“Patient Hewlitt,” the Hudlar went on, “please wash the Kelgian medication from your hands. It will not harm you but you may find the smell unpleasant. Then return to your bed and try to sleep. I will check later to see if you have sustained any minor abrasions that the excitement of the moment may have driven from your mind.
“Before you go,” it went on, “I must apologize for my late arrival. Your medical monitor includes an audio pickup and recording device so that the data is available for later study. It was obvious from the way the conversation was going that something like this might happen and that a fast-acting sedative shot would be needed. The medication is new and I am required to double-check with Pathology, if a senior ward medic is not present, before administering it. That was why I did not arrive until you were calling for help.”
Hewlitt laughed. “And all the time I was thinking that your response time was impressively fast. But if the conversation with Morredeth was being recorded, does this mean you will be in trouble over what you said, or rather what I said you said, about your disagreement over your instructions for withdrawing Morredeth’s sedation and forbidding you to speak to it at night?
“How is it now?” he added. “Are you sure it will be all right?”
There was no way of telling what the other was thinking, but Hewlitt had the feeling that it was worried as it said, “Several people, including Medalont, Leethveeschi, and Lioren will study your monitor’s voice recording, and many words of criticism will be spoken to me. But you must have noticed that Hudlars have thicker skins than most other life-forms. Thank you for your concern, Patient Hewlitt, and now will you please return to your bed. Morredeth is well and sleeping peacefully—”
It broke off then, because the involuntary ripplings of the Kelgian’s fur had slowed almost to a stop. The tip of one of the nurse’s free tentacles moved quickly to a point close to the base of Morredeth’s skull, the digits apparently feeling for a pulse; then it reached into the equipment pouch and came out grasping a scanner, which it moved to two separate positions on the patient’s chest. The other tentacle tip stabbed at a key on the communicator, and on the ceiling above the bed a red light began a steady, urgent blinking.
“Resuscitation team,” it said. “Ward Seven, bed twelve, classification Kelgian DBLF. Estimated five seconds into cardiac arrest, both hearts… Patient Hewlitt, go back to bed. Now.”
Hewlitt backed away from the bedside, unable to take his eyes off the still body and fur until he was outside the screens, but he did not go to bed. Instead he waited close by until the resuscitation team with its equipment float arrived, less than a minute later. The red light in the ceiling ceased its flashing and there was a sudden absence of sound as a hush field went up around Morredeth’s position.
That must have been done to avoid disturbing the sleeping patients, he thought, and not just to stop him from listening to what was going on. He was not sure how long he waited in the darkness, watching the moving shadows that were being projected onto the bed screens, and straining to hear what they were saying, until the team members emerged. But his curiosity went unsatisfied and his concern unrelieved, because they left the ward without speaking to each other. The Hudlar nurse, its large shadow unmoving, remained inside the screens.
He waited for what seemed a very long time, but the Hudlar did not leave Morredeth’s bedside. Feeling sad and guilty and disappointed, he turned away and walked to the bathroom to wash the traces of Kelgian medication from his hands and arms; then he went back to his bed to lie with his eyes closed.
Twice during the rest of the night he heard the Hudlar moving quietly along the ward as it checked on the sleeping patients and the one who was only pretending to sleep, but it did not have to speak to him, because his monitor was giving it all the clinical information it required. Probably the nurse was feeling responsible for what had happened, because it had been its suggestion that Hewlitt talk to Morredeth. But he felt responsible as well, and he was almost afraid to speak to it. Instead he lay still and quiet, wondering how it was possible for him to cause a person s death simply by talking to it, and feeling worse both physically and mentally than he had ever felt in his entire life.
He was still awake and wondering when the ward lights were switched on and the day staff came on duty.
CHAPTER 14
The morning medical round was both abbreviated and incomplete. Senior Physician Medalont was accompanied by Charge Nurse Leethveeschi rather than the usual group of trainees; they visited only the most seriously ill patients, and spent most of their time at Morredeth’s bed, which was still surrounded by screens and a hush field.
They were still there when Horrantor and Bowab stopped by his bed on their way from the bathroom. It was the Duthan who spoke first.
“We don’t feel like playing scremman today,” Bowab said. “Nobody seems to know what happened to Morredeth. I tried to ask a Kelgian nurse, but you know Kelgians, they either tell you the truth about everything or say nothing at all. Do you know anything?”
Hewlitt was still feeling guilty over his part in the incident, and he would have preferred not to talk about it. But these two had been Morredeth’s friends, or a least short-term, hospital acquaintances, and they had a right to know. He did not want to lie to them, but not being a Kelgian, he could edit the truth.
“There was an emergency,” he said. “The nurse called the resuscitation team and said that Morredeth’s hearts had stopped. When they arrived they put up a hush field around the bed. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“We must have slept through it,” said Horrantor. “But the Hudlar is nice and likes talking. Maybe it will tell us everything when it comes on duty tonight—” It broke off to point toward the nurses’ station. “Look who’s coming down the ward with Padre Lioren. Thornnastor! What is it doing here?”
The creature belonged to the same species as Horrantor, but its body was larger, its hide had a great many more wrinkles, and it was, of course, walking on six rather than five feet. The question answered itself when they stopped at Morredeth’s position and it disappeared with Lioren behind the screens. A Kelgian nurse guiding an antigravity stretcher with its canopy opened arrived a few minutes later and followed them inside.
“It must be pretty crowded in there by now,” said Horrantor.
There was no reply and the silence lengthened. In an attempt to erase the mind-picture of Morredeth lying on the bed with its fur completely motionless, he said, “Who is Thornnastor?”
“We’ve never met, you understand,” said Horrantor, “but it must be Thornnastor because it is the only Tralthan in Sector General who is qualified to wear diagnostician’s insignia. It is the diagnostician-in-charge of Pathology. They say it rarely leaves its lab, and usually it sees people only when they are dead or in small bits.”
“Horrantor!” said Bowab. “You have about as much tact as a drunken Kelgian.”
“Sorry,” said the Tralthan, “it was an insensitive choice of words… Look, they’re coming out.”
The Kelgian nurse emerged first and undulated toward the ward entrance, guiding the litter, which now had its canopy closed, followed by Thornnastor, Medalont, and Leethveeschi. The screens rose into their ceiling slots to show Lioren looking at the empty bed with all four of its eyes. When the Tarlan moved a few seconds later it did not follow the others.