White, James – Sector General 05 – Sector General

The sensible thing for Conway to do would be to bow out gracefully and dump the

problem in the laps of the cultural

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contact specialists. Rhabwar could then return to its dock and the medical team

could go back to treating the weird and won­derful variety of patients who

turned up at Sector General while they waited for the next distress call for

their special ambulance ship.

But the two men watching him so intently were a scoutship commander on survey

duty, who would be lucky if he turned up one inhabited system in ten years of

searching, and Major Fletcher, Rhabwar’s Captain and a recognized authority in

the field of extraterrestrial comparative technology—and the res­cue of this e-t

sublight colonization transport could well be the biggest problem to face the

Federation since the discovery and treatment of the continent-girdling strata

creature of Drambo/

Conway looked from Nelson to Fletcher, then said quietly, “You’re right,

Captain, this isn’t our responsibility. It is Cul­tural Contact’s problem, and

they would not think any the less of us, in fact they would expect us to hand it

over to them. But I get the impression that you don’t want me to do that.”

Fletcher shook his head firmly and Nelson said, “Doctor, if you have any friends

in authority, tell them I would willingly give an arm or a leg to be allowed to

stay on this one.”

A cool, logical portion of Conway’s mind was urging him to do the sensible

thing, to think about what he was letting himself in for and to remember who

would be blamed if things went wrong, but it never had any hope of winning that

argu­ment.

“Good,” Conway said, “that makes it unanimous.”

They were both grinning at him in a manner totally unbe­fitting their rank and

responsibilities, as if he had bestowed some great favor instead of condemning

them to months of unremitting mental and physical hard labor. He went on, “As

the ship responsible for making the original find, Tyrell would be justified in

remaining, and as the medical team in attendance, the same applies to Rhabwar.

But we are going to need a lot of help, and if we are to have any hope of

getting it you will have to give me detailed information on every aspect of this

problem, not just the medical side, and answers to the questions which are going

to be asked.

“To begin with, I shall need to know a great deal more about the physiology of

the survivors, and you will have to

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find me a couple of additional cadavers for Thornnastor, the hospital’s

Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology. It has six feet and weighs half a ton and

if Murchison and I don’t come up with some sensible conclusions about this

life-form, and spec­imens for Thorny to investigate independently, it will walk

all over me. And what O’Mara and Skempton will do—”

‘They’re public servants, Doctor,” Nelson said, grinning. “You have the rank.”

Conway got to his feet and said very seriously, “This is not simply a matter of

whistling up another flotilla of scoutships, gentlemen, and something more than

a hyperspace signal will be needed this time. To get the help we need I’ll have

to go back to the hospital and argue and plead, and probably thump the table a

bit.”

As he entered the gravity-free central well and began pulling himself toward the

Casualty Deck he could hear Fletcher say­ing, “That wasn’t much of an

inducement, Nelson. Most of his highly placed friends have more arms and legs

than they know what to do with.”

Leaving Rhabwar and the rest of the medical team at the disaster site, Conway

traveled to Sector General in Tyrell. He had requested an urgent meeting with

the hospital’s big three— Skempton, Thornnastor, and O’Mara—as soon as the

scoutship had emerged into normal space. The request had been granted but Chief

Psychologist O’Mara had told him curtly that there would be no point trying to

start the meeting prematurely by worrying out loud over the communication

channel, so Conway had to curb his impatience and try to marshal his arguments