happy to meet you and learn of your people, friend Crel-yarrel, and we will not
allow you to die. Let go now, little friend, and rest, you are in good hands.”
Still radiating its emotional support, it went on briskly. “Put away that
cutting torch, friend Murchison, and go with the patient and friend Cha to the
Rhiim quarters. It will feel more comfortable there, and you have much work to
do on its dead friends. Friend Fletcher, preparations will have to be made at
the hospital to receive this new life-form. Be ready to send a long hypersignal
to Thornnastor as soon as we have a clearer idea of the clinical picture. Friend
Naydrad, stand by with the litter in case we need special equipment here, or for
the transport of DTRC cadavers to Rhabwar for investigation—”
“No!” the Captain said.
Murchison spoke a few words of a kind not normally used by an Earth-human
female, then went on. “Captain, we have a patient here, in very serious
condition, who is the sole survivor of a disease-stricken ship. You know as well
as I that in this situation, you do exactly as Prilicla tells you.”
“No,” Fletcher repeated. In a quieter but no less firm voice it went on. “I
understand your feelings, Pathologist. But are they really yours? You still
haven’t convinced me that that thing is harmless. I’m remembering those crew
members and, well, it might be pretending to be sick. It could be controlling,
or at least influencing, the minds of all of you. The quarantine regulations
remain in force. Until the Diagnostician-in-Charge of Pathology, or more likely
the decontamination squad clears it, nothing or nobody leaves that ship.”
Cha Thrat was supporting Crelyarrel in three of her small, upper hands. The
DTRC’s body, now that she knew it for what it was, no longer looked or felt
repug-nant to her. The control tendrils hung limply between her LF002digits and
the color of its skin was lightening and beginning to resemble that of its dead
friends in the Rhiim nest. Had it to die, too, she wondered sadly, because two
different people held opposing viewpoints that they both knew to be
right?Proving one of them wrong, especially when the being concerned was a
ruler, would have serious personal repercussions, and she was beginning to
wonder if she had always been as right as she thought she had been. Perhaps her
life would have been happier if, on Sommar-adva and at Sector General, she had
been more doubtful about some of her certainties.
“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla said quietly. “As an empath I am influenced by
feelings of everyone around me. Now I accept that there are beings who, by word
or deed or omission, can give outward expression to emotions that they do not
feel. But it is impossible for an intelligent entity to produce false emotional
radiation, to lie with its mind. Another empath would know this to be so, but as
a nonempath you must take my word for it. The survivor cannot and will not harm
anyone.”
The Captain was silent for a moment, then it said, “I’m sorry, Senior Physician.
I’m still not fully convinced that it is not speaking through you and
controlling your minds, and I cannot risk letting it aboard this ship.”
In this situation there was no doubt about who was right or about what she must
do, Cha Thrat thought, because a gentle little being like Prilicla might not be
capable of doing it.
“Doctor Danalta,” she said, “will you please go quickly to the boarding tube and
take up a position andshape that will discourage any Monitor Corps officer from
sealing, dismantling, or otherwise closing it to two-way traffic. Naturally, you
should try not to hurt any such officer, and I doubt that lethal weapons will be
deployed against you, for no other reason than that anything powerful enough to
hurt you would seriously damage the hull, but if—”
“Technician!”
Even though the Captain was on Rhatiwar’s control deck and at extreme range for
Prilicla’s empathic faculty, the feeling of outrage accompanying the word was
making the little Cinrusskin quiver in every limb. Then gradually the trembling
subsided as Fletcher brought his anger under control.