Double Contact (19 page)

Prilicla gave an estimate that was on the generous side, knowing that the other would be sure to reduce it. Nothing more was said until he had returned to the alien's control center, after which the captain rarely stopped talking, but the words and tone were continually reassuring.

“… Before its insulated cover was pulled apart by the accident,” Fletcher was saying, “the cable loom you are working on enclosed ten individual lines. The magnifier here tells me that they are too fine to carry a dangerous level of current. But their color-coding is the same as the heavier cables that run to and spread across the outer hull, so we may assume that they perform a similar communications and/or sensory function.… Dammit, I wish I could get in there with the proper tools. Don't take that as a criticism, Doctor, you're doing fine.”

Prilicla remained silent because the other had repeated its noncriticism and apology several times in the last hour, and he was feeling excited and hopeful rather than irritated. An internal, light-duty sensor and communications circuit was what he had been looking for because it might mean that he had found the broken connection between the comparatively uninjured and strongly emoting crew member and its partner. Putting them in touch with each other again should go a long way to proving their rescuers' good intentions. Carefully and with the delicacy of touch possible only to one of his fragile race, he separated, stripped, and began to splice the severed ends of a wire that was almost hair-thin.

Suddenly he jerked his hands away as a burst of emotion exploded from the crew member at the other side of the control center. In spite of the distance it was strong, sharp, intensely uncomfortable, but brief. It faded within a few seconds and so, thankfully, did the accompanying feelings of anger.

“What happened?” said Fletcher sharply. “You jerked your hands away. Are you hurt?”

“No,” Prilicla replied; then after a moment's thought he went on, “I must have joined two of the wrong wires. It made the survivor, maybe both of them, very uncomfortable for an instant. The emotional radiation was characteristic of a sharp, unpleasant sensation, as if someone was to cross our optic nerve with our aural input then make a loud noise. Sorry, I'll have to be more careful.”

The captain exhaled loudly and said, “Yes. But it was a natural mistake because all the wiring in that loom has the same color-coding with subtle variations in shade. The magnifier's enhanced imaging barely picks them up but your unassisted vision can't, good as it is. Next time hold the wire ends to be joined where I can see them clearly for my okay, then, if it doesn't cause an adverse reaction, shield the other wires from it while you spray on the insulation. That way you won't risk a bared, spliced length making contact or short-circuiting against an adjoining bare wire. Tell me if you've any doubts or problems about anything you intend doing, Doctor, otherwise carry on. I think you're getting there.”

Prilicla carried on while the captain furnished technical and moral assistance. There were no more accidents, but there was an increasing level of emotional radiation emanating from the survivor on the undamaged section of the control center. It was not the sharp reaction characteristic of sudden discomfort, but a mixture of fear and hope so intense that his empathic faculty received it almost as a physical pain. Then suddenly there was a double explosion of feeling that made him pull back because his whole body, as well as his hands were trembling. Slowly he moved to the the inner door that he had not been allowed to enter and placed his stethoscope against the bare metal.

“Doctor, you've got the shakes,” said the captain urgently. “Is there anything wrong with you? What's happening?”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” said Prilicla unsteadily as he sought for his customary clinical calm. “To the contrary, friend Fletcher. The two survivors are now communicating with each other, presumably via the repaired circuitry. I'm trying to pick up their language sounds, with a view to programming it into our translation computer, but I can't hear anything. Possibly there is not enough air to conduct sound or their speaking and hearing organs are enclosed in some kind of helmet.”

“Almost certainly that is due to their control sections losing internal pressure,” the other said excitedly. “How are they feeling now?”

“At present their emotional radiation is complex and confused although it is beginning to clear,” Prilicla replied as he tried to describe feelings that could not be adequately conveyed in mere words. “There is a combination of relief, excitement, and concern that is due, I feel sure, to the reestablishment of interpersonal communication and the up-to-the-minute exchange of information. That information would include the first survivor's reaction to the things we have been doing for it as well as a description of the physical condition of the second survivor which, my empathy tells me, is not good. Something will have to be done for the second one as a matter of clinical urgency. Underlying the emotional radiation from both sources, but still strong enough to be unmistakable, there are feelings of gratitude.”

“Good!” said the captain. “If they're feeling grateful then they must know that you're trying to help them. But do you think they're ready to trust us, all of us, after your good deed?”

Prilicla was silent for a moment as he concentrated on the two sources of emotional radiation, one of them attenuated with distance and the closer one faint because of physical weakness and distress, then he said, “There is still a persistent background fear in both entities that is due, I feel sure, to the fact that both of them are now aware of the presence of their feared and hated DBDG bogeyman. I may be wrong because I'm an empath, rather than a telepath, but I feel that they aren't yet ready to make friends with their worst nightmare. Something more must be done to help gain their trust, and my good deed has yet to be completed.”

The captain did not ask the obvious question because it knew that the answer was forthcoming. Prilicla went on. “My close-range analysis of the second survivor's emotional radiation indicates that its body is so debilitated that it barely retains the ability to think coherently. There is increasing physical discomfort, combined with a feeling of urgency and intense, personal fear that is characteristic of a being who is close to terminal suffocation, or dehydration, or both. To complete our good deed, more repairs are needed, to restore their air and working fluid supply.”

“So now you've delusions of being a plumber as well as an electrician,” said the captain, and laughed. “Right, Doctor, what exactly will you need?”

“As before, friend Fletcher, I need directions,” Prilicla replied, “because I have no idea how to proceed. But first I want to show the robot, who is the eyes for at least one of the survivors, the sections of damaged piping that I'll be trying to repair or replace. While I'm doing that, you can assess the situation and tell me what needs to be done and how to go about doing it using replacement material and basic, nonpowered tools from
Rhabwar.

“Also,” he went on, “I've noticed traces of vapor around some of the fractured piping in here, indicating the escape of residual atmosphere or moisture although it could, I suppose, be the remains of a toxic fluid used in a hydraulic actuator. While you're assessing the repair requirements with me, I'll bag samples and use my medical analyzer on it. If it is air or water rather than something toxic, please reproduce it in bulk and send it over in transparent containers. If the containers are marked with the same color-codings as that of the supply pipes we're going to replace, that might further reassure the survivors. Leave everything loosely tethered to the hull where I came on board for me to pick up.

“We've fixed it so that they can talk to each other,” he ended, “but the conversation will be short if one of them stops breathing.”

The next two hours he passed surveying the repair job, identifying the color-codings, and isolating the fractured piping to be joined. He knew that the work would be less delicate than splicing the damaged wiring, but the captain had grave doubts about his ability to perform it.

“This isn't anything like brain surgery, Doctor,” it said. “What you'll need is brute force rather than delicacy of touch. Your digits were never made to handle manually-operated metal-cutters, the only kind these people will allow near them, and heavy spanners. And your body is far too fragile to exert the leverage that may be required. A pair of Earth-human hands with muscular backup are needed for this job. I should be in there helping you.”

Prilicla did not reply, and the captain went on quickly, “I'll run another external visual for them, the one showing ship repairs being carried out simultaneously by several different species including Earth-humans. After what you've already done for them, they might be more inclined to forget their DBDG phobia enough to trust me a little. I'll wear a lightweight suit, with no powered instruments other than the radio and a small cutting torch, and carry the piping and tools in transparent containers as you suggested. Working together the repairs will take a fraction of the time you'd need otherwise, and if one of them is running out of air…”

“I'm sorry, that will not be possible right now…” he began.

“At least let me try, Doctor,” the other broke in. “I can be over there with all we'll need in less than an hour.”

“… Because, friend Fletcher,” he ended, “in less than ten minutes' time, as soon as I finish analyzing these air and fluid samples, I'll be asleep.”

CHAPTER 19

As Prilicla had expected, the robot crew member's actions showed great agitation on the part of its organic controller when the captain met him outside the hull and tried to enter the ship. He had to point several times at the lengths of piping the other was carrying and demonstrate, both by slicing one of the lengths of piping into pieces with the tiny flame of the cutter and then by turning on the cylinder taps briefly and releasing a small quantity of their contents into space to show that they contained only gas, before the captain was allowed to come on board. By the time they were in the damaged control section it was clear from the emotional radiation of both survivors that the DBDG was feared as much as it was trusted, and that the emotional balance could swing either way.

“Friend Fletcher,” he said, “do not make any sudden movements that might be mistaken for a threat. In fact, until they become accustomed to your presence it would be better if you did nothing except pass tools and parts to me, and generally give the impression that I am your superior until I indicate—”

“As you are fond of reminding me, Doctor,” it said dryly, “on the disaster site you have the rank.”

The words were sarcastic but the emotional radiation that accompanied them was free of rancor. Prilicla went on. “… until I indicate to the survivors by acting out the requirement several times that I need your physical assistance. We're lucky that their emotional radiation will tell me whether or not they understand what I'm trying to do.”

It wasn't very long before he ran into trouble. One of the piping conduits had been twisted out of true so that the joints and lock-nuts were jammed. They were too tight, or at least too tight for Prilicla to move.

Several times he went through the motions of trying to loosen it, then he pointed at the captain's larger and stronger hands, withdrew, and indicated that the other should take over. The robot edged closer, its damaged metal surfaces somehow reflecting the fear and concern that its masters were feeling.

“You take over, friend Fletcher,” he said. “But move slowly; they're still terrified of you.”

The captain had to move slowly because it required several minutes of maximum effort, and the cooling element in its suit was just barely keeping the perspiration from fogging its visor, before the sticking lock-nut was loosened, removed, and fitted with a joint that would take the replacement piping. It chose a length that was already fitted with a
T
-junction and valve, and it took much less time for it to cut the pipe to size and make the join. Prilicla passed in the length of hose from the two air tanks, which was attached to the junction. Several times the captain indicated the color-coding on the old and new piping and the tanks. The robot had moved into the inspection compartment and was crowding the captain but not hampering its hands.

“I'm detecting great anxiety,” said Prilicla; then, reassuringly, “but there is also a feeling of comprehension. I think they understand what we're trying to do for them. I'm turning on the air now.”

The earlier analyses had shown that the survivor's atmosphere was similar to that used by the majority of the warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing species. No attempt had been made to include the trace quantities of other gases so that the mixture going in was in the usual proportion of oxygen to nitrogen. For several minutes there was no emotional reaction either from the distressed survivor or the other who was in contact with it; then, suddenly, a slow trembling shook Prilicla's whole body.

“What's wrong?” said the captain.

“Nothing,” he replied. “The breathing distress of the second survivor is being treated although it is still suffering, possibly from hunger, thirst, or injuries, and both of them are now radiating intense, positive feelings of relief and gratitude which are giving me emotional pleasure. They are still afraid of you, but their hatred and distrust are diminishing. Well done, friend Fletcher.”

“Well done yourself,” said the captain, radiating embarrassment at the compliment. “Now that we've helped it to breathe, let's see if we can give it something to drink and eat as well. There is staining around the broken end of one of these pipes that looks like it might be dried-out liquid food. If your analyzer confirms that, we could—”