“Stay,” the man advised. “A storm blows through the mountains.”
“I will fly around the storm,” said Bolden.
If he hadn’t been sick he might have accepted the offer. But he had to get back to the settlement for treatment. On a strange planet you never could tell what might develop from a seemingly minor ailment. Besides he’d already been gone two days searching for this tribe in the interminable fog that hung over the mountains. Those waiting at the base would want him back as soon as he could get there.
“Fly far around,” said the man. “It is a big storm.” He took up the basket and held it level with the cabin, opening the top. An animal squirmed out and disappeared inside.
Bolden looked askance at the eyes that glowed in the dim interior. He hadn’t seen clearly what the creature was and he didn’t like the idea of having it loose in the cabin, particularly if he had to fly through a storm. The man should have left it in the basket. But the basket plus the animal would have been two gifts—and the natives never considered anything in even numbers.
“It will not hurt,” said the man. “A gentle pet.”
* * * *
As far as he knew, there were no pets and very few domesticated animals. Bolden snapped on the cabin light. It was one of those mysterious creatures every tribe kept in cages near the outskirts of their camps. What they did with them no one knew and the natives either found it impossible to explain or did not care to do so.
It seemed unlikely that the creatures were used for food and certainly they were not work animals. And in spite of what this man said, they were not pets either. No Earthman had ever seen a native touch them nor had the creatures ever been seen wandering at large in the camp. And until now, none had been permitted to pass into Earth’s possession. The scientists at the settlement would regard this acquisition with delight.
“Touch it,” said the native.
Bolden held out his trembling hand and the animal came to him with alert and friendly yellow eyes. It was about the size of a rather small dog, but it didn’t look much like one. It resembled more closely a tiny slender bear with a glossy and shaggy cinnamon coat. Bolden ran his hands through the clean-smelling fur and the touch warmed his fingers. The animal squirmed and licked his fingers.
“It has got your taste,” said the native. “Be all right now. It is yours.” He turned and walked into the mist.
Bolden got in and started the motors while the animal climbed into the seat beside him. It was a friendly thing and he couldn’t understand why the natives always kept it caged.
He headed straight up, looking for a way over the mountains to avoid the impending storm. Fog made it difficult to tell where the peaks were and he had to drop lower, following meandering valleys. He flew as swiftly as limited visibility would allow, but he hadn’t gone far when the storm broke. He tried to go over the top of it, but this storm seemed to have no top. The region was incompletely mapped and even radar wasn’t much help in the tremendous electrical display that raged around the ship.
His arms ached as he clung to the controls. His hands weren’t actually cold, they were numb. His legs were leaden. The creature crept closer to him and he had to nudge it away. Momentarily the distraction cleared his head. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to land and wait out the storm—if he could find a place to land.
Flexing his hands until he worked some feeling into them, he inched the ship lower. A canyon wall loomed at one side and he had to veer away and keep on looking.
Eventually he found his refuge—a narrow valley where the force of the winds was not extreme—and he set the land anchor. Unless something drastic happened, it would hold.
* * * *
He made the seat into a bed, decided he was too tired to eat, and went directly to sleep. When he awakened, the storm was still raging and the little animal was snoozing by his side.
He felt well enough to eat. The native hadn’t explained what the animal should be fed, but it accepted everything Bolden offered. Apparently it was as omnivorous as Man. Before lying down again, he made the other seat into a bed, although it didn’t seem to matter. The creature preferred being as close to him as it could get and he didn’t object. The warmth was comforting.
Alternately dozing and waking he waited out the storm. It lasted a day and a half. Finally the sun was shining. This was two days since he had first fallen ill, four days after leaving the settlement.
Bolden felt much improved. His hands were nearly normal and his vision wasn’t blurred. He looked at the little animal curled in his lap, gazing up at him with solemn yellow eyes. If he gave it encouragement it would probably be crawling all over him. However, he couldn’t have it frisking around while he was flying. “Come, Pet,” he said—there wasn’t anything else to call it—“you’re going places.”
Picking it up, half-carrying and half-dragging it, he took it to the rear of the compartment, improvising a narrow cage back there. He was satisfied it would hold. He should have done this in the beginning. Of course he hadn’t felt like it then and he hadn’t had the time—and anyway the native would have resented such treatment of a gift. Probably it was best he had waited.
His pet didn’t like confinement. It whined softly for a while. The noise stopped when the motors roared. Bolden headed straight up, until he was high enough to establish communication over the peaks. He made a brief report about the natives’ agreement and his own illness, then he started home.
He flew at top speed for ten hours. He satisfied his hunger by nibbling concentrated rations from time to time. The animal whined occasionally, but Bolden had learned to identify the sounds it made. It was neither hungry nor thirsty. It merely wanted to be near him. And all he wanted was to reach the base.
The raw sprawling settlement looked good as he sat the copter down. Mechanics came running from the hangars. They opened the door and he stepped out.
And fell on his face. There was no feeling in his hands and none in his legs. He hadn’t recovered.
* * * *
Doctor Kessler peered at him through the microscreen. It gave his face a narrow insubstantial appearance. The microscreen was a hemispherical force field enclosing his head. It originated in a tubular circlet that snapped around his throat at the top of the decontagion suit. The field killed all microlife that passed through it or came in contact with it. The decontagion suit was non-porous and impermeable, covering completely the rest of his body. The material was thinner over his hands and thicker at the soles.
Bolden took in the details at a glance. “Is it serious?” he asked, his voice cracking with the effort.
“Merely a precaution,” said the doctor hollowly. The microscreen distorted sound as well as sight. “Merely a precaution. We know what it is, but we’re not sure of the best way to treat it.”
Bolden grunted to himself. The microscreen and decontagion suit were strong precautions.
The doctor wheeled a small machine from the wall and placed Bolden’s hand in a narrow trough that held it steady. The eyepiece slid into the microscreen and, starting at the finger tips, Kessler examined the arm, traveling slowly upward. At last he stopped. “Is this where feeling ends?”
“I think so. Touch it. Yeah. It’s dead below there.”
“Good. Then we’ve got it pegged. It’s the Bubble Death.”
Bolden showed concern and the doctor laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s called that because of the way it looks through the X-ray microscope. It’s true that it killed the scouting expedition that discovered the planet, but it won’t get you.”
“They had antibiotics. Neobiotics, too.”
“Sure. But they had only a few standard kinds. Their knowledge was more limited and they lacked the equipment we now have.”
The doctor made it sound comforting. But Bolden wasn’t comforted. Not just yet.
“Sit up and take a look,” said Kessler, bending the eyepiece around so Bolden could use it. “The dark filamented lines are nerves. See what sur
rounds them?”
Bolden watched as the doctor adjusted the focus for him. Each filament was covered with countless tiny spheres that isolated and insulated the nerve from contact. That’s why he couldn’t feel anything. The spherical microbes did look like bubbles. As yet they didn’t seem to have attacked the nerves directly.
While he watched, the doctor swiveled out another eyepiece for his own use and turned a knob on the side of the machine. From the lens next to his arm an almost invisible needle slid out and entered his flesh. Bolden could see it come into the field of view. It didn’t hurt. Slowly it approached the dark branching filament, never quite touching it.
The needle was hollow and as Kessler squeezed the knob it sucked in the spheres. The needle extended a snout which crept along the nerve, vacuuming in microbes as it moved. When a section had been cleansed, the snout was retracted. Bolden could feel the needle then.
* * * *
When the doctor finished, he laid Bolden’s hand back at his side and wheeled the machine to the wall, extracting a small capsule which he dropped into a slot that led to the outside. He came back and sat down.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” asked Bolden. “Scrape them off?”
“Hardly. There are too many nerves. If we had ten machines and enough people to operate them, we might check the advance in one arm. That’s all.” The doctor leaned back in the chair. “No. I was collecting a few more samples. We’re trying to find out what the microbes react to.”
“More samples? Then you must have taken others.”
“Certainly. We put you out for a while to let you rest.” The chair came down on four legs. “You’ve got a mild case. Either that or you have a strong natural immunity. It’s now been three days since you reported the first symptoms and it isn’t very advanced. It killed the entire scouting expedition in less time than that.”
Bolden looked at the ceiling. Eventually they’d find a cure. But would he be alive that long?
“I suspect what you’re thinking,” said the doctor. “Don’t overlook our special equipment. We already have specimens in the sonic accelerator. We’ve been able to speed up the life processes of the microbes about ten times. Before the day is over we’ll know which of our anti and neobiotics they like the least. Tough little things so far—unbelievably tough—but you can be sure we’ll smack them.”
His mind was active, but outwardly Bolden was quiescent as the doctor continued his explanation.
The disease attacked the superficial nervous system, beginning with the extremities. The bodies of the crew of the scouting expedition had been in an advanced state of decomposition when the medical rescue team reached them and the microbes were no longer active. Nevertheless it was a reasonable supposition that death had come shortly after the invading bacteria had reached the brain. Until then, though nerves were the route along which the microbes traveled, no irreparable damage had been done.
* * * *
This much was good news. Either he would recover completely or he would die. He would not be crippled permanently. Another factor in his favor was the sonic accelerator. By finding the natural resonance of the one-celled creature and gradually increasing the tempo of the sound field, the doctor could grow and test ten generations in the laboratory while one generation was breeding in the body. Bolden was the first patient actually being observed with the disease, but the time element wasn’t as bad as he had thought.
“That’s where you are,” concluded Kessler. “Now, among other things, we’ve got to find where you’ve been.”
“The ship has an automatic log,” said Bolden. “It indicates every place I landed.”
“True, but our grid coordinates are not exact. It will be a few years before we’re able to look at a log and locate within ten feet of where a ship has been.” The doctor spread out a large photomap. There were several marks on it. He fastened a stereoscope viewer over Bolden’s eyes and handed him a pencil. “Can you use this?”
“I think so.” His fingers were stiff and he couldn’t feel, but he could mark with the pencil. Kessler moved the map nearer and the terrain sprang up in detail. In some cases, he could see it more clearly than when he had been there, because on the map there was no fog. Bolden made a few corrections and the doctor took the map away and removed the viewer.
“We’ll have to stay away from these places until we get a cure. Did you notice anything peculiar in any of the places you went?”
“It was all mountainous country.”
“Which probably means that we’re safe on the plain. Were there any animals?”
“Nothing that came close. Birds maybe.”
“More likely it was an insect. Well, we’ll worry about the host and how it is transmitted. Try not to be upset. You’re as safe as you would be on Earth.”
“Yeah,” said Bolden. “Where’s the pet?”
The doctor laughed. “You did very well on that one. The biologists have been curious about the animal since the day they saw one in a native camp.”
“They can look at it as much as they want,” said Bolden. “Nothing more on this one, though. It’s a personal gift.”
“You’re sure it’s personal?”
“The native said it was.”
The doctor sighed. “I’ll tell them. They won’t like it, but we can’t argue with the natives if we want their cooperation.”
Bolden smiled. The animal was safe for at least six months. He could understand the biologists’ curiosity, but there was enough to keep them curious for a long time on a new planet. And it was his. In a remarkably short time, he had become attached to it. It was one of those rare things that Man happened across occasionally—about once in every five planets. Useless, completely useless, the creature had one virtue. It liked Man and Man liked it. It was a pet. “Okay,” he said. “But you didn’t tell me where it is.”
The doctor shrugged, but the gesture was lost in the shapeless decontagion suit. “Do you think we’re letting it run in the streets? It’s in the next room, under observation.”
The doctor was more concerned than he was letting on. The hospital was small and animals were never kept in it. “It’s not the carrier. I was sick before it was given to me.”
“You had something, we know that much, but was it this? Even granting that you’re right, it was in contact with you and may now be infected.”
“I think life on this planet isn’t bothered by the disease. The natives have been every place I went and none of them seemed to have it.”
“Didn’t they?” said the doctor, going to the door. “Maybe. It’s too early to say.” He reeled a cord out of the wall and plugged it into the decontagion suit. He spread his legs and held his arms away from his sides. In an instant, the suit glowed white hot. Only for an instant, and it was insulated inside. Even so it must be uncomfortable—and the process would be repeated outside. The doctor wasn’t taking any chances. “Try to sleep,” he said. “Ring if there’s a change in your condition—even if you think it’s insignificant.”
“I’ll ring,” said Bolden. In a short time he fell asleep. It was easy to sleep.
* * * *
The nurse entered as quietly as she could in the decontagion outfit. It awakened Bolden. It was evening. He had slept most of the day. “Which one are you?” he asked. “The pretty one?”
“All nurses are pretty if you get well. Here. Swallow this.”
It was Peggy. He looked doubtfully at what she held out. “All of it?”
“Certainly. You get it down and I’ll see that it comes back up. The string won’t hurt you.”
She passed a small instrument over his body, reading the dial she held in the other hand. The information, he knew, was being recorded elsewhere on a master chart. Apparently the instrument measured neural currents and hence indirectly the progress of the disease. Already they had evolved new diagnostic techniques. He wished they’d made the same advance in treatment.
After expertly reeling out the instrument h
e had swallowed, the nurse read it and deposited it in a receptacle in the wall. She brought a tray and told him to eat. He wanted to question her, but she was insistent about it so he ate. Allowance had been made for his partial paralysis. The food was liquid. It was probably nutritious, but he didn’t care for the taste.
She took the tray away and came back and sat beside him. “Now we can talk,” she said.
“What’s going on?” he said bluntly. “When do I start getting shots? Nothing’s been done for me so far.”
“I don’t know what the doctor’s working out for you. I’m just the nurse.”
“Don’t try to tell me that,” he said. “You’re a doctor yourself. In a pinch you could take Kessler’s place.”
“And I get my share of pinches,” she said brightly. “Okay, so I’m a doctor, but only on Earth. Until I complete my off-planet internship here, I’m not allowed to practice.”
“You know as much about Van Daamas as anyone does.”
“That may be,” she said. “Now don’t be alarmed, but the truth ought to be obvious. None of our anti or neobiotics or combinations of them have a positive effect. We’re looking for something new.”
It should have been obvious; he had been hoping against that, though. He looked at the shapeless figure sitting beside him and remembered Peggy as she usually looked. He wondered if they were any longer concerned with him as an individual. They must be working mainly to keep the disease from spreading. “What are my chances?”
“Better than you think. We’re looking for an additive that will make the biotics effective.”
* * * *
He hadn’t thought of that, though it was often used, particularly on newly settled planets. He had heard of a virus infection common to Centaurus that could be completely controlled by a shot of neobiotics plus aspirin, though separately neither was of any value. But the discovery of what substance should be added to what antibiotic was largely one of trial and error. That took time and there wasn’t much time. “What else?” he said.
The Eleventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack Page 29
