the direct vision ports which were showing only a flickering greyness.

  Prilicla said gently, “Gurronsevas, your hesitancy suggests that the question you wish to ask may be an indelicate one dealing, perhaps, with the subject of reproduction? Please remember that Danalta is a receptive empath, as am I. We are not telepaths. We feel that you have another question. We do not know what it is, only that you feel the answer to be important.”

  “Yes, it is important to me,” Gurronsevas admitted, then went on, “Doctor Danalta, what do you eat?”

  Pathologist Murchison leaned its head back and laughed, Charge Nurse Naydrad’s silvery fur was rolling in slow, uneven waves from nose to tail, and Prilicla’s body was reacting to what Gurronsevas now knew to be a sudden burst of pleasant emotional radiation. Only Danalta’s body was still and its words serious.

  “I am afraid that I will prove a grave disappointment to you, Chief Dietitian,” it said, “because my species does not possess the sense of taste. Apart from the ultra-hard metals, I can and do eat anything and everything regardless of consistency or appearance. In moments of deep mental concentration I have been known to dissolve a hole in the deck plating on which I am resting, and in the past this has caused great annoyance to the ship’s officers.”

  “I know the feeling well,” said Gurronsevas.

  While the others were displaying amusement in their varying fashions, he was remembering Lioren’s final words to him. Gurronsevas was on probation, the Padre had warned him, and there were things he must try to do and not to do. Obviously he must make no attempt to tinker with the ship’s food synthesizer. Above all, he must remember that he was on a small ship carrying a very small crew of specialists, and he must try very hard to make friends rather than enemies of them. Since the medical team had come aboard he had been trying to do that, by negating his own importance and displaying a friendly and admiring curiosity about Danalta and, in time, the others. Surprisingly, it had not required a great effort on his part, but now he was wondering whether he had overdone the uncharacteristic charm and they secretly thought of him as being shallow and insincere, or was it simply that they were trying as har
d to be friendly as he was. He was also wondering if he would have as much success making friends with Rhabwar’s non-medical officers.

  As if on thought-cue the internal comm screen lit up to show the Monitor-green-uniformed head and shoulders of an Earth-human.

  “Casualty Deck, this is the Captain,” it said sharply. “I overheard your last few minutes’ conversation. Doctor Prilicla, what is that, that walking Tralthan disaster area doing on my ship?”

  Even though Control was at long range for the Cinrusskin’s empathic faculty, the Captain’s emotional radiation was causing the empath some minor distress. Without hesitation Prilicla said, “For the period of the present mission, friend Gurronsevas has been co-opted to the medical team as a non-clinical advisor. Its expertise could prove helpful in what lies ahead. Please do not be concerned about possible effects on the structure of the ship, friend Fletcher. The Chief Dietitian will be accommodated on the casualty deck, it requires no special life-support and it will not risk damaging your light-gravity furniture and equipment by going forward, unless at your express invitation.”

  There was a moment’s silence, but Gurronsevas was too startled and confused by Prilicla’s words, to be able to fill it with a question.

  He had often heard it said that the little empath was not averse to bending the truth, a fact which Prilicla itself freely admitted, if by so doing it could improve the quality of emotional radiation in the area. An emotion-sensitive felt everything that those around it were feeling with the same degree of intensity, but the suggestion that Gurronsevas could advise Rhabwar’s medical team on anything during the forthcoming mission was utterly ridiculous. Doubtless the lie would improve the Captain’s emotional radiation, Gurronsevas thought, but the effect would be temporary.

  “I feel your curiosity, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla, no longer trembling as the Captain’s anger diminished to irritation, “and I intend to satisfy it as soon as possible.”

  “Very well, Doctor,” said the Captain, then went on briskly, “We are presently in hyperspace cruising mode, estimating the Wemar system in just under four standard days and the ship is running itself. A few minutes before boarding I was given the coordinates of the target system and the preliminary briefing tape, which there has been no opportunity to scan, and told that we would be fully briefed on arrival. Now would be a convenient time to run the tape so that we non-medics can be let into the secret of what we are supposed to be doing there.”

  “I don’t know anything about it, either,” said Naydrad, its fur spiking in irritation. “At least, nothing but a rumor that three weeks of top-level discussions were needed to decide whether or not Rhabwar could do the job. And when they did finally make up their minds, they keyed my alarm for a full emergency turn-out when I was right in the middle of …”

  “Friend Naydrad,” Prilicla broke in gently, “it is often the case that the time taken to reach a decision has to be deducted from that needed to carry it out. The rumor was not entirely accurate. I took part in those discussions but, in spite of our unrivaled reputation for pulling sick or damaged life-forms out of trouble, I was not sure that Rhabwar is capable of performing this mission. Many of the hospital’s military and medical authorities agreed with me; the Chief Psychologist and a few others did not. The only reason for the secrecy was to avoid hurting the feelings of Rhabwar’s crew by publicly displaying their lack of confidence in us.

  “And the questions that I feel you all wanting so badly to ask,” it went on, “should wait until we have viewed the Wemar material.

  “When you are ready, friend Fletcher.”

  CHAPTER 18

  At the time of its discovery three months earlier, it was not thought that the world, which its dominant intelligent species called Wemar, would cause the cultural-contact specialists of the Monitor Corps any serious problems. It was an environmentally distressed world with subsistence level living standards for the tiny remnant of its surviving population that verged on uninhabitability. In its recent history — from the orbital studies of industrial archeological remains the date was estimated at a little over four centuries earlier — the native culture had been technologically advanced to the level of maintaining orbiting space satellites, and there were traces of a non-permanent base on the system’s closest and uninhabitable planet.

  Because of their background of recently lost space technology, two important assumptions had been made. One was that the Wem would not be frightened by the idea of a galaxy inhabited by other intelligent beings and, even though they might be surprised and uneasy at the sudden arrival of a starship in orbit around their world, they would not be completely against the idea of making friendly contact with other-species visitors. The second assumption was that when contact had been widened and their natural fears allayed, they would agree to accept the offers of material and technical support which they so desperately needed.

  Both assumptions proved wrong. When two-way translation-communication devices were soft-landed in the few inhabited areas — sound and vision communications were a part of their lost technology — the natives exchanged only a few angry words before ordering the strangers to leave Wemar and its system before smashing all of the off-world devices. Evidently they had grown to fear all forms of technology as well as the people who used it. Only one small, isolated group had shown some trace of reluctance at breaking off contact but they, too, destroyed the translator-communicators that had been sent to them.

  Plainly the Wem were a proud species who would not accept the kind of help that the off-worlders were so anxious to give them.

  Rather than risk the situation degenerating further, the commanding officer of the orbiting Monitor preliminary contact ship obeyed the first order by ceasing to send down any more communication devices, and ignored the second, safe in the knowledge that the planet-bound Wem could do nothing against the orbiting vessel which continued its close observation of the surface. Shortly afterwards, Wemar had been declared a disaster area, and Rhabwar had been sent to assess the medical problems and, if possible, suggest a solution.

  It had never been the Federation’s policy to do nothing while another intelligent species tried to commit suicide.

  Rhabwar emerged from hyperspace some ten planetary diameters from Wemar. From that distance it appeared to be like any other normal, life-bearing world, with wisps and blankets of cloud and the fat, white spirals of cyclonic weather systems softening and breaking up its continental outlines and polar ice fields. It was only when they had closed to within one diameter that the abnormal details became plain.

  In spite of the generous scattering of rain-bearing clouds, it was only in a narrow band around the equator that the surface vegetation showed any traces of normal growth. Above and below the green belt and into the north and south temperate zones the coloration became increasingly tinged with yellow and brown until it merged into the tundra fringing the polar ice-fields. There were no large tracts of desert visible on those areas, it was simply that the once-thick forests and rolling grasslands of the past had withered and died or burned in what must have been great country-sized conflagrations due to naturally occurring lightning strikes, and the new growth was still fighting its way through the ashes of the old.

  They were still watching but not enjoying the view when the casualty deck’s communicator lit with the image of the Captain.

  “Doctor Prilicla,” said Fletcher, “we have a signal from Captain Williamson on Tremaar. He says that it is operationally unnecessary for Rhabwar to dock with his ship, but he would like to speak with you at once.”

  The commanding officer of a Monitor Corps survey and preliminary contact vessel would hold a lot more rank than the Captain of an ambulance ship, Gurronsevas thought, and clearly this one intended to use it.

  “Senior Physician Prilicla,” Williamson said without preamble, “I have no wish to give personal offense, but I am not pleased to see you here. The reason is that I am not happy with a mission philosophy based on near de
speration and the assumption that if your presence here does not do any harm then it might do some good. From your briefing you already know that the situation here has gone sour and there are no signs of it improving. We are maintaining constant visual and surface sensor surveillance, but we have no direct communication with anyone on the surface. There is one small group of Wem who may be less proud and stubborn, or simply more intelligent than the others, who gave the impression that a few of their number thought they might be able to benefit from our offers of help. But they, too, stopped speaking to us and smashed our translators. Personally, I believe there is still a possibility that, provided we do nothing further to offend them, this group might resume contact and, if it is handled carefully, enable us to reopen communications with the other, less amenable groups who in time will accept the large-scale disaster relief they need so badly.”

  Williamson took a deep breath and went on, “Regardless of your good intentions, Rhabwar blundering uninvited into this situation could end this tenuous future hope. And if you were to set down in an equatorial region, where the political power and the remains of their offensive technology are concentrated, it could also result in damage to your ship and casualties among your personnel. The efforts of a small medical team are not going to significantly affect the situation here, except possibly for the worse …”

  While the other Captain was speaking, Gurronsevas studied its manner and minor changes of facial expression. It was an Earth-human who in many ways resembled Chief Psychologist O’Mara. The hairy crescents above the eyes and the head fur showing below the uniform cap were an identical shade of metallic grey, the eyes never looked away nor did they blink, and its words carried the self-assurance that went with the habit of command. In manner, however, Williamson was much more polite than O’Mara.