Final Diagnosis sg-10

by James White

  “Of course,” said Lioren.

  He watched it move up the ward to join the group that was standing and, in one case, hovering about thirty meters away. He barely noticed Medalont and the Tralthan and Earth-human diagnosticians, Thornnastor and Conway, or even the mature but strikingly beautiful female Earth-human who had to be Pathologist Murchison, because all of his attention was focused on the enormous but incredibly fragile insect that was flying on three sets of slowly beating, iridescent wings toward him.

  As it drifted to a halt above his bed and he felt the faint downdraft from its wings, Hewlitt remembered that he had always disliked insects, and the larger they were the more he wanted to swat them. But this one was the most delicate and beautiful creature he had ever seen. Even his tongue was paralyzed with wonder.

  “Thank you, friend Hewlitt,” it said, the quiet trilling and clicking sound of its speech forming an almost musical background to the translated words. “Your emotional radiation is pleasant and most complimentary. I am Prilicla.”

  “What,” he said, finding both his voice and his anxiety again, “what exactly are you going to do to me?”

  “I have already done all that is necessary, friend Hewlitt,” it replied, “so there is no reason for your anxiety.”

  The others who had been waiting must have overheard it, because they were moving closer. When they had gathered around his bed, Prilicla raised its voice and went on, “At the present time there are no detectable abnormalities present in Patient Hewlitt’s mind, nor were there during my earlier examination of Patient Morredeth, who should now be discharged and sent home without further delay. I feel the disappointment in all of you, naturally, and I am sorry. So far as I am concerned I can feel absolutely nothing wrong with the patient.

  “Friend Hewlitt,” it went on as it made a feather-light landing on the bottom of his bed, “how would you like a ride in an ambulance?”

  He saw Prilicla’s body begin to tremble and realized that the empath must be sharing his own feelings of anger and bitter disappointment, feelings that he had suffered so often in the past. He said, “Don’t try to humor me, dammit! You think there’s nothing wrong with me and you’re going to send me home.”

  “Well, not exactly,” said Prilicla. “This time the ambulance will be taking the patient from hospital to the scene of the original accident.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Even though his stay in Ward Seven had just about obliterated all traces of his xenophobia, Hewlitt was relieved to discover that on this particular ambulance the Earth-human DBDGs were in a majority of five to three.

  During nonmedical operations, he learned, the special ambulance ship Rhabwar was commanded by a very serious young officer called Major Fletcher, while three other Monitor Corps lieutenants, Haslam, Chen, and Dodds, were responsible for communications, engineering, and astrogation, respectively. Since Hewlitt was not allowed to leave the casualty deck, he would have little contact with any of them or they with the medical team unless the ship was called to a medical emergency requiring their presence on the casulty deck. If that happened, command transferred to the team’s senior medical officer, who turned out to be the empathic Cinrusskin GLNO Prilicla, until the emergency was resolved.

  He had been surprised, and later, when he came to know her better, very pleased, to find that the empath’s principal assistant was Pathologist Murchison. The remaining two medics were a Kelgian DBLF specialist in heavy rescue operations, Charge Nurse Naydrad, and Dr. Danalta, who was physiological classification TOBS and the most alien and, at times, familiar creature that Hewlitt had ever seen or expected to see.

  Danalta was a polymorph who could make itself look like anything or anyone, and it loved to show off. But when it was the shape-changer’s turn to watch over him, especially when he was expected to sleep and not talk, it sat on the deck by his bedside like a lumpy, green pear that was featureless except for the single, large eye and ear that it extruded for the purpose.

  Except for the natural sleeping periods prescribed for Earthhuman DBDG patients, he was not confined to bed.

  During his first day on board, there was one very thorough physical examination, which included the withdrawal of tissue and blood specimens. While it was being done, the entire medical team stood and hovered around his bed, displaying a degree of readiness that was hair-raising in its implications while radiating a level of anxiety that even he could feel, in case he reacted in some clinically melodramatic fashion. Apart from that one examination nothing whatever was done for or to him and, because he had not reacted in any fashion whatever, they spent the next two days asking him endless questions while trying to avoid answering his.

  Pathologist Murchison was a fellow Earth-human as well as being closer in personality and appearance to Hewlitt’s idea of what a medical guardian angel should look like. The next time she was on casualty watch, he tried to start a polite argument with her in the hope that she, at least, would let something slip that would tell him what they were planning to do with him.

  Hewlitt knew that he did not have to control his irritation because Prilicla was resting in its cabin and out of empathic range. He began, “Everyone seems to be asking me the same questions that Medalont and all my other doctors have already asked many times, and I am giving the same answers. I’d like to help if I can, but how? You won’t answer questions or tell me anything at all about my condition. What do you think is wrong with me, and why won’t you tell me what you are trying to do about it?”

  The pathologist swung around in her seat at the diagnostic console and looked away from its big viewscreen, which had been displaying a succession of still images that resembled the top surfaces of slabs of pink and purple-veined marble, but were more likely to be sections of other-species tissue with something nasty wrong with them. Maybe, Hewlitt thought, she had been expecting the pictures to bore him to sleep.

  She gave a long sigh, and said, “This information would have been given to you during the post-landing briefing tomorrow but, seeing that there has been no change in your clinical condition over the past three days, there is no good reason for keeping it from you until then. You will not like the answers I give you because…

  “Is, is it bad news?” he broke in. “I’d rather know the worst. I think.”

  “If you want answers,” she said, “don’t interrupt. This is embarrassing for me as it is.”

  Embarrassing for you, Hewlitt thought. He said, “I’m sorry, please go on.

  She nodded, then said, “It is not good news, or bad news, it is no news. First, we kept asking the same questions in the hope that you would tell us something new, something you omitted to tell Medalont or the others, something that we can believe and act upon. According to Prilicla, your emotional radiation indicates that you are not consciously lying, but the truth you are telling us is not helpful at all. Your second question, what is wrong with you. Well, so far as we have been able to discover, you are not only well, you are an unusually fit and healthy specimen of an Earth-human male DBDG. The answer is that nothing is wrong with you.

  She took a deep breath that expanded the spectacular chest inside her tight, white coveralls, further reminding him that he was a healthy male, and went on, “That being the case, Patient Hewlitt, we should declare you a healthy hypochondriac with psychological problems and tell you to go home and stop wasting our time as many of your other medics have done in the past…

  She held up one small, well-formed hand and said, “No, don’t elevate your blood pressure, we aren’t going to do that. At least, not until we have found an explanation for your strange early case history and the more recent regeneration of Morredeth’s damaged fur, which may or may not be related. We are hoping to find the relationship, if there is one, on Etla. That is where the initial strange occurrences took place, and where your help, advice, and memories of those early episodes will be much appreciated during the investigation.

  “So the answer to your third question,” she ended, smi
ling, “is that we don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I’d be pleased to help,” Hewlitt said, “but my childhood memories might not be accurate enough for your purpose. Have you thought of that?”

  “According to the Psychology Department,” she replied, “your memory is like everything else about you, well-nigh perfect. Now, Patient Hewlitt, will you please go to sleep and let me work.”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “What are you doing?”

  She sighed again and said, “Among other things I am comparing a series of enlarged scanner visuals of DBDG and otherspecies brains, including your own, in the hope of finding a structural variation or abnormality that might explain how you were able to do some of the things you have done, if it was you and not another as yet unidentified agency that was responsible. I don’t really expect to find evidence of a faculty that enables its possessor to perform miracles, but I have to try. Now go to sleep.”

  A few minutes later she went on, “Are you sure you have told us everything? Were there any incidents, so minor or trivial that you didn’t think they were worth mentioning, like the episode with your teeth, for example, while you were a child or adult? How about contacts with people who were ill, either at home or in your working environment? For some reason the case notes make no mention of your profession or occupation. Did you have any contacts with animals, other than your kitten, that might have been ill or recently recovered from an illness, or were there any other…

  “Do you mean my sheep?” said Hewlitt.

  “I might mean your sheep,” said Murchison. “Tell me about

  “Them,” he corrected.

  “You’re a shepherd?” she said. “I didn’t think they had shepherds these days. Go on.”

  “I’m not and they do,” he said. “Sheepherding is a rare, specialized, and very well paid job, especially when they work for me. I inherited the family business from my grandparents, because my father was the only son and he preferred a career in the space service. When he died in the flyer crash, well, I was the last Hewlitt. The case notes didn’t mention my job because nearly everyone on Earth knew who I was and what I did.

  “I run Hewlitt the Tailor.”

  “And I have the feeling that I should be impressed,” said Murchison. “Sorry, but I wasn’t born on Earth.”

  “Neither were ninety-odd percent of the Federation citizens,” he said, “so I’m not offended. It is a small but very exclusive company that can charge the Earth and moon for its services, which is to provide handcrafted, custom-built garments made from the original, handwoven or spun tweeds and fine worsted materials. In these days of cheap, synthesized clothing there are people who are willing and wealthy enough to pay our prices, or even to try bribing their way onto our waiting list. But in spite of the fearsome prices we charge, the profit margin isn’t excessive. We have to maintain herds of sheep and other wool-bearing animals, who are classified as protected species. They still need to be shorn periodically, which is how we get the raw material for our weaving mill, but the high level and cost of health care our animals are given you wouldn’t believe.

  “My job requires periodic inspection visits to our herds,” he went on, “which includes feeling the quality of wool on a few of the animals before shearing. But they are never, ever allowed to take sick or catch any infectious diseases. So I’m sorry. This information isn’t very useful to you, is it?”

  “Probably not useful,” she agreed, “but interesting. We’ll need to give it some serious thought.”

  “And I’m not a tailor,” he ended, “just an impeccably dressed company figurehead, when I’m not wearing a hospital nightshirt.”

  Murchison smiled and nodded. “We were all wondering why an apparently non-urgent case like yours was referred to Sector General. Maybe one of your rich and influential clients might have had something to do with it, especially if he happened to be a highly placed medic anxious to get onto your waiting list.”

  “But surely not influential enough,” said Hewlitt, “to have an ambulance ship like Rhabwar assisting with my case. Why am I considered that important?”

  He knew at once from her sudden lack of expression that she was not going to answer. Instead she smiled again and said firmly, “No more questions, Patient Hewlitt. You can count sheep if you like, but go to sleep.”

  She continued to watch him until he closed his eyes; then he heard her resume the quiet, intermittent tapping on her console. In the darkness behind his closed lids, the background silence of a ship in hyperflight became diluted by the soft, metallic creaking and humming noises interspersed with the distant, muffled, and barely audible voices of the crew that drifted aft along the communications well, sounds that at other times he would not have been aware of hearing. He lay for a subjective eternity, trying not to think about anything at all while wriggling to relieve the increasing discomfort of his sinfully comfortable bed until he could take it no longer.

  “I’m not sleeping,” he said, opening his eyes.

  “That is what your monitor has been telling me for the past two hours,” said Murchison, trying to hide her irritation behind a smile. “But it is always nice to have verbal corroboration. What am I going to do with you?”

  Hewlitt recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one and remained silent.

  She went on, “You are forbidden all medication, which, naturally, includes sedation. Rhabwar doesn’t have an entertainment channel to bore you to sleep because the occupants of the casualty deck are usually in no condition to be entertained. Danalta will be relieving me in an hour. Unless you want to spend the rest of the night watching it change shape, which is not a pretty sight, our closest equivalent to in-flight entertainment is the ship’s log of past operations. I can run that on the main screen if you like, with the nonmedical summary. Some of the material will provide useful background information for tomorrow’s briefing on Etla.”

  “And will it bore me to sleep?” asked Hewlitt.

  “I very much doubt it,” she replied. “Raise the backrest until you can see the whole screen without dislocating your neck. Okay? Here we go…

  There had been time to call up the library information on Rhabwar before they had moved him on board, so he already knew that he was on a special ambulance ship whose primary purpose was the deep-space rescue, retrieval, and preliminary treatment of lifeforms in distress whose physiological classifications were hitherto unknown to the Federation. In the case of a distress call from a Federation vessel, whose flight plan, planet of origin, and crew species were known, it was simpler to dispatch a rescue vessel from the home planet with a team of same-species medics and life support on board.

  With the retrieval of Rhabwar’s type of casualty, the situation was different and potentially more dangerous. In addition to being traumatized and their ability to observe and reason logically reduced by pain, shock, fear, and confusion, its casualties were more often as not thrown into a panic reaction caused by the sight of the grotesque creatures who were trying to rescue them. That was why Rhabwar’s crew had to include other-species technology experts and first-contact specialists as well as medics.

  When it was not engaged on specialist rescue missions, the ship was expected to respond to the more general type of emergency ranging from large-scale space structural accidents to the coordination of medical disaster relief operations on-planet. But the majority of the missions, as well as being the most entertaining and hair-raising, were those which the log noted as requiring unique solutions.

  The present mission, he had overheard Murchison tell Naydrad, would probably hold the all-time record for being both the weirdest and least dangerous they had ever been assigned.

  Because his hearing was very good he had also overheard the medical team making obscure references to problems they had encountered on previous missions, to beings called the Dewatti, a pregnant Gogleskan called Khone, and the Blind Ones and their incredibly savage servants, the Protectors of the Unborn, among others. But now,
as the the images of devastated ships, drifting masses of space wreckage with the dead or dying debris it contained, and the pictures of barely living organic wreckage occupying his own and the other beds around him filled the screen, those references were no longer obscure.

  Murchison had been right. The pictures that were unfolding were not conducive to sleep, and so keen was he not to miss anything that he closed his eyes only to blink. He noticed neither the arrival of Danalta or the pathologist’s departure, and he grew aware of events beyond the borders of the big viewscreen only when the deck lighting came on, the screen darkened, and he felt the gentle downdraft from Prilicla’s wings as the Cinrusskin hovered above his bed.

  “Good morning, friend Hewlitt,” it said. “We have emerged from hyperspace and will be landing in five hours’ time. I feel from you the emotional radiation characteristic of a high level of fatigue, although you consciously admitted its presence. It would look bad for all of us if you yawned your way through the briefing, so relax, empty your mind, and close your eyes for ten seconds and you will find yourself asleep. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Rabwar possessed the delta-wing configuration and flight characteristics but not the armament of a Monitor Corps light cruiser. It was the largest class of vessel in service capable of aerodynamic maneuvering within an atmosphere as well as being able to land with minimal effect on the local environment. That was not an important consideration here because, so far as Hewlitt could see, the area where he had played and strayed in his youth remained as he remembered it, a wreckage-strewn, overgrown wilderness. While the ship was descending onto a clear area midway between his former home and the clump of tall trees with the ravine runfling through them, he was able to trace with his finger on the main viewscreen the path he had taken all those years ago.