White, James – Sector General 05 – Sector General

con­taminated anyway, they will have to wait until the hospital’s synthesizers

provide some. Otherwise they are emoting feelings of confusion and loss.

“But they will feel much better,” Prilicla added, “when they rejoin their

Captain.”

COMBINED OPERATION

They emerged into normal space at a point whose coordinates placed them far out

on the galactic rim and where the brightest object to be seen was a nearby sun

burning coldly against a faint powdering of stars. But as Conway stared through

Control’s direct vision port, it became obvious that the emp­tiness was only

apparent, because suddenly both the radar and long-range sensor displays were

indicating two contacts, very close together and just under two thousand

kilometers distant. For the next few minutes Conway expected to be ignored.

“Control, Power Room,” Captain Fletcher said briskly. “I Want maximum thrust in

five minutes. Astrogator, give me the numbers to put us alongside that trace,

and the ETA.”

Lieutenants Chen and Dodds, seven decks below and a few feet away respectively,

acknowledged. Then Lieutenant Has-tam, from the Communications position, joined

in.

“Sir,” he said without taking his attention from his displays, “the sensor

readings suggest that the larger trace has the mass, ^nfiguration, and antennae

deployment of a scoutship engaged °n survey duty. The other trace is currently

unidentifiable, but relative positions might indicate a recent collision.”

“Very well,” the Captain said. He touched his transmit stud and, speaking slowly

and distinctly, he went on, “This is the ambulance ship Rhabwar, operating out

of Sector Twelve Gen­eral Hospital, responding to your distress beacon released

six plus hours ago. We will close with you in—”

“Fifty-three minutes,” Dodds supplied.

“—If you are able to communicate, please identify your­selves, specify the

nature of your trouble, and list the type and number of casualties.”

In the supernumerary’s position Con way leaned forward intently, even though the

difference of a few centimeters could not affect the clarity of any incoming

message. But when the voice did come it sounded apologetic rather than

distressed. .

“The Monitor Corps scoutship Tyrell here, Major Nelson commanding,” it said. “It

was our distress beacon, but we released it on behalf of the wreck you see

beside us. Our medical officer isn’t sure, you understand, because its medical

experience covers only three species, but it thinks that there may still be life

on board.”

“Doctor—” the Captain began, looking across at Conway. But before he could go

on, Haslam was reporting again.

“Sir! Another, no, two more traces. Similar mass and con­figuration as the

distressed vessel. Also smaller, widely scat­tered pieces of metallic wreckage.”

“That’s the other reason why we released our beacon,” Nel­son’s voice sounded

from Tyrell. “We don’t have your long-range sensor equipment—our stuff is

chiefly photooptical and computing gear associated with survey work—but this

area seems to be littered with wreckage and, while I don’t entirely agree with

my medic that some of it must contain survivors, the possibility does exist

that—”

“You were quite right to call for help, Captain Nelson,” Conway said, breaking

in. “We would much rather answer a dozen false alarms than risk missing one

which might mean a rescue. Space accidents being what they are, most distress

calls are answered too late in any case. However, Captain, as a matter of

urgency we need the physiological classification of the wreck’s survivors and

the nature and extent of their injuries so that we can begin making preparations

for accommodating and treating them.

“I am Senior Physician Conway,” he enaea. may i apvan ;to your medical

officer?”

There was a long, hissing silence during which Haslam reported several more

traces and added that, while the data were far from complete, the distribution

of the wreckage was such that he was fairly certain that the accident had

happened ; to a very large ship which had been blown apart into uniform pieces,

and that the wreckage alongside Tyrell and the -other similar pieces which were

appearing all over his screens were lifeboats. Judging by the spread of the

wreckage so far detected, the disaster had not been a recent occurrence.

Then the speaker came to life again with a flat, emotionless voice, robbed of

all inflection by the process of translation. “I am Surgeon-Lieutenant