Conway said, “Captain,”
Fletcher had been working on what seemed to be the inboard entrance to the hold,
reaching high above his head because he was standing on a wall with the floor
and ceiling on each side
of him. There was a loud click and a door swung downward and hung open. The
Captain made a self-satisfied sound and joined them.
“Yes, Doctor.”
Conway cleared his throat and said, “Captain, we have a theory about your
criminal. We think that the condition of distress which caused this ship to
release its beacon was hunger. All of the casualties we’ve examined so far have
had empty stomachs. It is possible, therefore, that your criminal is a crew
member who turned cannibal.”
Before Fletcher could reply, the voice of Prilicla sounded in their phones.
“Friend Conway,” the empath said timidly. “I have not yet examined all of the
casualties you sent up, but those I have examined display symptoms of
dehydration and tissue wastage indicative of hunger and thirst. But the
condition is not far enough advanced for death to be imminent. Your hypothetical
criminal must have attacked the other crew members before lack of food became a
serious problem. The being was hungry but not starving to death. Are you sure
that the creature is intelligent?”
“No,” Conway said. “But if Murchison and I have missed it while examining the
first of the casualties, and at that time we were more concerned with charting
the injuries than in the contents, if any, of their stomachs, the beastie could
be on Rhabwar now. So if you find a well-fed casualty, get Haslam and Chen to
restrain it, quickly. The Captain has a professional interest in it.”
“That I have,” Fletcher said grimly. He was about to go on when Haslam, who had
relieved Dodds as lander pilot, interrupted to say that he would be touching
down in six minutes and would need help loading the litter.
By packing the litter and strapping casualties, sometimes |wo to a couch in the
crew’s positions, Haslam was able to lift just over half of the remaining
survivors. There was no change ‘n the condition of the remaining casualties. The
shadow of the outcropping had lengthened, though the air was still warm; the sky
remained clear and there was no wind. Murchison said fhat she could usefully
spend the time until the lander returned ‘nvestigating, so far as she was able
with her portable equip-
ment, the large DCOJ cadaver they had left in the wreck. The medium-sized DCMH
survivor had gone up with Haslam.
It was obvious from the start that Fletcher found the dissection distasteful,
and when Murchison told him that there was enough light for the work from the
helmet spots of Conway and herself, he left quickly and began climbing among the
containers fastened to the now-vertical deck beside them. After about fifteen
minutes he reported that his scanner showed the contents to be identical and,
judging by the amount of packing used, were almost certainly cargo rather than
ship’s stores. He added that he intended moving into the corridor outside the
hold to explore, look for other casualties, and gather evidence.
“Do you have to do it now, Captain?” Murchison said wor-v riedly, looking up.
Conway turned to regard Fletcher, too, but somehow his eyes did not rise above
the level of the other’s waist and the weapon attached to it.
“Do you know, Captain,” he said quietly, “you have been wearing a sidearm ever
since Rhabwar’s first mission, and I’ve barely noticed it? It was just a part of
your uniform, like the cap and insignia. Now it looks even more conspicuous than
your backpack.”
Fletcher looked uncomfortable as he said, “We’re taught that the psychological
effect of displaying a weapon is negligible among the law-abiding, but
increases in direct proportion to the guilt or harmful intentions of the
criminal or potential lawbreaker. However, the effect of my weapon was purely
psychological until Lieutenant Haslam brought down the charges for it a few
minutes ago.” Defensively he added, “There was no need to wear a loaded weapon
on an ambulance ship, and I’d no reason to believe that this would be a police