Double Contact (28 page)

“It's difficult to be precise,” said Chen. “Fairly soon.”

“Try to make it sooner than that,” he said.

The gliders had sheared off at
Rhabwar
's approach but now they were circling back again, possibly thinking that the grounding of the ship was a sign of weakness. All three of the spider vessels had run their prows up onto the beach and the nearest one had its landing-ramp lowered. The first few spiders were already crawling ashore with crossbows held at the ready. Dodds took a moment to check the focus of his tractor beam. The landing party now numbered close on twenty, with more of them coming down the ramps at intervals of a few seconds.

Directly in front of them a carpet of sand twenty meters in diameter and about three inches deep rose high into the air and exploded into a cloud as the tractor's point of focus was vibrated erratically in and out. A thick curtain of fine, powdery sand dropped in front of and a little on top of the spiders.

For a moment they milled about uncertainly. Then Fletcher saw a spider with a large speaking trumpet climb onto the superstructure of it ship to chitter loudly at them. At once they split into two groups that crawled rapidly along the beach in opposite directions. The sandstorm, its effect only slightly diminished by the fact that the line of targets was lengthening, followed them.

The other two ships were also disgorging spiders while the gliders were flying in tight circles above
Rhabwar
and the station, although fortunately not low enough for them to hit the meteorite shield when it came on.

“Sir,” said Dodds worriedly, “the sand doesn't appear to bother them very much, especially now that all three landing parties are strung out along the beach. It looks as though they are trying move out of sight and circle round behind us. Shall I increase the power and area of focus, sir, to stir up more sand, or maybe try to box them in by—”

“Deploying another tractor would help,” Haslam broke in. “I'm not doing anything else at the moment.”

“—By pulling in some water instead of sand,” Dodds continued, “and splashing it down in their path? That might stop them spreading out sideways. They'd be caught between the sea and a wet place.”

Pleased with the lieutenant because this was an idea Fletcher had not already thought of himself, he said, “We're told that water has a very bad effect on them and we are, after all, trying to be friendly. Try it, but be very careful not to dowse them.”

A few minutes later Dodds said jubilantly, “They certainly are afraid of the water; they've stopped in their tracks. But now they're pushing inland again.”

“Haslam,” said the captain, “man another tractor beam unit—Dodds will give you the settings—and help him out. While he concentrates on the two farther parties, you take the nearest one. Keep moving up and down the line of spiders trying to advance on the station. Leave the waterplashing, if necessary, to Dodds. You shower them with sand only. Try to spoil their ability to see where they're going, and generally make them feel uncomfortable, but don't hurt them.”

“Yes, sir,” said Haslam.

More and more spiders were crawling down their ships' landing ramps, but not spreading out because of the threat from the containing splashes of water. If the positions were reversed, Fletcher thought, he would have been wondering why they were not being constantly drenched by water instead of dusted with harmless sand, but then, their minds might not share the same rules of logic.

Suddenly they were changing tactics.

“Look at this, sir,” Dodds said urgently. “They're beginning to weave from side to side, then darting into the falling sand. And when I'm dealing with one flank the other one pushes forward and gains a meter or so of ground. I have to keep changing the point of focus, narrowing it or moving the tractor beam back to keep from hitting them. Chen, we're going to need that meteorite shield, like now.”

“The same thing is happening here,” Haslam said. “We'd need to drop a ton of sand on this lot to discourage them. They take turns at running in, zigzagging at random, and … Hell, I hit one of them!”

It must have been the briefest of touches on one side of the spider's body, but the tractor beam lifted it two meters into the sand-filled air and flipped it onto it back. It lay with its six limbs waving. Haslam withdrew his beam without being told as a few of the others gathered round their injured companion to lift it back onto its feet. Through the air which was now free of sand, Fletcher had a clear view of the spiders farther up and down the beach beginning to move purposefully towards the station again. Then high on the superstructure of the middle ship of the three, the spider with the speaking trumpet began chittering loudly at them.

The advance hesitated and slowed to a dead stop. Within a few seconds all three spider landing parties had turned around and were hurrying back to their ships, the injured one being half carried by two of its companions. The gliders were already coming in to land close to their boarding ramps.

“I'm sorry about hitting that one, sir,” said Haslam, “and I don't think it was badly hurt. But it looks as though we've taught them a lesson because they've decided to pull out.”

“Don't bet on that, Lieutenant,” said Fletcher dryly. He was raising his hand to point at the scene in the forward viewscreen when the communicator chimed and its screen lit with the image of Dr. Prilicla.

“Friend Fletcher,” said the Cinrusskin. “The traces of emotional radiation emanating from your crew have been characteristic of excitement, tension and concern, all of which feelings have suddenly diminished in strength. A long and tricky surgical procedure is about to be attempted—once, that is, we solve an associated nonmedical problem. Can you tell me whether or not we can proceed without outside emotional interruptions or distractions?”

“Doctor,” Fletcher said, laughing softly, “you will be free of distractions for the rest of the day. Judging by the look of that sky there is a heavy rainstorm, not just a squall, moving in. The spiders are returning to their ships as we speak.”

They watched the dark grey clouds on the horizon expanding to fill the sky and the paler curtain of heavy rain rushing closer. The spiders and their aircraft were safely on board and the sail shields of the three ships were closed tight before the deluge arrived, but they could hear it rattling and bouncing off the flattened domelike hulls which, he realized suddenly, looked very much like umbrellas.

“This must be the first time,” Haslam said, “that a battle was called off because of rain.”

CHAPTER 28

The patient had been prepped for surgery, the operating team of Danalta, Naydrad, and himself had been standing by the table for more than twenty minutes, and friend Murchison was still trying to solve Prilicla's associated nonmedical problem. It was trying with such intensity to be patient and reasonable that its emotional radiation was making him tremble.

“Keet,” it was saying, “your life-mate Jasam is unconscious and will not feel pain, either during or while recovering from this procedure. You, however, are feeling the nonmaterial pains of concern, uncertainty, and the continuing emotional trauma over what you think will be the loss of a loved one. To be brutally honest, we may lose Jasam, but we would have a better chance of saving it if you would cooperate by moving out of visual range. Untutored as you are in medical matters, not seeing every incision, resection, and repair as they take place would be easier on you, too. Besides, would Jasam want you to suffer needlessly like this?”

Keet lay watching the towel-draped form of its life-mate from its litter, which it had insisted be moved into the operating room. It made no reply.

“In all my nursing experience,” said Naydrad, its fur ruffling in disapproval, “never has the next of kin, or any other nonmedically oriented relative, been allowed to witness a procedure of this complexity. On all the civilized worlds I know of, it is just not done. If this is the custom on Trolann, I think it is a misguided, unnecessarily painful, completely wrong, and barbaric custom.”

Prilicla was about to apologize for Naydrad's forthright speech, but stopped himself because the reasons for the Kelgian species' lack of tact had already been explained to it, but Keet didn't give him a chance to talk.

“It is not the custom on Trolann,” it said, radiating anger at the insult. “But neither is it the custom to have a druul present in our operating theaters working on us. Ever.”

He could feel the pathologist beginning to lose its temper, but not completely, because the words it used were intended to achieve a precisely calculated effect.

Murchison said calmly, “The experiences you shared on your ship, your searchsuit as you call it, when Jasam was badly injured and you were unable to leave your control pod to help or comfort or even to be physically close to it, has made a deep impression on your mind. You don't want to be separated from Jasam—especially, as now, when you think that there is the danger of never seeing it alive again. I can understand and sympathize with that feeling.

“Perhaps this natural concern for your life-mate,” it went on, “has temporarily clouded your intellect and memory, so I shall explain to you once again, that I, no matter how large or small my physical resemblance to one of them, am not a druul. Because of my greater knowledge in some areas I am here simply to advise on problems which may arise during this procedure. I shall not be working on Jasam directly or touching its body at any time. If you insist on being present during this operation, you have my permission to stay. However, seeing your life-mate under the knife will be distressing and psychologically damaging for you, so I suggest that you watch me closely rather than Jasam, just in case I should feel suddenly hungry and want to eat it.”

“And they tell me Kelgians are without tact,” said Danalta.

“Whatever that is,” said Naydrad, its fur spiking in shock. “But the words were inappropriate.”

Prilicla knew that Murchison was deliberately using shock tactics, and felt from Keet's emotional radiation that they were beginning to work.

“From your observation of Prilicla's work on your ship,” the pathologist went on, “you know that it is capable of the most delicate and precise healing. You also know that it is hypersensitive to the emotions of those around it, and you must already have realized that your intense feelings of fear, concern, and other emotions can adversely affect its ability to perform the high level of surgery that is required here. For that reason you must at all times keep a tight control of your feelings, natural though they are, so as to avoid distracting Prilicla. Do you understand and agree?”

The Trolanni did not reply, but Prilicla could feel the intensity of Keet's emotional radiation begin to subside as it fought, successfully, to control its feelings and impose a measure of calm on itself. There was no need for it to speak to this frightful, druul-like creature because there was understanding and agreement and, he noted with pleasure, a feeling of apology.

“Thank you, friend Murchison,” Prilicla said. “We will begin.…”

The high concentration of light around the patient, Prilicla thought, during the few times he glanced up to rest his eyes, when contrasted with the grey overcast outside the direct-vision panel, made it seem almost as if night had fallen, and the final time he looked up, the panel was black and it had. At intervals the quiet voice of the captain had been reporting no visible activity from the spider ships, and with the fall of darkness the infrared sensors were confirming its theory that the spiders were not nocturnal creatures.

“Or at least,” Naydrad added, much too loudly for the captain to miss hearing, “they don't go out on rainy nights. Dr. Prilicla, I think you are in need of sleep.”

“And I feel sure that you are, Doctor,” said Murchison. “The patient's condition is still critical, but stable enough for us to seal off the lower thoracic area and suspend operations for a few hours. After all, the damage to the lungs where the deep air lines were jerked out by the onboard explosion has been repaired, and it is breathing pure oxygen with no mechanical assistance, as well as being fed intravenously. Repairs to the lesions caused by the traumatic withdrawal of the external feeding and waste-extraction systems can surely wait a little longer for attention?”

“You are probably right, friend Murchison,” Prilicla replied, using the form of words that was the closest he could come to telling anyone they were wrong. “But there are still small traces of toxic material adhering to the ruptured bowel walls, and I would like to remedy that before any cessation. Friend Naydrad, stand by and apply suction where I indicate. Friend Danalta, be ready to follow me in and support the area under the first lesion while I am suturing. Friend Murchison, ease your mind. I promise not to fall asleep on the patient for at least an hour. Now, let us resume.”

Naydrad's equipment made a low, derisive sound and its fur rippled in concern as it said, “This is the strangest stomach-and-bowel arrangement I've ever encountered. Dr. Prilicla, in coloration and structure, it resembles spaghetti, that Earth-human food you like to eat. Is it strange to you, Pathologist?”

“In the light of my earlier and nonserious remark about eating,” said Murchison sharply, radiating disapproval, “it is unseemly to mention food in the presence of the next of kin. And no, the Dwerlans use a similar gastrointestinal tract, although, I admit, not two of them working in tandem. There is nothing new in multi-species medicine, just new combinations of the old. But this one is particularly complex.”

Keet moved restively on its litter and said, “I don't seriously believe that any of you would want to eat the offal of my life-mate. Even a druul would think twice about doing that. But I can't see what is happening. Murchison, you're blocking my view.”