by James White
Prilicla had left it to Gurronsevas to decide when would be the best time to tell the people in the mine that their hunters could be expected soon, and this seemed to be the right moment. But with the good news there should also be a strong reminder that changes for the Wem were inevitable. He opened the satchel strapped to his side and directed an eye into it, searching for Rhabwar’s reconnaissance pictures.
“Allowing for the differences in size and age,” he said, “the young and old Wem are healthy and active on their diet of vegetables. The healers on the ship, who have knowledge of such matters covering many worlds, say that your young adults, too, would live and thrive and proliferate on the same diet. The eating of meat is good for them, the healers agree, but it is not the only source of health and energy for them. We feel that the eating of meat has become a belief and a habit going back many generations, and that it is a habit that can be broken.
“But let us not start another argument,” Gurronsevas went on quickly, “because I have good news for you. At their present rate of progress, which is slow because they are heavily loaded, your hunters will be here in the late morning of the day after tomorrow. If meat is what you want then meat you shall soon have.”
Without saying how long ago the pictures had been taken he gave a simple explanation of the workings of Rhabwar’s casualty search vehicle and began spreading them out before Remrath. Enlarged and enhanced, they showed every detail of the five food animals struggling against their tethers, every fold in the sewn skins covering the litter that was being carried by six Wem and, because the day had been heavily overcast, the hunters had their sun cowls and cloaks tied back so that every face was clearly visible. Even to Gurronsevas the sharpness of the images was impressive.
“Maybe they are late arriving because they have five food animals and a heavily loaded litter,” Gurronsevas went on enthusiastically. “You can see for yourself, so clearly that you will be able to recognize your friends. I have no idea of how much they usually bring back, but I think I know a big catch when I see one.”
“You know nothing, Gurronsevas,” said Remrath in a very quiet voice. “It is not a big catch. The hunters should not be walking, they should be running and tail-hopping so that the small animal carcasses in their belly-packs will not spoil before they reach us, and dragging upwards of twenty big crellan and twasacths behind them instead of five scrawny cubs. But many of their packs are empty, and they carry a Wem on a covered litter, which means that one of the hunters has been damaged and is dead or dying.”
“I am sorry,” said Gurronsevas. “Do you know …Is it a friend of yours?”
Gurronsevas knew as soon as he spoke that it was an unnecessary question. All the faces in the pictures were so clear and sharp that the other could identify the injured Wem by the simple process of elimination.
“It is Creethar, their leader,” said Remrath in an even quieter voice. “A very brave and resourceful and well-loved hunter. Creethar is my last-born.”
CHAPTER 27
Tawsar was reluctant but sympathetic and Remrath was adamant, which meant that it was the First Cook who won the argument. Even so, it took three hours before Rhabwar with Remrath on board was able to lift off on the kind of mission that it had been expressly designed to perform.
The situation did not bear thinking about, even for a non-medical person like himself. For an emotion-sensitive like Prilicla, he thought, it must be ghastly.
Gurronsevas knew exactly how he felt about it, and he thought that he knew how Remrath and the other people on the casualty deck were feeling. In spite of the attempts they must be making to control their feelings, they must all be emoting strongly within a few yards of Prilicla. Perhaps that was why the Senior Physician had not prefixed any of their names with “friend” for more than an hour.
The Wem were so short of meat that far-ranging hunting parties were sent out to find it, and so low in technology that there was no way that the catch could be stored for long periods unless it was brought to the mine, so the only way to transport it over long distances was to keep it alive. If the casualty was not already dead, it and its fellow hunters would try to keep it alive so that the young body meat that it must give up to its people would be fresh when it arrived home.
In spite of the continuing pain it would suffer on the journey, and of the fact that its selectively cannibalistic race knew little or nothing of the practice of curative medicine, Remrath told them that Creethar would try to stay alive until the last possible moment. As a brave and honorable Wem it was Creethar’s bounden duty to do so.
Now Remrath was standing before the casualty deck’s view-screen, displaying no visible reaction as Fletcher brought Rhabwar down for a full emergency landing, which Gurronsevas felt sure was little more than a controlled crash, a few hundred yards from the Wem hunting party.
Prilicla was hovering unsteadily beside him. He spoke to hide his anxiety, realizing at once that no feelings could be hidden from an empath.
“When I spoke to Tawsar and Remrath,” Gurronsevas said quietly, in spite of the translator bypass, “together and separately as you asked, there was disagreement. Tawsar forbade us to interfere and Remrath was anxious to help us in every way possible. So if we try to help Creethar without Tawsar’s permission, our present good relations with the Wem may be jeopardized. But from what I have seen, Tawsar likes and respects its first cook and healer, and at present feels great sympathy towards it, so the risk may be a small one. Creethar is, after all, Remrath’s youngest and only surviving offspring.”
“You have already said these things to me,” the empath replied, “and then as now your attempt at reassurance is appreciated. But as the senior medical officer of an ambulance ship I have no choice. Or is your feeling of anxiety due to something else?”
“I’m not sure,” said Gurronsevas. “There seems to be a problem with communication. Against Tawsar’s wishes Remrath is flying out with us to reassure the hunting party about our good intentions, so that we can bring Creethar home quickly for treatment or to die. But it doesn’t seem to want that. Before it left the mine with me, you must have overheard it telling Tawsar that as the parent, it had the final say in what was to happen to the damaged First Hunter and that it wanted the off-worlders, rather than itself or another Wem, to take Creethar into the ship for as long as would be necessary.
“Nothing more was said to me directly,” he went on, “and I do not have your ability to read emotional radiation. But why would a parent in this terrible situation give its offspring to us, to utterly strange beings it has known for such a short time, with so little argument? I felt sure that it was saying less, much less, than it was thinking and feeling. This worries me.”
“I know your feelings, and Remrath’s,” said the empath. “Right now it is radiating the combination of uncertainty and grief characteristic of the expected loss of a loved one, the severity of whose injuries and chances of survival are unknown. And, almost submerged by these stronger feelings, there is a child-like wonder and excitement of its first experience of flying. It is an intelligent being with, in spite of the present near-barbaric situation on Wemar, a civilized and liberal mind who trusts us. That trust was won by you, friend Gurronsevas, and as a result we will be able to give Creethar the best treatment possible, with parental consent.
“You have no reason to worry,” Prilicla ended, “but still you are worrying.”
Before he could reply, the deck plating pressed gently against their feet as the gravity compensators evened out the shock of the emergency landing. Warm, outside air blew around them as the casualty deck’s boarding lock swung open. Remrath climbed stiffly onto the litter and the medical team, with the exception of Pathologist Murchison who would prepare to receive the casualty following the preliminary report on its medical condition, moved down the ramp and toward the hunting party.
Remrath took charge at that point, ordering the others to remain silent while it did the talking. Unless it was present, it had in
sisted, any attempt the off-worlders might make to retrieve Creethar would certainly fail, probably with many casualties on both sides, if another Wem was not present to speak to them with authority. The medical team had been forced to agree. But Gurronsevas tried to put himself in the position of a Wem hunting party who were seeing a spaceship for the first time, and an off-world menagerie that was as strange as it was frightening, who were trying to take one of their number away from them.
He wondered if his friend was suffering from the overconfidence of age.
But Remrath was talking to them as if they were still its pupils, firmly, reassuringly, and with authority. First it told them that they had nothing to fear and then telling them why. It began with a brief and very simple lesson in astronomy that covered the formation of solar systems, the intelligent life-forms that some of them must contain, and the vast interstellar distances between them, and from there it went on to an equally short discussion regarding the many centuries of peaceful cooperation required to achieve the level of technology on these worlds required for travel between the stars …
Danalta had adopted a quadripedal shape with no fearsome natural weaponry so as not to worry any of the Wem hunters. The shape-changer moved closer to Gurronsevas and said, “When your friend offered to help us, I didn’t expect anything like this.”
“In spite of having a common area of interest,” said Gurronsevas, “we talked about subjects other than cooking.”
“Obviously,” said Danalta.
They had closed to within twenty yards of Creethar’s litter and the hunters were showing no sign of moving out of their way.“… The strange creatures around me have come in peace,” Remrath was saying. “They mean us no harm and are anxious to help us. One of them …” it pointed at Gurronsevas, “…has already helped us with the provision of new food at the mine, in many strange and wonderful ways that I have not the time to describe now. The others are healers and preservers of wide experience who are also willing to help us. I have decided, as is my parental right, to allow them to practice their advanced art on our behalf. Put the litter down and remove the coverings.”
In a quieter, less authoritative voice it added, “Does, does Creethar still live?”
A long silence answered it.
Prilicla moved forward to hover just above Creethar’s litter. Two of the hunters raised spears and another notched an arrow to its bow, aimed, but did not draw back the string to full tension. The empath was aware of everyone’s feelings, Gurronsevas told himself reassuringly, and would know if anyone really intended to attack it, hopefully in time to take evasive action. But Prilicla’s hovering flight was erratic, so it was possible that the empath was as worried about its safety as he was.
“Creethar is alive,” said the empath, its voice sounding loud in the silence, “but just barely. Friend Remrath, we must examine it at once, then transfer it quickly to the ship. Danalta, let us see our patient.”
More spears and bows were raised, and now all of them were pointed at the shape-changer’s virtually impervious hide rather than at the incredibly fragile body of Prilicla. While Danalta was carefully removing the animal skins that were draped loosely over the grounded Wem litter, Remrath created another diversion by dismounting from the team’s vehicle and renewing its demand that Creethar be released to the off-worlders. The hunters crowded around the First Cook, arguing and shouting so much that they seemed to be ignoring everything that Prilicla, Danalta and Naydrad were doing and saying.
Gurronsevas tried very hard to listen to everyone, but the Wem hunters were growing louder and more excitable, and their arguments were becoming so involved that it passed beyond his comprehension. His attempts to make sense of what they were saying was further hampered by their ability to talk rapidly to each other and listen, simultaneously. He switched briefly to the ship frequency so that he could listen to the medical team without Wem interference.
Prilicla was saying, “The patient has sustained multiple fractures and lacerations to the forelimbs, chest and abdomen, with extensive contused and lacerated areas along both flanks, which suggest a rolling fall onto a hard, uneven surface, probably rocks. As you can see, there is material resembling dried soil or rock dust still adhering to the uninjured areas, indicating that the water used to irrigate the wounds was in short supply. The scanner shows damage to the rib cage but no other internal injuries. Severe crepitation and complication of the fractures has taken place during travel. There is widespread tissue wastage, suggesting a lengthy period without food and reduced water intake. When compared with the normal vital signs obtained from Tawsar, friend Creethar’s are not good. It is massively debilitated, barely conscious, and its emotional radiation is characteristic of an entity who is close to termination. You are seeing what we are seeing, friend Murchison. There is no time to waste arguing with its friends and, for now, we must risk acting without their permission.
“Danalta, Naydrad,” it went on briskly. “Extend the anti-gravity field and lift Creethar onto the litter, smoothly and with minimum disturbance to its limbs. We don’t want any further complications to those fractures. Gently, that’s it. Now seal the canopy, increase internal heating ten degrees and switch the atmosphere to pure oxygen. We should be back on Rhabwar in five minutes.”
“Right,” said Murchison. “Instruments for orthopedic repair and internal examination procedures are ready. However, that patient is emaciated and badly dehydrated. In addition to the trauma, it’s about ready to terminate from sheer starvation. Dammit, this kind of treatment is callous, even cruel. Have the Wem never heard about the use of splints to immobilize fractures? Or do these people care about their injured?”
Gurronsevas knew that he had no business interrupting a medical discussion, but the pathologist’s words had angered him. It was as if he was being forced to listen while a friend was being wrongly criticized. The feeling surprised him, but it was there and it was strong.
He said, “The Wem are not cruel, nor uncaring. Remrath and I discussed this very point. It said that on Wemar the medical profession is composed only of physicians — cook-healers and herbalists, that is. There are no surgeons as we know them. Remrath thinks that there may have been such people in the old days, but the skill has long since been lost. Nowadays even a simple injury can result in death, or a long, pain-filled life of a cripple that is a burden both to the invalid and those taking care of it, as well as a drain on the food resources of its community. That being so, they do not waste food on a friend who is going to die, nor would Creethar want them to do so.
“It is Wemar that is cruel, not the Wem.”
For a moment there was silence except for a soft sighing which Gurronsevas recognized as the sound Earth-humans made while exhaling through the nose, then Murchison said, “Sorry, Gurronsevas. I listened to many of your conversations with Remrath, but I must have missed that one. You are right. But it bothers me when any casualty is subjected to protracted major discomfort.”
“Its discomfort will soon be eased, friend Murchison,” said Prilicla gently. “Please stand by.”
Suddenly the little empath rose high into the air, aided by the gravity nullifier belt set at the Cinrusskin norm of one-eighth G. Its slowly beating, iridescent wings reflected the sunlight like a great, mobile prism. Immediately, the argument around Remrath died into silence as the hunters raised their eyes to watch this strange off-worlder who was literally dazzling them with its beauty, and beginning to shade their eyes with their free hands because Prilicla was moving slowly into a line between them and the sun. The altitude and position might have been chosen, Gurronsevas thought, to make the accurate use of weapons difficult. By the time the watchers realized what was happening, it was too late for them to do anything about it. Danalta, Naydrad and the litter bearing Creethar were already halfway to the ship.
As Prilicla turned to fly after them, it said reassuringly, “The emotional radiation from the hunters indicates general confusion, anger, resentment, but not, I th
ink, of sufficient intensity to result in physical violence, and accompanied by very strong feelings of loss. There is little risk of them attacking you, friend Gurronsevas, unless you provide additional provocation. Ask Remrath if it wishes to remain with its friends or return on the ship with Creethar, and extricate yourselves as quickly as possible.”
Gurronsevas spent the most unnerving fifteen minutes of his life trying to do just that. The hunters had no objection to Remrath returning to the ship, since the First Cook was too old and infirm to return on foot, but not so Gurronsevas. The off-worlder, they insisted loudly as they gathered around him to cut off his escape, must remain and travel back with them to the mine. He must do this because the creatures in the ship had taken their leader, Creethar, and Gurronsevas was a hostage against its return. They would not harm him unless he tried to escape, or unless Creethar was not returned to them.
Their voices became quieter and almost clinical in tone as they began discussing how best they might overcome the large, thick-skinned off-worlder. Spears and arrows might not be immediately disabling, they thought, so that the best procedure might be to strike heavily at the three legs on one flank with their tails. The creature’s legs were short but the body appeared top-heavy, and if it could be toppled onto its side it would have difficulty regaining its feet. The skin of the underbelly appeared to be much thinner than that of the back and flanks so that a spear-thrust into that area would probably be lethal.
They were quite right, Gurronsevas thought, but he was certainly not going to tell them so. He was still trying to think of something to say when Remrath rushed to his defense.
“Listen to me,” said the Wem loudly. “You had more brains when you were children. Use them. Do you want to risk an end like Creethar’s, with too many of you injured and dying to be carried home? Think of the criminal waste of meat, to yourselves and your young near-adults awaiting your return. We have never seen Gurronsevas fight, because its actions towards us have always been helpful. But this creature is totally beyond your hunting experience. It weighs twice as much as any two of you, scrawny and half-starved as you are, and I cannot imagine what it might do to you.”
