by James White
O’Mara looked at Braithwaite for a moment and said, “This is your case, Lieutenant.”
Braithwaite took a deep breath and managed to sound respectful as he said, “Sir, it’s because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, either, that I asked for you people. I’m hoping that something in the overall clinical picture, I don’t know what, might suggest a line of investigation?
“And if you don’t know what you’re looking for? said Conway, you have to look at everything. Right?”
Before Braithwaite had finished nodding, Conway was on his feet and moving quickly toward the big wall screen facing O’Mara’s desk. He tapped keys and the greatly enlarged features of a Nidian appeared.
“Medical records? it growled.
“Patient Tunneckis” said Conway briskly. “Planet of origin, Kerm. Cranial surgery, unique procedure, surgeon-in-charge Diagnostician Conway with Diagnostician Thornnastor and Senior Physician Prilicla assisting, location OR One-Twelve. Run the complete op without edits from anesthetic to the transfer to Recovery. Go.”
“Sir,” said the Nidian. “This one is flagged by you as restricted. It is marked for the information of the participating OR staff only, and on no account is it to be used for teaching purposes or general public viewing. Do you wish to amend this instruction?”
“Obviously? said Conway. “But I want one screening only to this location, please. Run it now.”
The big screen was suddenly filled with the sharp, bright image of OR One-Twelve, in which patient Tunneckis was held rigid by tight body restraints. A shaped block was further immobilizing its head while serving as a rigid support for the fixed-focus scanner that was centered above its closed eyes. A short length of the narrow, hollow tubing that would guide the instrument probe projected from one ear, and a two-sided viewscreen was suspended above the operative area at a height convenient to the surgeons’ eyes. Just below the screen on Conway’s side there was a small, rigidly mounted set of controls for the remotely controlled probe instruments. Thornnastor and Conway were bending over the patient and Prilicla was maintaining stable hovering flight close above it.
“This patient? said the image of Conway, with the briefest of glances toward the recording equipment, “was the single occupant in a self-controlled groundcar which sustained an accidental lightning strike. The safety systems functioned to earth the charge through the vehicle’s outer shell so that the patient apparently escaped without injury. Within a few hours of the accident, however, the patient reported an increasing impairment of its telepathic faculty which within five days culminated in it becoming telepathically deaf and dumb. Surgical intervention to relieve a dysfunction in the telepathic faculty is beyond the medical science of its home planet or, for that matter, any other world in the Federation, and we were asked to help. Is the patient ready?”
“Yes, friend Conway? said Prilicla. “The level of emotional radiation is characteristic of a deeply unconscious patient.”
As Conway nodded, the picture on the big wall screen split to show two images. One was a close-up of the patient’s head and Conway’s fingers gently inserting the tube into Tunneckis’s ear cavity, while the other showed the magnified deep scanner image of the operation site.
“Rather than open the cranium and hack a path to the trouble spot through brain tissue of whose sensory functions we are entirely ignorant? Conway went on, “we will approach as closely as possible to the operative field via an existing channel, in this instance through one of the two ear openings. Aural rather than telepathic deafness may result on that side, but probably not, because we can rebuild the inner-ear structure much more easily than the job we are attempting now. Increase to six magnifications. I’m going in…
Conway’s fingers were gently moving the thin, hollow tube inside the ear, but his eyes were on the magnified image, where it seemed as if a length of heavy piping with rounded edges was being forced in a series of jerks and pauses deeper into a narrowing, fleshy tunnel.
“That’s as close as we’ll get to the site without risking serious damage? said Conway finally. “Now we’ll move in with the fine stuff”
A cluster of cables that looked fine even under the high magnification was threaded into the hollow tube and moved forward to its inner end. They included a tiny but intense light source, an allaround visual sensor, and various cutting and sampling tools whose blades and bearings verged on the microscopic. The cable strands emanated from a flat, transparent box with a pair of metallic operating gauntlets inside it. Slowly and carefully Conway moved his fingers from around the fine strands of cable and slipped his hands into the box and the gloves.
“Magnification two hundred? said Conway. “Instrument motion reduction down one-five percent.”
Even the tiny movements of his hands and fingers, rendered incredibly minute by the reduction mechanism, looked like the awkward, barely coordinated motions of a twitching convulsive.
“Motion stepdown to one-fifty? he said.
On the screen the movements of the strand with the cutting head at its tip became smoother and more assured as it burrowed a path through the inner ear membrane and into the tissue beyond. It was closely followed into the narrow, fleshy tunnel it was creating by the light source, the vision pickup, and the instruments that would gather tissue and fluid samples for analysis. The tiny tunnel was beginning to look crowded.
“There is some collateral tissue damage? said Thornnastor.
“The reduced size of the instruments has rendered it minimal, and allowable.”
“This is new territory? said Conway quietly. “We don’t know what is allowable. Ah, we’re in.
The split-screen images from the external scanner and of Conway’s hands in the reduction gaunflets was replaced by the tremendously magnified view from the internal vision pickup that was moving through what appeared to be a series of interconnecting, submerged caverns. In the strong light their convoluted walls showed pink with patches of yellow and they were covered with plantlike growths whose tight clusters of slender stems were topped by single, crystalline flowers that were pale blue or red verging on black. The majority of the stems were headless and on the few that weren t the crystals looked deformed or damaged. Pieces of crystalline debris stirred in the eddies created by the motion of the invading instruments.
“I’ll need a specimen of the fluid for analysis,” said Thornnastor. “Also samples of that floating debris, which appears to be fragmented crystalline material, and a few complete crystals if you can detach them from their stalks. I’ll need stalk samples as well, complete with their crystal flowers.”
“Right? said Conway. “Increase the magnification to two hundred.”
A tiny amount of the fluid which included the debris was withdrawn. Then the cutter and grabs, looking like gigantic earthmoving machinery under the high magnification, moved in to harvest the required stalks and crystals.
“I have enough for the analyzer, now? said Thornnastor. “But the fluid is something more than a simple saline solution. This will take a little time.”
“I feel your concern, friend Conway? Prilicla’s voice joined in, “but it is unnecessary. There is no change in the patient’s emotional status even at the subconscious level, which is the most accurate guide to anything going wrong. The invasive procedure is so delicate that I doubt that it would have felt anything even if it had been fully conscious.”
There was a faint, rustling sound that might have been Conway sighing with relief, and then he said, “Thank you for the reassurance, little friend, you must have felt I needed it. But what we’re seeing here is an organic telepathic transmitter and receiver that is damaged and inoperative. Dammit, in primary-school science class I couldn’t even build a homemade radio that worked.”
It was Thornnastor who looked up with one eye from its analyzer to break the lengthening silence.
“This is interesting? it said. “The fluid is a complex of metallic salts, predominantly copper, with a large number of other minerals
in trace quantities that have yet to be identified. It seems that the crystals, which are very faintly radioactive, grow within the fluid and attach themselves to the clusters of stalks only when they are fully formed. Apart from providing cup-shaped attachment points at their tips and serving as a protective sheath for the connective nerve pathway to the central brain, they are merely the supports for their individual crystals.
“We can reproduce the fluid? it went on, “and seed it with fragments of the damaged crystals and regrow and reirradiate them. Pathologist Murchison is standing by in the lab and it tells me that the crystals form so quickly that it should be able to complete the process in just over an hour. This would give us enough time for lunch.”
“What?” said Conway.
“Friend Thornnastor is a massive and energy-hungry lifeform? said Prilicla, “but it is simply making a pleasantry aimed at reducing emotional tension.”
The image showing the site of Tunneckis’s telepathic faculty remained steady on the wall screen, but the conversation of the operating team discussing it became so densely technical that O’Mara found it difficult to follow even with both his minds. He was glad when the regrown crystals in their growth medium arrived and were injected slowly into the cerebral fluid.
It was obvious even to O’Mara that there were problems.
The newly introduced crystals refused to attach themselves to stalks. Conway stepped up the magnification several times and, sweating in his effort to make minimal movements, tried to use his microinstruments to nudge and hold them together, in vain. The emotional radiation in the room was so intense that Prilicla, trembling in every limb, was forced to land. Finally Conway shook his head, regained enough control over his feelings for the empath to stop trembling, and looked up.
“The receptor cups on the stalks appear to fit the new crystals? he said calmly, “which means that either the reproduction of the new crystals or the fluid in which they were grown was at fault, or both, so that they are either rejecting or temporarily ignoring the stalks. I’m hoping, in fact I’m being hopelessly optimistic, that it is the latter and that the joining process simply requires more time. That being the case, and unless anyone has any other ideas, I suggest we withdraw at once in the hope that the patient, as so many of them do, proceeds to heal itself?”
There was total silence in O’Mara’s office as Conway switched off the wall screen before turning to face them again.
“The rest of this is simply the op debriefing and my general instructions to the medical staff of the recuperation ward? he went on, “and frankly I dislike listening to myself making excuses. Patient Tunneckis did not recover. In addition it has become emotionally disturbed to the stage where psychiatric assistance was requested. It’s gratifying to belong to a hospital with the reputation of doing the medically impossible, but, regrettably, we can’t do it all the time. Patient Tunneckis, I’m afraid, remains as it was, telepathically deaf and dumb.”
Conway silently resumed his seat and the silence lengthened. Thornnastor and Prilicla joined the others in saying nothing. O’Mara was totally surprised and very pleased when it was the usually quiet and self-effacing Lieutenant Braithwaite who broke the silence.
“Diagnostician Conway? he said politely, “I completely disagree.”
CHAPTER 29
Conway, Thornnastor, Prilicla, and O’Mara turned their total of ten eyes on the lieutenant, who kept his fixed unwaveringly on Conway. He spoke again before the other could react.
“There is evidence to suggest,” Braithwaite continued, respectfully but firmly, “that your patient is making some form of projective telepathic contact with the members of several different species, specifically those belonging to the medical staff who have been or are attending it. So far as I can gather from their reported conversations with the patient, Tunneckis and they are completely unaware of what is happening.”
Conway looked quickly toward O’Mara, then back to Braithwaite. He smiled and said, “Has your chief made you aware of the brain-itch phenomenon, Lieutenant? It’s very rare, but I’ve experienced it a few times myself around telepaths. It’s a temporary irritation, not a physical or mental health risk.”
Braithwaite nodded. “I’m aware of it, sir. It occurs when a member of a species who is not normally telepathic but whose distant ancestors possessed the gene for a telepathic faculty, and evolved speech and hearing instead, encounters a transmission that its long-atrophied receiver cannot process. The result, if they feel anything at all, is an unlocalized itching deep inside both ears. Occasionally, as happened with you, a complete telepathic mindpicture is received which fades within seconds. The effect with Tunneckis is more insidious and, I believe, dangerous.
“Since you took part in the operation” he went on, looking briefly toward Prilicla and Thornnastor, “are any of you aware of uncharacteristic changes in your behavior or thought patterns, however small? Do any of you find yourselves feeling unusual levels of irritation toward other-species colleagues or subordinate staff? Are you worried about what they might do to you someday? Do you find yourselves wishing you had own-species assistants rather than a bunch of weird aliens who
“Dammit, Lieutenant” Conway broke in, his face deepening in color, “are you suggesting xenophobic behavior in people like us?”
“In people with your wide, other-species experience and length of hospital service” Braithwaite replied calmly, “xenophobia is unlikely. But it is a possibility that must be considered.”
Before Conway could respond, Prilicla said, “Friend Braithwaite, the five sources of emotion4l radiation in this room give no indications of xenophobia, either now or in the past. You are now feeling relief. Why is that?”
“Because” said the lieutenant, “I thought you might have been infected, contaminated, influenced, whatever is the proper word to describe a telepathic contagion, by Tunneckis during the operation, as was our Dr. Cerdal while practicing its therapy. Obviously this did not happen. Perhaps the duration of exposure is a factor, which would explain why it is Dr. Cerdal-who as its therapist is frequently in attendance-is the person most strongly affected at present. The symptoms of the nursing staff, who have more important things to do than talk for long periods with the patient, are less obvious.”
“Dr. Cerdal’ said O’Mara before anyone could ask who it was, “is an able psychologist and one of the contenders for my job, although becoming one of my department’s patients is an unusual way of impressing me.
Conway smiled and Thornnastor stamped one of its medial feet in polite appreciation of O’Mara’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but Prilicla was shaking again. It was the slow, irregular tremor the Cinrusskin made when it was nerving itself to say something which might give rise to an unpleasant emotional reaction which its empathy would cause it to share.
“Friend Braithwaite” it said hesitantly, “have you considered the possibility that friend Cerdal’s problem may be self-generated? That the emotional pressures of competing for the top job, in surroundings which to it must seem very strange and perhaps frightening, have uncovered an unsuspected flaw in its normally well-integrated personality? And that your xenophobia theory, with apologies, is all wrong?”
“I’ve considered that possibility, Dr. Prilicla,” said the lieutenant, “and discarded it. But I would be very relieved and pleased if any of you can prove me all wrong.”
Prilicla made the musical trilling sound that was Cinrusskin laughter and said, “Then I would take great pleasure in relieving and pleasing you, friend Braithwaite. How, precisely, can I prove you wrong?”
The lieutenant told Priicla, followed by Conway and Thornnastor, what he wanted done. In the presence of three of the most senior medical staff in the hospital his manner was respectful, O’Mara was pleased to see, but without the slightest trace of subservience. He remained silent for several minutes after the three medics had left the office.
“You may not know exactly what you’re doing, Lieutenant” he said finall
y, “but you seem to be doing it very well. And now, after ordering the top medical brass around for the past ten minutes, presumably you have a job for me?”
“I would appreciate any help and advice you could give me, sir.” said Braithwaite. “Or instructions. If it is convenient I’d like us both to talk to Tunneckis’s ward staff?
“Suppose? said O’Mara, “I were to tell you, less tactfully than Prilicla, that you’re all wrong and advise you to cease and desist your present line of investigation forthwith, what then?”
“In certain circumstances? Braithwaite replied, calmly ducking the question, “negative advice can be helpful?
“Diplomat? said O’Mara in a voice suggesting that he had just used a dirty word. For a moment he looked around the large, beautiful, and well-appointed room, and through the transparent wall that revealed his mixed-species secretarial staff busy at their consoles, then went on. “If you do eventually make it to this office, Lieutenant, you’ll like it. Once the initial panic is over and you realize that you can be polite when you choose and not because you have to please others, you’ll be able to apply the diplomatic oil that will keep the hospital running smoothly. I can’t do that, and always feel happier when I’m somewhere else.”
He stood up suddenly and circumnavigated his enormous desk to stand beside Braithwaite before he added, “This is still your show. Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
Valleschni was the off-duty charge nurse on Tunneckis’s recovery ward, which meant that, when they asked and received permission to talk to it in its private quarters, they had to wear their protective suits while the chlorine-breather wore nothing. The personal nature of the conversation made it impossible for one of them not to look at the obnoxious thing. After a brief nod of greeting, O’Mara kept his attention fixed on a lank bunch of something oily and decaying hanging from one wall (it was probably decorative vegetation and, for a chlorine-breather, sweet-smelling) while he allowed Braithwaite to do the talking.
