Then all at once they were sliding up to the Monitor cruiser and the wreck which hung beside it.
Apart from the bright orange coloring it looked pretty much like any other wreck he had seen, Conway thought; ships resembled people in that respect-a violent end stripped them of all individuality. He directed Kursedd to circle a few times, and moved to the forward observation panel.
At close range the internal structure of the wreck was revealed by the mishap which had practically sheered it in two, it was of dark and fairly normal-looking metal, so that the garish coloration of the hull must be due simply to paint. Conway filed that datum away carefully in his mind, because the shade of paint a being used could give an accurate guide to the range of its visual equipment, and the opacity or otherwise of its atmosphere. A few minutes later he decided that nothing further could be abstracted from an external examination of the ship, and signaled Kursedd to lock onto Sheldon.
The lock antechamber of the cruiser was small and made even more cramped by the crowd of green-uniformed Corpsmen staring, discussing and cautiously poking at an odd-looking mechanism-obviously something salvaged from the wreck-which was lying on the deck. The compartment buzzed with the technical jargon of half a dozen specialties and nobody paid any attention to the doctor and nurse until Conway cleared his throat loudly twice. Then an officer with Major’s insignia, a thin faced, graying man, detached himself from the crowd, and came toward them.
“Summerfield, Captain,” he said crisply, giving the thing on the floor a fond backward glance as he spoke. “You, I take it, will be the high-powered medical types from the hospital?”
Conway felt irritated. He could understand these people’s feelings, of course-a wrecked interstellar ship belonging to an unknown alien culture was a rare find indeed, a technological treasure trove on whose value no limit could be set. But Conway’s mind was oriented differently; alien artifacts came a long way second in importance to the study, investigation and eventual restoration of alien life. That was why he got right down to business.
“Captain Summerfield,” he said sharply, “we must ascertain and reproduce this survivor’s living conditions as quickly as possible, both at the hospital and in the tender which will take it there. Could we have someone to show us over the wreck please. A fairly responsible officer, if possible, with a knowledge of-”
“Surely,” Summerfield interrupted. He looked as if he was going to say something else, then he shrugged, turned, and barked, “Hendricks!” A Lieutenant wearing the bottom half of a spacesuit and a rather harassed expression joined them. The Captain performed brief introductions, then returned to the enigma on the floor.
Hendricks said, “We’ll need heavy-duty suits. I can fit you Dr. Conway, but Dr. Kursedd is a DBLF..
“There is no problem,” Kursedd put in. “I have a suit in the tender. Give me five minutes.”
The nurse wheeled and undulated toward the airlock, its fur rising and falling in slow waves which ran from the sparse hair at its neck to the bushier growth on the tail. Conway had been on the point of correcting Hendrick’s mistake regarding Kursedd’s status, but he suddenly realized that being called “Doctor” had elicited an intense emotional response from the DBLF-that rippling fur was certainly an expression of something! Not being a DBLF himself Conway could not tell whether the expression registered was one of pleasure or pride at being mistaken for a Doctor, or if the being was simply laughing one of its thirty-four legs off at the error. It wasn’t a vital matter, so Conway decided to say nothing.
II
The next occasion that Hendricks addressed “Doctor” Kursedd was when they were entering the wreck, but this time the DBLF’s expression was hidden by the casing of its spacesuit.
“What happened here?” Conway asked as he looked around curiously. “Accident, collision or what?”
“Our theory,” Lieutenant Hendricks replied, “is that one of the two pairs of generators which maintained the ship in hyperspace during faster than-light velocities failed for some reason. One half of the vessel was suddenly returned to normal space, which automatically meant that it was braked to a velocity far below that of light. The result was that the ship was ripped in two. The section containing the faulty generators was left behind,” Hendricks went on, “because after the accident the remaining pair of generators must have remained functional for a second or so. Various safety devices must have gone into operation to seal off the damage, but the shock had practically shaken the whole ship to pieces so they weren’t very successful. But an automatic distress signal was emitted which we were fortunate enough to hear, and obviously there is still pressure somewhere inside because we heard the survivor moving about. But the thing I can’t help wondering about,” he ended soberly, “is the condition of the other half of the wreck. It didn’t, or couldn’t, send out a distress signal or we would have heard it also. Someone might have survived in that section, too.”