Double Contact (13 page)

“I'm assuming,” Prilicla went on, “that the medical team will remain here with
Rhabwar
since we are best-suited to solving a unique problem that is both technological and medical. However, allowances must be made for the natural curiosity of your higher-ranking colleagues. They will probably send at least one fast courier vessel for information-gathering purposes, in addition to the ship we need to transfer the
Terragar
casualties to Sector General.…”

“My point exactly!” Fletcher broke in, a burst of anger briefly overshadowing its anxiety. “A quarantine is either in force or it isn't, but for what may or may not prove to be good, medical reasons, even you are willing to break it. Everyone must be made to realize that we are faced with the technological equivalent of a plague. You and your team know this, you've seen what it can do for yourselves, and still you are willing to compromise by…” It raised its hands briefly and radiated helplessness. “If I can't convince you, what chance is there of a mere captain and glorified ambulance driver telling fleet commanders and higher what to do and making it stick? I don't have enough bloody rank.”

“Together, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla, “we might have enough. I suggest you draft the signal you wish to send, and if you wouldn't mind, let me see it and perhaps suggest amendments before transmission with a view to increasing its effectiveness.…”

“I'd do that anyway,” the captain broke in angrily, “as a matter of professional courtesy. But I won't promise to insert your changes. Considering the power requirements, that signal must be clear, concise, and contain absolutely no excess verbiage.”

“… While you're doing that,” Prilicla went on gently, as if the interruption was a figment of everyone's imagination, “I'll check on the condition of the Earth-human casualties before trying to get close enough to identify the two on the alien ship.”

The captain was radiating feelings of disbelief. “You mean you want to go back in there?”

“As soon as possible,” he replied.

Within the first few minutes it became clear that he was not urgently required in the medical station.
Terragar
's casualties were stable, responding well to treatment, and showing signs of significant improvement although the grafting, reconstructive surgery, and lower-limb replacements should be done as soon as practicable at the hospital. But if he was reading correctly between the lines of dialogue, there was a problem. Unlike his emphatic faculty, intuition was not affected by distance.

“I think there is something other than the patients' clinical condition worrying you, friend Murchison,” he said. “What is the problem, and does it require my presence?”

“No, sir,” the other replied quickly. “I'm ashamed to say, the problem is sheer boredom. We're all cooped up in this bunch of high-tech medical shoeboxes with virtually nothing to fill our time except watch the patients getting better while outside the sun is shining, the sea is blue, and the sand is warm. It's as environmentally perfect as the hospital's recreation deck except that it's bigger and it's real. Sir, it feels as if we're on vacation but confined to our hotel bedrooms.

“Subject to the usual safety checks,” it went on, “we'd like permission to take turns exercising and relaxing outside. This really is a lovely place. The casualties would benefit from the fresh air and sunshine as well, especially if our stay here is likely to be extended. Is it?”

“It is,” said Prilicla. “
Rhabwar
will have to remain in orbit to investigate the alien vessel and its crew, who may themselves be with you soon as casualties. Permission granted, friend Murchison. But remember that this is a completely strange as well as a pleasant world, so be very careful.”

“You, too, sir,” she replied.

He ended the transmission as the captain pointed at its own screen and spoke.

“You wanted to see this before I send it off,” it said. “Well, what do you think?”

Prilicla hovered above the screen for a moment, studying it, then he said, “With respect, friend Fletcher, I think it is too polite, too subservient, and too long. You should tell your superiors what you want done, as I will also do, without regard to the high rank of those concerned. Because of our knowledge of the situation here, limited as it is, we have the rank. May I?”

He felt Fletcher's agreement before it could reply, and dropped his feather-light digits onto the keyboard. The original draft, scaled down, moved to the corner of the screen and the new one appeared. It read:

TO: GALACTIC FEDERATION EXECUTIVE; COPIES FEDERATION MEDICAL COUNCIL; SECTOR TWELVE GENERAL HOSPITAL; MONITOR CORPS HIGH COMMAND; SECTOR MARSHAL DERMOD, FLEET COMMANDERS, ALL SHIP CAPTAINS, AND OFFICERS OF SUBORDINATE RANK.

WITH IMMEDIATE EFFECT THIS SOLAR SYSTEM IS TO BE PLACED UNDER QUARANTINE.

REASONS: UNIQUE TECHNOLOGICAL AND/OR MEDICAL THREAT BY DISTRESSED ALIEN SHIP MOUNTING UNIQUE WEAPONRY CAPABLE OF DESTROYING ALL SPACE VESSELS REGARDLESS OF SIZE OR POWER RESOURCES. DISTANCE IS ONLY KNOWN SAFEGUARD.

THREE
TERRAGAR
SURVIVORS RECOVERED.
RHABWAR
INVESTIGATING ALIEN SHIP AND TRYING TO CONTACT CREW.

REQUEST TWO COMMUNICATION VESSELS TO BE STATIONED MINIMUM OF FIVE MILLION MILES DISTANCE TO RELAY LATER INFORMATION AS IT BECOMES AVAILABLE. ALL OTHER VESSELS AND PERSONNEL REGARDLESS OF SPECIALITY OR RANK ARE EXPRESSLY ORDERED TO STAY CLEAR.

NO REPEAT NO EXCEPTIONS.

FLETCHER, COMMANDING
RHABWAR

PRILICLA SENIOR PHYSICIAN, SECTOR GENERAL

For a long moment the captain stared at the screen while it regained control of its feelings, then it said reluctantly, “It's shorter and … well, better. But Sector Marshal Dermod doesn't usually receive messages like this from subordinates. He and his staff will probably have a collective fit. I didn't realize, Doctor, that you could be so, so…”

“Nasty?” said Prilicla. “You're forgetting, friend Fletcher, that your sector marshal is halfway across the Galaxy, and I am unable to detect its emotional radiation over interstellar distances.”

CHAPTER 13

It was a rule of interspecies medicine to which no exception had ever been found that pathogens which had evolved on one world could not affect or infect any creature belonging to another. There was nothing in this world's microbiology, therefore, that could threaten her. But that did not stop Danalta, in the respectful manner befitting a subordinate, from insisting that Murchison take no chances with the life-forms that were large enough to see.

The shape-changer had already scouted the beach, shallows, and the trees and undergrowth inland to a distance of five hundred meters, for evidence of large and possibly harmful life-forms. A few varieties of water-breathing and amphibious creatures inhabited the shallows, tiny animals and insects crawled or flew among the tree roots and branches, but none of them were large enough to constitute a physical threat. This did not mean that they could be completely ignored. Pathogens could not jump the off-world species barrier, Danalta reminded her unnecessarily, but insects secreting organic toxins in poison sacs were capable of delivering painful if not lethal stings, the crablike sea-dwellers could nip, and all of them, should they feel threatened or hungry enough, could bite.

That was why she was walking along a golden beach without feeling the gentle abrasion of hot sand between her toes while, apart from her uncovered face and the backs of her bare hands, much of the sun's heat was being reflected away by her white coveralls. In this situation she would have preferred to wear much less, and the other members of the team would neither have cared nor noticed if she had worn nothing at all because Earth-humans were one of the few intelligent species with a nudity taboo. The others covered themselves only when their working environment required the wearing of body protection. In spite of her advancing years, Peter kept telling her with maximum ardor and minimum poetry—and when his brain was not so busy with other-species mind partners that he was unsure of who and what he was and why they were lying together—that she was in very good shape.

She wished he were with her now, under this real sky rather than the artificial one on the hospital's crowded recreation deck, with his mind his own, its professional concerns forgotten, and his attention concentrated entirely on her. But, she supposed, being the life-mate of the renowned Conway, Sector General's Diagnostician-in-Charge of Other-Species Surgery, had to have a few disadvantages. He couldn't take a vacation of opportunity like this just because she wanted him to and he probably needed it. She sighed and continued walking.

Beside her Danalta rolled silently over the sand. In keeping with the occasion, and because it liked to give gratuitous exhibitions of its shape-changing prowess, it had adopted the form of a recreational plaything much-favored by Earth-humans, a large beach ball. It was covered overall by triangles of garish red, yellow, and blue; the eye, ear, and mouth were inconspicuous and the visual effect was quite realistic, but the track that it made in the sand was too deep to have been made by an air-filled ball. Danalta, regardless of the shape it took, was unable to reduce its considerable body-weight. The pretty ball would never bounce.

“Would you like to move inland?” said Danalta, stopping suddenly and extruding a bright green, Earth-human hand and index finger to point. “That hill is only a mile away and seems to be the highest point on the island. From there we might be able to see features of special interest to explore later, and possibly the nearer islands.”

As well as being a show-off, the polymorph was intensely curious about everything regardless of shape or size, and the harder it was to mimic, the better it liked it.

“Fine,” said Murchison. “But in case we're needed urgently I want to stay as close as possible to our patients. There's a stream that runs past the med station into the sea. We'll go back and follow it inland to its source, which should be on high ground. Do you agree?”

It was a rhetorical question, and even though she wasn't in the habit of pushing her rank, they both knew it.

For the first hundred meters or so, the nearby environment could have been that found en any sundrenched, tropical island on her home world. The stream was less than two meters wide but fast-flowing so that the stones on its bed were washed clean and showed many different colors and patterns of veining. It was only when her walk, and Danalta's roll, took them inland and under the trees that the differences began to show. The chlorophyll-green of the leaves looked the same but the shapes were subtly different as was the soft carpet which was not of grass that grew along the banks of the stream from damp earth that was not of Earth. A little shiver of pure wonder made her twitch her shoulders, as it always did when she encountered a completely alien planet that looked and felt so entirely familiar. Then as they moved deeper under the trees, the amount of vegetation bearing large, sunflower-like blooms increased. The petals on many of them had dropped away to reveal clusters of pale green fruit buds. There would be no problem with cross-pollination here, she thought as the insects began to swarm.

Very definitely they were like nothing on Earth.

They ranged in size from the virtually invisible to several stick-insect varieties whose bodies were nearly six inches long. A few of them were rounded, black and shiny, with wings that beat so rapidly that they seemed to be surrounded by a grey fog, but the majority were brightly colored in concentric circles of yellow and red with multiple sets of wide, slower-beating gossamer wings that threw back constantly changing, iridescent highlights. They were gorgeous, she thought, and some of them made even Prilicla look dowdy.

Most of them were heading towards Danalta, obviously attracted by the garishly colored beach-ball body it had adopted.

“They seem to be curious rather than hungry,” said the shape-changer. “None of them has tried to bite me.”

“That's sensible of them,” said Murchison nervously as they lost interest in Danalta and began moving towards her. “Maybe they've realized that you're indigestible.”

“Or I have the wrong smell,” it replied. “I've just now extruded an olfactory sensor pad. There are a lot of strange smells in this area.”

Smells,
Murchison thought, was not the word she would have used to describe them. The subtle combination of scents being given off by the aromatic vegetation around them was something that the fashion perfume houses on Earth would have sold their souls for. But the insects were now homing in on her.

Instinctively she wanted to swat them aside, but knew that might make them excited and hostile. Instead she raised one hand very slowly to her opened helmet visor so that she could snap it closed at the first sign of an attack. Her hand remained there, tense and motionless, for several minutes while the insects large and small swarmed around her head without actually touching her face, until they lost interest and returned to their own concerns.

Relieved, she lowered her hand and said, “Apparently they're nonhostile, They don't want to bite Earth-human DBDGs, either.”

Which meant that, should their stay on this island paradise be delayed for any reason, the
Terragar
casualties could be moved outside for a few hours every day. She had always been a believer in the efficacy of natural fresh air and sunshine in the post-op treatment of casualties, a form of treatment not available in Sector General.

Puzzled, she said, “No animal or insect species, regardless of its size, can be universally friendly and hope to survive. These seem to be the exception that proves the rule. Let's move on.”

The ground began to rise gently, the trees opened out into a large clearing and the stream became a wide, shallow pool whose bottom was covered by broad-leafed plants, each of which floated a single, radiant bloom on the surface, and they saw their first noninsect life-form.