An ambulance wasn’t supposed to make medical work for itself.
But there was no sign of worry or even uncertainty in the emotional radiation that was filtering down from the control deck, so he moved to the direct-vision panel to watch the approaching planet and the two orbiting ships that were being lit by the bright, tattered carpet of clouds, consoling himself with the thought that his specialty was other-species medicine and not ship-handling, and wondering what new physiological challenges awaited them.
“Still no sign of life or movement from the alien,” Haslam reported. Its voice was calm and unemotional but it and everyone else on the control deck was radiating intense relief. “The sensors indicate low levels of residual power from two areas amidships, but in my opinion, not nearly enough for a weapons power-up, and the ship appears to have been radiating its internal heat into space for several days without any attempt to maintain living temperature levels, whatever they are for these people. I’d say that the alien ship is a problem that can wait, sir.”
“I agree,” said the captain, “but keep your eyes on it, just in case. Casualty deck?”
“Yes, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla.
“We will be at one hundred meters and motionless with respect to Terragars position in eleven minutes,” said the captain. “I realize that we will be at extreme range for your empathic faculty, but please do your best to detect the crew’s emotional radiation, if there is any.”
“Of course, friend Fletcher.”
The quality of the captain’s own emotional radiation belied the calmness in its voice, otherwise it would not have wasted time and breath asking him to do the job that he was here expressly to perform. But the crew of the distressed ship were all Earth-human DBDGs. Perhaps it had friends among them.
He watched with the other members of the team at the direct-vision panel as their ship closed with the Monitor Corps survey vessel. Terragar was rolling, as well as slowly pitching end over end. The canopy of the unlit control deck was moving past them at an awkward angle which did not allow a clear view of the interior. But for one brief moment the angle was right, and Prilicla was able to see movement.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said urgently. “I think I detected motion behind the control canopy. Nobody else down here saw anything or they would be emoting about it by now. It was just a glimpse, effaces, hands, and upper bodies of at least three Earth-humans. They are alive, but the distance is extreme for an empathic reading.”
“We didn’t see anything, either,” the captain replied, “but compared with your GLNO sensorium, ours makes us feel as if we’re wearing mittens and blindfolds. Haslam, deploy the tractor beams and kill the spin on that ship. Position it for a clear view into the control canopy. Then push across a cable with a communicator fitted with a two-way sound-conduction pad. Land it, but gently, on the canopy. We badly need information on this situation, and, of course, to know if anyone needs medical attention.”
The misty-blue light of two of Rhabwar’s tractor beams flickered out to focus on the bows and stern of the Monitor ship, gradually reducing its spin. A moment later a thinner beam lifted out the communicator, but held it midway between the two ships to wait for its target to come to rest. Prilicla had a slightly longer and clearer view of the people inside the canopy before they rolled out of sight.
“Friend Fletcher,” he said urgently, responding to feelings that she felt sure were not all his own. “I saw four officers, that’s the entire complement of a survey vessel. They were waving at us, shaking their heads vigorously in your DBDG non-verbal signal of negation, and showing the palms of their hands. One was pointing repeatedly in the direction of the alien ship and our communicator. The empathic range is extreme but they are radiating high levels of agitation.”
“I saw them, too,” said the captain. “They don’t appear to be seriously injured; they’re about to be rescued and have little to feel agitated about. Still… Haslam, is the alien ship doing anything to worry us?”
“No, sir,” the lieutenant replied. “It’s still dead in the water, so to speak.”
Prilicla paused for a moment, nerving himself for the effort of saying something argumentative if not disagreeable to another person whose irritated or angry reaction would bounce back and hit him hard.
“It was their feelings I read,” he said carefully. “Because of the interference from the emotional radiation around me, theirs were difficult to define. There was agitation, however, and it had to be intense to reach me at this distance.May I make a suggestion and ask a favor?”
The captain was feeling the irritation characteristic of an entity whose ideas and authority were being questioned, but it was quickly brought under control. It said, “Go ahead, Doctor.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking around the casualty deck to indicate that his words were for them as well. “It is this. Would you please instruct your officers, as much as they are able, to relax mentally and avoid intensive thinking or associated feelings? I would like to get a clearer idea of what is bothering the Terragar crew. I am having a bad feeling about this situation, friend Fletcher.”
“And since when,” said Murchison in a quiet voice that was just loud enough for the captain to overhear it, “has a feeling of Prilicla’s been wrong?”
“Do as the Doctor says, gentlemen,” the captain replied promptly, pretending that it hadn’t heard. “All of you make your minds blank" — it gave a soft Earth-human bark—"or at least blanker than usual.”
All over the ship, from the control deck forward and the power room aft and from the medical team around him, they were staring at blank walls and deck surfaces or the backs of closed eyelids, those who had them, or were using whatever other means they had of reducing cerebration and feeling. Nobody knew better than himself how difficult it was to switch the mind to low alert and think of absolutely nothing, but they were all trying.
Terragar’s control canopy had rolled out of sight, but that had no effect on the crew’s emotional radiation, which was still tenuous, confused, and at a strength that was barely readable. But without the local empathic interference the individual feelings were gradually becoming clearer and easier to define, and they were anything but pleasant.
“Friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla urgently, “I feel fear and, intense negation. For me to be able to detect them at this range, those feelings must be extreme. The fear seems to be both personal and impersonal, the latter emotion characteristic of a being who fears a threat to others besides itself. I’m an empath, not a telepath, but I’d say… Look, they’re coming into sight again—”
He could see no details of the four faces other than that
their mouths were opening and closing. Their hands were gesticulating wildly, sometimes pointing at the alien ship but more often towards Rhabwar and the communicator floating at the end of its sensor cable midway between their two vessels. Their pale, Earth-human palms were showing as they pressed them repeatedly against the inside of the canopy.
What were they trying to say?
“… They’re pointing at the alien ship and at us,” he went on quickly, “but mostly at the communicator you’re sending over. And they’re making pushing movements with their hands. Their fear and agitation is increasing. I feel sure they want us to go away.”