Double Contact (22 page)

“Thank you,” said Prilicla, knowing that Keet's feelings were backing up its words. “But now we have to transfer you to the litter and attend to some superficial wounding caused by the extraction. The treatment will be quick and simple, a few sutures and the application of a healing ointment suited to your metabolism. You won't have an adverse reaction to it because it is identical to one of the medications carried in your doll's medical kit which, you will remember, we analyzed and reproduced earlier. Ready everyone?”

It was like moving a limp, half-cooked pancake through a three-dimensional maze of barbed wire, the captain said on their private frequency. Prilicla had no idea what a pancake was, his only Earth-human food weakness being spaghetti, and had to take the other's word for it. But finally they had Keet out of its control cocoon, its wounds treated, and resting comfortably in the litter.

“What now?” it said.

“Now,” Prilicla replied, “we seal the litter and move it into Jasam's section, reconnect the communications line so you'll be able to tell it what has been happening while friend Fletcher and I do the same for our own people who must make preparations to receive two new casualties. After that … My apologies, I need to sleep again.”

While they were moving the litter to the other section of the control center, Prilicla quickly explained the situation to Pathologist Murchison while transmitting visuals of the scene that were being relayed to the surface by
Rhabwar.
The ground facility was more spacious than the ambulance ship's casualty deck, and all of his medical staff as well as the
Terragar
survivors were there. Keet and Jasam were talking together and the captain was about to begin his situation report, both of which were being recorded in case he needed to refer to them later, when he suddenly lost touch with reality.

Captain Fletcher looked at the sleeping Prilicla, lowered his voice, and, using a frequency that the two aliens could overhear, spoke briskly.

“Courier Vessel One,” he said. “We can now report that the distressed alien ship is nonhostile and that the damage inflicted on
Terragar
was due to a combination of ignorance and a close-range defense system of high lethality that instantly kills any ship's computer-controlled systems, but not the living organic contents, that touches it. This defense system remains active and is an extreme danger to any investigating ship—regardless of size and armament—making a close approach. It is imperative that you remain at your present distance and that all other vessels be forbidden to enter this system until a countermeasure has been found.

“The ship's planet of origin is Trolann,” it went on, “location as yet unknown, where the Trolanni are losing a war that has lasted for many centuries with another indigenous species, the druul, with whom it has been impossible to come to an accommodation. Physically the druul bear a close resemblance to the DBDG physiological classification, a fact which initially made the first-contact procedure very difficult because they looked on
Rhabwar
's Earth-human personnel as natural enemies rather than rescuers. Now I believe that we have done enough to earn their trust…”

“Our limited trust,” Keet broke in. “I trust Prilicla, and to a lesser extent you, because you do as it asks and seem anxious to help us, but Jasam remains fearful and untrusting. About the other ones who look like druuls, I, too, am uncertain.”

“But that,” said the captain, “is because you haven't seen them helping you as Prilicla and I have been doing. Their work is in the background, but it is being done. They are not, never were, nor ever will be like the druul. May I continue with my report?

“The Trolanni are of physiological classification CHLI,” he went on when Keet did not reply, “warm-blooded oxygen-breathers, although there is very little breathable oxygen remaining on their heavily polluted planet. They describe themselves as an embattled minority of … Keet, what is the total number of Trolanni on your planet?”

“Just under one hundred thousand,” it replied promptly.

“As few as that?” said the captain, its face paling as it returned to its report and went on. “In that case, and bearing in mind the fact that the Trolanni have a limited space-travel capability, I strongly recommend that the Federation mount a disaster-relief and evacuation operation to move them from their virtually uninhabitable planet to another world, the world below us, in fact, which Keet and Jasam found for their people before their ship was damaged in an attempt to signal its location. I further recommend that provision be made to interdict all druul offensive operations until the Trolanni are evacuated safely, after which, if cultural reeducation is possible, we should determine the druul's needs for continued survival and…”

Inside the litter canopy, Keet's body was twitching in great agitation. It said, “Aren't you going to kill them all, or at least let them die fighting among themselves? That's what they'll do if there's nobody else to fight. Or maybe you can't kill them. Maybe you're favorably disposed towards them, more so than towards the Trolanni, because the druul look like you. I'm sorry, but I think we were right about you from the start. A helpful, apparently friendly druul is still a druul. You disappoint us, Fletcher.”

The captain shook his head. “Our physically similar appearance has nothing to do with it. On Earth there are creatures shaped like humans. In our prehistory, we developed intelligence and ultimately civilization, but they did not, and to this day remain nonsapient animals. They are not evil in themselves but are governed by animal instincts that sometimes make them a danger to humans, and for this reason they are confined, restricted, and cared for in their own areas where they cannot harm us. If the druul are thinking animals, implacable, vicious, unable to be taught civilized ways, or are incapable of governing their own instincts and behavior, that—if it is possible for us to do it—is what would happen to them. They would be isolated and Trolann would be interdicted by the Federation and no contact with any other species allowed.

“But we would not exterminate a species just because its long-term enemy thought it was warranted,” the captain ended. “The druul and you may not be able to view each other or your problem with objectivity. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my report.…”

The captain resumed his description of the situation on the alien ship and their plans for resolving it while at the same time, by implication, mentally preparing the Trolanni casualties for what was to come by describing the structural problems of casualty extraction before the medical problems could be solved. But Keet was finding it difficult to remain silent.

“Prilicla and you are all right, I suppose,” Keet said, “but are strangers of your kind going to be handling us? That would frighten Jasam and me very much. He might hurt himself even more trying to fight you off. We'd rather Prilicla did everything. We like it.”

“Everybody likes Prilicla,” said Fletcher, looking aside at the sleeping empath, “but physically it is too weak to do everything itself. That's why it will need heavy cutting equipment and the help of Dodds and Chen, two other Earth-humans like myself, to clear a path to and enclose the area in a pressure envelope before Prilicla can begin treating Jasam's injuries. But all of us, in my ship and on the surface are the same as Prilicla. We all want to help cure Jasam and yourself. While we're doing that, you'll come to know all of us, and trust us, and tell us how we can help your people.”

For a long time there was silence while the captain crawled about in the wreckage surrounding Jasam's control pod, marking structural members that would have to be cut away, lengths of plumbing to be sealed off, and talking quietly. Everything he said formed part of his report including—although the Trolanni might not have realized it—the conversations with Keet and all the recorded material on the
Terragar
landing and casualties.

Everything went into a first-contact report.

“Jasam is very worried,” said Keet suddenly, “in case there are healers on the surface who look like you. If there are, he doesn't want them to touch him. He says he'd rather die. Why don't we go to the hospital you showed us, where there are many healers who don't look like the druul?”

In a first-contact situation the rule was to tell the truth but to keep it as simple as possible. The captain said, “My ship has been ordered to remain in this vicinity to warn off any other vessels who might want to investigate your searchsuit and suffer damage as a result. On
Rhabwar
there are four Earth-human ship's officers including myself, and four healers. Prilicla, you already know, is in charge; then an Earth-human female called Murchison who looks, well, somewhat different than me; a Kelgian who has twenty legs and is covered with mobile fur; and a shape-changer called Danalta who can look like anything or everything, even a Trolanni if it thought that shape would be reassuring to you or your life-mate. There are also three Earth-humans who are badly damaged. The medical team, with the exception of Prilicla, are down there in a special healing facility, taking care of them. None of them, not even the
Terragar
casualties, will want to harm you while you get to know us better. Besides, the repairing of physical damage isn't everything. We think that it might make you feel better and assist your nonmedical healing if you were to spend some time recuperating on the beautiful world Jasam and yourself have discovered for the Trolanni.”

There was no reply, and the short silence was broken by the quiet voice of Prilicla speaking on the captain's private frequency.

“I've been awake for the past few minutes,” he said, “and I could not have handled the situation better if I'd done it myself. Thank you, friend Fletcher. Keet is feeling greatly comforted and Jasam, who is still anxious and barely conscious, shares its life-mate's reassurance. This would be a good time to call in friends Dodds and Chen.”

During the next three hours, while the damaged area surrounding Jasam's control pod was being isolated in a temporary pressure bubble and excised from its surrounding control actuators, plumbing, and wiring, the lines between technical and medical work were frequently blurred by the fact that
Rhabwar
's officers were doing much more delicate work than that being performed by Prilicla. Even though he was not due to sleep for another four hours, by the time they were finished and Jasam was sharing the other half of the pressure litter with Keet, he felt so tired that it was an effort for him not to lose consciousness prematurely. The captain, who had not slept for two Earth standard days and did not seem to be affected by fatigue, was concluding its report to the courier vessels.

“… Friendly relations have been established with the two Trolanni casualties who are ready for transfer to
Rhabwar
and immediate onward transportation to the surface medical station,” he said crisply. “According to Dr. Prilicla, the being Keet has superficial injuries and is in no danger, but the other one, Jasam, is giving cause for concern. Urgent surgery is required, and the prognosis is uncertain. You have everything you need to know, but I suggest that you both remain on station, stay well clear of the alien ship's hull which is still active and a continuing danger, and wait a few hours for the latest good or bad news.

“From here on this is expected to be a routine medical matter,” it ended, “and we cannot foresee anything going wrong.”

CHAPTER 22

At the medical station the routines of the day had proceeded with a similar lack of drama, but the surroundings were beautiful, relaxing, and much too pleasant for boredom to be a consideration. The patients were in satisfactory medical and good psychological shape following their twice-daily immersion in the shallows and subsequent sun-drying, and had been moved indoors. The sun was within an hour of setting, with its close-to-horizontal light reflecting off the reddish-white breakers on a sea that was dark blue. It was the ideal time of day for another walk around the island.

Inevitably accompanied, Murchison thought irritably, by her shape-changing and by now totally redundant guardian angel.

There was no real reason, other than that she had never done so before and the team members and patients might worry, why she should be back inside the station before nightfall. But to reduce the unnecessary worrying all around, she decided not to break with tradition by jogging instead of walking the distance, and to stop only for a brief swim in her favorite beauty spot, a tiny, tree-fringed bay on the opposite side of the island.

She was nearing it, and the station was hidden by the curve of the shoreline behind her, when the sun began to set, although from experience she knew that there would be enough dusk left to see her way back. In the shallows Danalta was keeping pace with her, arrowing through the breaking surf and occasionally leaping into the air as it did its impression of a flying fish. She was running fast over the firm, damp sand with her eyes down so as to avoid the scattered white stones in her path when the shape-changer made a noise that did not translate, and flopped rapidly out of the water and onto the sand beside her. While it was still changing from an aquatic to a land mobile form, what had been one of its fins thickened into a hand and it pointed ahead.

This,
Murchison thought as she slowed to a stop under the trees,
is certainly an interesting change in the usual scenery.

It was a smooth, flattened mound covered with what looked like fibrous, greenish-brown vegetation, or possibly scales or a form of seaweed, that floated in the water with a narrow section of its forward edge projecting a few yards onto the sandy beach. It was large enough to fill a quarter of the tiny inlet and she was reminded of an outsize, beached whale.