by James White
Before replying, Prilicla looked slowly around the compartment, pointed at one of the transparent inspection covers, then moved close and began opening it. The robot drifted nearby but made no attempt to interfere, even when he reached inside and, after hesitating and looking back as if to ask permission for what he was about to do, he gently touched one of the cable looms. When he replied, he knew that his vision pickup was showing the captain everything he had been doing.
“In very simple pictorial terms, we’ve been talking big,” he said, “by telling it about a few of the Federation’s species and the cooperation that exists between their worlds and in space, like assisting distressed ships and—”
“If you remember my advice,” the other broke in, stressing the last word, “it was to follow through on the ship-rescue sequence and show the casualties receiving medical treatment. That, Doctor, would have clearly demonstrated our good intentions.”
“And I did not take your advice,” Prilicla replied gently, “because of the possibility of a misunderstanding. In the present climate of fear and distrust, the emotional reaction of an alien—who would have been witnessing a multispecies medical team, which would certainly have included at least one DBDG, carrying out a surgical procedure on a casualty—could not have been taken for granted. We know nothing about the alien’s physiology, environment, or medical practices, if it has any. It may have decided that we were simply torturing captured casualties.
“You, friend Fletcher,” he said, when the other remained silent, “can do nothing right now, apart from furnishing me with technical advice when needed. I’ve already mentioned this idea to you, and your lack of enthusiasm for it was understandable. But the time for showing pictures is over. As my Earth-human gambling friends keep telling me, I must put my money where my mouth is.
“So now,” he ended, “we—or rather, I—must try to reinforce those pictorial lessons with deeds.”
He withdrew his hand slowly, closed the transparent cover, and pointed along the linking passageway in the direction of the identical compartment on the damaged side of the ship. Had the robot crew member been an organic life-form, he thought, it would have been breathing down his neck. But it made no move to hinder him.
In the darkened compartment he used his helmet light to open inspection panels and look and, if it didn’t look dangerous, to touch the scorched or ruptured cable looms and plumbing inside all of them in turn. Still there was no interference from the robot. He was beginning to feel less sure of himself and his ability to do this job when the captain, demonstrating the strange mixture of empathy and understanding possessed by Earth-humans, answered his question before it could be asked.
“You should start with an easy one,” said the captain. “High on the upper side of the first inspection compartment you opened there are two fairly thick wires—one has what seems to be pale blue insulation, and the other red. If you look carefully you can see where they make a right-angle turn and disappear through a grommet into what is presumably the ceiling of your corridor. The force of the explosion caused a wiring break in one of them at the angle bend. Do you see the ends of the bare wire projecting from the torn insulation? Try to splice it, but be careful not to touch any metal in the area while you’re working. Your gauntlets are thin and we don’t know how much current that wire will be carrying. You’ll need insulating tape to hold the splice together.”
“My med satchel has surgical tape,” said Prilicla. “Will that do?”
“Yes, Doctor, but be careful.”
A few minutes later the splicing operation was complete, the join was insulated, and all the lighting fixtures in the corridor were on. The robot crew member was moving from one to the other and, Prilicla hoped, reporting on the completion of one small repair to the conscious survivor who was its chief. It wasn’t much, but he had done something.
“What next?” said Prilicla.
“Now comes the difficult part,” said the captain, “so don’t get cocky. The other wiring affected is finer and with more subtle color-codings. Some of the ruptured strands show heat discoloration, and you must trace these back to an unaffected area so as to positively identify each end before joining them. The complexity of the wiring makes me pretty sure that most of these breaks are in the hull-sensor and internal-communications networks, and if a join were to be mismatched, we could cause all kinds of trouble. It would be like short-circuiting your hearing sensors to your eyes. We’re in the strange position of making repairs to systems whose purposes are totally unknown to us. I wish I was there with the proper equipment to help you. This is going to be delicate, precise, painstaking, and exhausting work. Are you up to it, Doctor?”
“Don’t worry,” said Prilicla, “it’s a little like brain surgery.”
CHAPTER 18
Even though the captain was giving him the benefit of its wide-ranging technical expertise and guiding his hands at every stage, the work went very slowly. An early splicing problem was that some of the damaged fine-gauge wiring had burned away along several inches of its length and the missing pieces had to be replaced. There was suitable replacement material on Rhabwar and the captain offered to bring it itself, in the hope that it would be allowed to assist Prilicla directly and so speed up the process.
“Bring some food as well, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla. “I’ve decided that it will also save time if I don’t have to return to the ship for meals. Or sleep.”
Prilicla waited politely until the expected objections were becoming repetitious, then said, “There are risks, of course, but I’m being neither foolish nor foolhardy. My space suit makes provision for the short-term elimination of body wastes, it has a small airlock attachment for the introduction of food, and in the weightless condition, padded rest furnishings are unnecessary for comfort. My thinking is that if we want the survivor to trust us, we must show that we trust it.”
“I agree, reluctantly,” the other replied after a long pause. “But if I can make it plain that I’m helping you help it, maybe it will begin to trust me, too.”
“That is the general idea, friend Fletcher,” he replied. “But at this delicate stage in the contact procedure we shouldn’t rush things.”
“Right,” said the captain. “I’ll bring the food, replacement wiring, and some simple, nonpowered tools that I think will help in your work. They will be inside a transparent container so that the survivor and/or its robot will be able to see exactly what it is getting. I’m coming now.”
But when it was approaching the alien ship, the emotional radiation of the survivor became apprehensive and its robot left the compartment quickly on what was obviously an interception course. Prilicla followed it and, when it was plain that the captain was not to be allowed to enter the ship, he relieved the other of its package.
“Sorry, friend Fletcher,” he said as he did so, “I’m afraid that you’re still unwelcome here. But I’ve been thinking about a possible explanation for that, and for the high sensitivity these people have towards external physical contact, allied to the strange fact that, in both the ship and its crew robots, their defenses are ultra–short range. Surely that is a strange type of weapon to use in space.”
“The weapon used against them was not short-range,” said the captain. “It blew a large hole in their hull and, to a lesser degree, in the defunct crew robot we examined. But go on.”
“During your show,” Prilicla resumed, “I received the feeling that the survivor was being given information for the first time. There was excitement, wonder, but a strangely reduced level of surprise. It was almost as if the survivor was expecting, or maybe just hoping, to meet other life-forms in space. If I’m right, that would mean that interstellar travel was new to it, or that this was its first time out and it was exploring, perhaps even searching for the planet it has found. But when you showed the Hudla sequence, there I detected subtle changes in its emotions. There was an odd combination of fear, dread, hatred, and, strangely, familiarity. Hudla is not a plea
sant world to people who are not Hudlars and, I would guess, neither is the survivor’s. I realize this is speculation but I have the feeling that it went out looking for another and better world. The presence of its ship in close orbit could mean that it found it.”
The other made a gesture of impatience. “An interesting theory, but it doesn’t take into account the fact that an as-yet unknown agency used an offensive weapon against it.”
Prilicla hated telling the captain that he thought it was wrong, especially at this short range because he would feel the other’s annoyance at full intensity. He said gently, “Are we quite sure about that? Consider the type of blast damage to the ship and the robot taken aboard Terragar, and that this species may be new to interstellar and hyperspatial flight and the distress beacons associated with it. Let’s suppose that they found an uninhabited planet, green and pleasant and without the violent meteorology of home and that they signaled its position by detonating—not a distress beacon because if they were new to space they would not expect rescue—but a similar device that would give an accurate position fix. The signaling device was untried and it blew up in their faces. That’s the one we suspected might be a weapons discharge. Terragar responded before we could and needed to detonate its own distress beacon. But the point I’m making is that the damage to the alien ship might have been accidental and self-inflicted.”
“I think you’re wishing rather than theorizing, Doctor,” said the captain; then, after a moment’s thought, “But it’s a nice theory. However, it doesn’t explain why their robots as well as their ship have such prickly hides. Plainly they were expecting someone or something to attack them. And if you still think I’m wrong, don’t waste time being polite about it.”
“Their defenses may be automatic,” said Prilicla.
The captain did not reply. It was beginning to have doubts, which meant that the reflected annoyance caused by Prilicla’s words would be reduced. He went on. “Consider the surface design of the ship’s outer hull as well as that of the robot’s skin. Those surfaces can be touched without harm by organic digits or simple, unsophisticated, nonpowered tools. If we postulate a dense or highly disturbed atmosphere on their home world, a thick, protective, and streamlined covering would be necessary for survival, as it is on the Hudlars’ planet. But suppose they have an implacable natural enemy, perhaps an intelligent and technically advanced one, and the ship’s defensive weapons are needed only on their environmentally-hostile home planet during the periods of construction, takeoff, and landing.
“And if their implacable enemy bears a physical resemblance to you DBDGs,” he ended, “that would explain much.”
The captain made an untranslatable sound. “I suppose we’re lucky that they don’t have a phobia about outsized crabs or caterpillars, or six-legged elephants or even large flying insects,” it said, then went on briskly. “About this repair job, Doctor. There will be considerable physical and mental stress involved. The quality of any work suffers with the onset of fatigue, whatever the profession. While your mind is clear, can you estimate how long you will be able to function effectively before I should remind you to stop for rest?”
Prilicla gave an estimate that was on the generous side, knowing that the other would be sure to reduce it. Nothing more was said until he had returned to the alien’s control center, after which the captain rarely stopped talking, but the words and tone were continually reassuring.
“… Before its insulated cover was pulled apart by the accident,” Fletcher was saying, “the cable loom you are working on enclosed ten individual lines. The magnifier here tells me that they are too fine to carry a dangerous level of current. But their color-coding is the same as the heavier cables that run to and spread across the outer hull, so we may assume that they perform a similar communications and/or sensory function.… Dammit, I wish I could get in there with the proper tools. Don’t take that as a criticism, Doctor, you’re doing fine.”
Prilicla remained silent because the other had repeated its noncriticism and apology several times in the last hour, and he was feeling excited and hopeful rather than irritated. An internal, light-duty sensor and communications circuit was what he had been looking for because it might mean that he had found the broken connection between the comparatively uninjured and strongly emoting crew member and its partner. Putting them in touch with each other again should go a long way to proving their rescuers’ good intentions. Carefully and with the delicacy of touch possible only to one of his fragile race, he separated, stripped, and began to splice the severed ends of a wire that was almost hair-thin.
Suddenly he jerked his hands away as a burst of emotion exploded from the crew member at the other side of the control center. In spite of the distance it was strong, sharp, intensely uncomfortable, but brief. It faded within a few seconds and so, thankfully, did the accompanying feelings of anger.
“What happened?” said Fletcher sharply. “You jerked your hands away. Are you hurt?”
“No,” Prilicla replied; then after a moment’s thought he went on, “I must have joined two of the wrong wires. It made the survivor, maybe both of them, very uncomfortable for an instant. The emotional radiation was characteristic of a sharp, unpleasant sensation, as if someone was to cross our optic nerve with our aural input then make a loud noise. Sorry, I’ll have to be more careful.”
The captain exhaled loudly and said, “Yes. But it was a natural mistake because all the wiring in that loom has the same color-coding with subtle variations in shade. The magnifier’s enhanced imaging barely picks them up but your unassisted vision can’t, good as it is. Next time hold the wire ends to be joined where I can see them clearly for my okay, then, if it doesn’t cause an adverse reaction, shield the other wires from it while you spray on the insulation. That way you won’t risk a bared, spliced length making contact or short-circuiting against an adjoining bare wire. Tell me if you’ve any doubts or problems about anything you intend doing, Doctor, otherwise carry on. I think you’re getting there.”
Prilicla carried on while the captain furnished technical and moral assistance. There were no more accidents, but there was an increasing level of emotional radiation emanating from the survivor on the undamaged section of the control center. It was not the sharp reaction characteristic of sudden discomfort, but a mixture of fear and hope so intense that his empathic faculty received it almost as a physical pain. Then suddenly there was a double explosion of feeling that made him pull back because his whole body, as well as his hands were trembling. Slowly he moved to the the inner door that he had not been allowed to enter and placed his stethoscope against the bare metal.
“Doctor, you’ve got the shakes,” said the captain urgently. “Is there anything wrong with you? What’s happening?”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” said Prilicla unsteadily as he sought for his customary clinical calm. “To the contrary, friend Fletcher. The two survivors are now communicating with each other, presumably via the repaired circuitry. I’m trying to pick up their language sounds, with a view to programming it into our translation computer, but I can’t hear anything. Possibly there is not enough air to conduct sound or their speaking and hearing organs are enclosed in some kind of helmet.”
“Almost certainly that is due to their control sections losing internal pressure,” the other said excitedly. “How are they feeling now?”
“At present their emotional radiation is complex and confused although it is beginning to clear,” Prilicla replied as he tried to describe feelings that could not be adequately conveyed in mere words. “There is a combination of relief, excitement, and concern that is due, I feel sure, to the reestablishment of interpersonal communication and the up-to-the-minute exchange of information. That information would include the first survivor’s reaction to the things we have been doing for it as well as a description of the physical condition of the second survivor which, my empathy tells me, is not good. Something will have to be done for the second one as a matter o
f clinical urgency. Underlying the emotional radiation from both sources, but still strong enough to be unmistakable, there are feelings of gratitude.”
“Good!” said the captain. “If they’re feeling grateful then they must know that you’re trying to help them. But do you think they’re ready to trust us, all of us, after your good deed?”
Prilicla was silent for a moment as he concentrated on the two sources of emotional radiation, one of them attenuated with distance and the closer one faint because of physical weakness and distress, then he said, “There is still a persistent background fear in both entities that is due, I feel sure, to the fact that both of them are now aware of the presence of their feared and hated DBDG bogeyman. I may be wrong because I’m an empath, rather than a telepath, but I feel that they aren’t yet ready to make friends with their worst nightmare. Something more must be done to help gain their trust, and my good deed has yet to be completed.”
The captain did not ask the obvious question because it knew that the answer was forthcoming. Prilicla went on. “My close-range analysis of the second survivor’s emotional radiation indicates that its body is so debilitated that it barely retains the ability to think coherently. There is increasing physical discomfort, combined with a feeling of urgency and intense, personal fear that is characteristic of a being who is close to terminal suffocation, or dehydration, or both. To complete our good deed, more repairs are needed, to restore their air and working fluid supply.”
“So now you’ve delusions of being a plumber as well as an electrician,” said the captain, and laughed. “Right, Doctor, what exactly will you need?”
“As before, friend Fletcher, I need directions,” Prilicla replied, “because I have no idea how to proceed. But first I want to show the robot, who is the eyes for at least one of the survivors, the sections of damaged piping that I’ll be trying to repair or replace. While I’m doing that, you can assess the situation and tell me what needs to be done and how to go about doing it using replacement material and basic, nonpowered tools from Rhabwar.
