James White - Federation World

“I think you should return to the cell,” the Keidi said. “Your injury appears to be troubling you.”

“No, wait,” Martin said desperately, but the could think of nothing else to say, nor did he rise.

“There have been rumors that the First was guarding induction centers,” the doctor said, “to prevent loss of population. I can understand that even though I disagree with it. But using dissidents to excavate a nuclear weapons arsenal and rebuilding the launching towers… No, that is deliberate misdirection. There is no proof that the arsenal exists, or even, with the instruments available to me, that the First was exposed to radioactivity or…”

“But there is indirect proof,” Martin broke in. “The First is deeply concerned for his granddaughter and the newborn, and would normally stay as close as possible to them before the birth. Why, then, did he remain far down the ward if he was not afraid that he carried something which might.damage the genes of the newborn?…”

He broke off, wishing that instead of speaking he had bitten oft his tongue. The doctor had swung around and was glaring down at him.

“You know all that happened in the birthing ward,” the Keidi said angrily, “yet you concealed the knowledge even from me?”

“Not everything that happened,” Martin said, desperately trying to retrieve the situation. “Our instruments were able to show the approximate location of the ward. That was why, when we realized that we were not being taken to see the First’s granddaughter, we tried to escape. The people in the ward showed as formless blurs except for the First, whose radioactive contamination made his trace unmistakable. My intention was not to deceive you but to avoid further complicating the situation.

“Please help me,” Martin went on, searching vainly for eloquence. “I wish only what is best for Keida.”

The doctor grasped Martin’s arm and drew him to his feet. “The First makes exactly the same claim,” he said. “I will return you to your cell.”

On the latitude of Frontier Camp Eleven, darkness fell quickly, and that may have been the reason why Martin fell several times on the way back. Dizziness and nausea were still making it impossible to think, but not to feel sorry for himself. When the Keidi put an arm around his back to support him by both elbows, his reaction was angry and despairing.

“You don’t believe me,” he said bitterly, “and now you don’t believe that I’m unwell. Why are you bothering to help me?”

The Keidi made an untranslatable sound. “If I assisted only the patients who told me the truth, I would have very little work to do.”

The doctor took him to the cell, then left to check on the condition of his other patient. Martin fell onto his bed, refusing to allow Beth to remove the warm boots or to give him any of the cold, unappetizing porridge she had made from water and food concentrates. Shortly afterward she spread the extra blankets they had been given over him, positioned the two muffling pillows, and crawled in beside him.

“I’m cold,” he said unnecessarily through chattering teeth, “I want to sleep.”

“With a bad head injury,” she whispered, “is it wise to let yourself sleep? What does the doctor say?”

“Nothing, damn him,” Martin replied. “I told him what to do, and everything we know or suspect about the First, but I don’t think he believed a word of it.”

Her body stiffened in disappointment and her arms tightened around him. She did not speak.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll think of another way. But later.”

He was woken by Beth shaking his shoulder violently. The cell was in darkness but the light outside the grill was brightening and fading erratically, the guards were talking at the tops of their voices, and even louder were the muffled detonations of what sounded like a major thunderstorm.

“Dammit, I think you would sleep through the Crack of Doom!” Beth said fiercely. “Just listen to that! It could be natural, a freak storm, even though it seems to be scaring the hell out of the guards. Or then again, our darling main computer likes to show off, and maybe it thinks we might need a diversion as well as a rescue. We haven’t checked it for some time now; it may be planning something.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Martin said excitedly. He swung his feet to the floor, and wondered if his head was going to explode or just fall off. “Start shouting for the doctor. Try to find out if he’s come back from his morning walk.”

“Right,” Beth said, and took a deep breath. The lights came on at her first shout and the doctor who had evidently been on the way to see them, arrived before the guards could send for him. He stood in the open doorway, breathing heavily, his focusing muscles twitching silently and with pale areas of discoloration showing on the dark, Keidi features.

Beth went over to him and gently took his arm, then led him to the bedside where she sat him down between Martin and herself. The caged translator he was gripping in the other hand carried her words, but the guards were too busy trying to reassure each other to listen.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “It is only very bright lights and noise, a projection, and nobody will be harmed. But in case the First holds you responsible for it and wants to chastise you…”

There was a silent flare of blue light, and their rusting bed was standing incongruously on the polished metal deck of the hypership’s matter transmitter module.

“…We thought it better to bring you along,” she went on, sliding off the bed and walking quickly to the module’s computer terminal.

“First, I have to arrange for medical attention for our patient,” she said, while her fingers moved over the input keys, “and cancel all the melodramatic meteorological effects down there. Then later I’ll bring up the lander on automatic. It’s needed to return you to the city, or back to Camp Eleven if you prefer it. Unfortunately, we can’t send you back the way we brought you, because there is the risk that you might materialize inside a wall or something. Then, when my life-mate’s brain is functioning normally again, we’ll have to decide what to do about the First.”

“I understand,” the doctor said. “If I can assist you with local information or advice, I shall be pleased to do so. As for my other patient, she and her newborn will live, which I would not if I were to return to the First just now. I am content to wait here.”

The blotches had disappeared from his face and he was staring raptly through the direct vision port at the whole of his scarred but still beautiful world.

“Indefinitely,” he added.

Beth laughed quietly. “Surely you are in no serious danger from the First? He told us himself that the Keidi do not kill.”

It was plain that the doctor was taking his obligation to provide information very seriously as he said, “In spite of the blood-family and nation-family wars fought throughout our history, it is true that no Keidi will directly take the life of another, and will try very hard to avoid direct injury. That is why our war casualties have always been relatively light. But quite subtle methods have been devised for blaming an enemy’s death on his own stupidity. For not removing himself from an area of risk where weapons are being discharged, for example, or for not surrendering or evacuating his cities when they are under threat of bombing or, in short, for not doing exactly what his opponent wants him to do.

“And there is the self-defense strategem,” the Keidi went on, “by which the opponent defends himself before he is attacked. The First has been particularly unsubtle about defending his Estate from smaller and weaker attackers, and makes a hollow pretense of obeying the Prime Rule. Would you like me to give specific examples?”