White, James – Sector General 05 – Sector General

type of Monitor Corps vessel capable of aerodynamic maneuver within a plan­etary

atmosphere. As he pulled himself aft along the gravity-free central well, Conway

was visualizing its gleaming white hull and delta wings decorated with the

Occluded Sun, the Brown Leaf, the Red Cross, and the many other symbols which

represented the concept of aid freely given throughout the worlds of the

Federation.

It was a Traltha-built ship with all the design and structural advantages which

that implied, and named Rhabwar after one of the great figures of Tralthan

medical history. The ship had been designed for operation by an Earth-human

crew, whose quarters were immediately below Control on Deck Two. The medical

team occupied similar accommodation on Three except in the matter of furniture

and bedding for the Kelgian Charge Nurse and reduced artificial gravity for the

Cinrusskin empath.

Deck Four was a compromise, Conway thought as he pulled himself past it, a

combination Messdeck and recreation room where the people who worked together

were expected, regard­less of physiological classification, to play

together—even though there was barely enough room to play a game of chess when

everyone was present. The whole of Five was devoted to the ship’s consumables,

which comprised not only the food required by six Earth-humans, a Kelgian, and a

Cinrusskin of classifications DBDG, DBLF, and GLNO respectively, but the storage

tanks whose contents were capable of reproducing or synthesizing the atmosphere

breathed by any species known to the Galactic Federation.

Six and Seven, where Conway was headed, were the Ca­sualty Deck and underlying

lab and treatment ward. Here the gravity, atmospheric pressure, and composition

could be varied to suit the life-support requirements of any survivors who might

be brought in. Deck Eight was the Power Room, the province of Lieutenant Chen,

who controlled the ship’s hyperdrive gen-

erators and normal space thrusters, the power supply for the artificial gravity

grids, tractor and pressor beams, communi­cations, sensors, and everything which

made the energy-hungry ship live.

Conway was still thinking of the diminuitive Chen and the frightful powers

available at the touch of one of his stubby fingers when he arrived on the

Casualty Deck. He did not have to speak because his earlier conversation with

the Captain had been relayed to Casualty, as were the more interesting and

important displays on Control’s screens. There was nothing for him to do except

climb into his spacesuit—he had a very good medical team who kept their

equipment and themselves at in­stant readiness, and who tried constantly to make

their leader feel redundant.

Murchison was bending and stretching to check the seals of her lightweight

spacesuit, and Naydrad was inside the casualty entrance lock testing a pressure

litter, its beautiful silver fur rippling in slow waves along its

caterpillarlike body as it worked. The incredibly fragile Prilicla, aided by its

gravity nullifiers and a double set of iridescent wings, was hovering close to

the ceiling where it would not be endangered by an accidental collision with one

of its more massive colleagues. Its eight, pipestem legs were twitching slowly

in unison, indicating that it was being exposed to emotional radiation of a

pleasurable kind.

Murchison looked from Prilicla to Conway and said, “Stop that.”

Conway knew that it was Murchison, albeit indirectly, and himself who were

responsible for the Cinrusskin’s twitchings. Prilicla, like the other members of

its intelligent and sensitive race, possessed a highly developed empathic

faculty which caused it to react to the most minute changes and levels of

feeling in those surrounding it. Pathologist Murchison pos­sessed that

combination of physical attributes which made it extremely difficult for any

Earth-human male DBDG to regard her with anything like clinical detachment—and

while she was Wearing a contour-hugging lightweight suit it was downright

impossible.

“Sorry,” Conway said, laughing, and began climbing into his own suit.

The wreck looked like a long section of metal tree trunk with a few short,

twisted branches sprouting from it, Conway thought as they launched themselves

from Rhabwar’s casualty lock toward the distressed alien ship, but apart from

those pieces of projecting metal the vessel seemed to have retained its

struc­tural integrity. He could see two small viewports reflecting the ambulance

ship’s floodlights like two tiny suns. One of the ports was set about two meters