James White - Final Diagnosis

“Thank you for the implication that I might be an extraordinary person,” said the Padre. It made an untranslatable, Tarlan sound and went on, “But the answer to both questions is no. There is a fallacy among nonmedics that the Telfi cannot be closely approached or touched without the use of remotely controlled manipulators. To live they must absorb the radiation normally provided by their natural environment but when, for clinical reasons, the radiation is withdrawn for several days and they are weak from their equivalent of hunger, their radioactive emissions drop to a harmless level. When one of them was withdrawn from its treatment chamber during my visit, I was close enough to be able to touch it, which I did.

“That is one patient,” Lioren ended, “who really needs a miracle.”

It was obvious that the Padre felt sorry for the Telfi, and Hewlitt sympathized with its feelings, but the subject had returned to miracles. He decided to go on the offensive, as inoffensively as possible, and said, “If you are suggesting that I lay my hands on a Telfi, forget it. Surely the proper method of achieving a miracle is for you or the patient to pray for one. A miracle is supposed to be a supernatural occurrence, not something that is dependent on the cooperation of an unbelieving middleman. If you don’t believe that, Padre, what do you believe?”

“I cannot tell you what I believe,” said Lioren. “In the interests of the patients who might be unfairly influenced if I was to speak of my own beliefs, I am obliged not to divulge that information.”

“But why?” said Hewlitt. “What possible difference could your personal beliefs make to an unbeliever?”

“I don’t know,” Lioren replied, “that’s the problem. I have detailed knowledge of more than two hundred religions that are practiced, or more often not practiced, throughout the Federation. My function here is to listen sympathetically, to give reassurance, encouragement, or consolation to the terminally ill or seriously troubled patients in whatever way seems appropriate. Because of my background, which you must be aware of by now but are too polite to mention, there are always a few patients who want more than reassurance. In their distress they come to respect and trust me and, erroneously, to think that I know best. They want religious certainties which they think that I, with my wide knowledge and experience in dealing with their kind of problems, can provide. This I cannot do, because I must not take advantage of their confused and frightened state to compare one religion with another, or to suggest one which I think is the true one. No matter how wild and incredible some of their beliefs are, influencing an entity to change or even doubt its own religion, however small or temporary that change or doubt might be, is a responsibility I will not accept. I played God only once and I shall not do so ever again.”

The Padre made another untranslatable sound and said, “I am particularly careful with unbelievers. It would be a terrible thing if some time in the future my words were to turn you toward religion.”

“Now that,” said Hewlitt, laughing, “would take a real miracle.”

Lioren’s reply was silenced by the sudden arrival of Leethveeschi, who gestured toward the ward entrance and said, “Patient Hewlitt, prepare yourself for visitors. Diagnosticians Thornnastor and Conway, Senior Physicians Medalont and Prilicla, and Pathologist Murchison are here to see you. With that collection of high-powered medical talent interesting themselves in your case, I do not foresee you remaining here as a patient for long. Padre Lioren, Prilicla apologizes for interrupting your conversation and asks if you would please distance yourself from the patient and wait with the others so that your presence will not interfere with its investigation.”

“Of course,” said Lioren.

He watched it move up the ward to join the group that was standing and, in one case, hovering about thirty meters away. He barely noticed Medalont and the Tralthan and Earth-human diagnosticians, Thornnastor and Conway, or even the mature but strikingly beautiful female Earth-human who had to be Pathologist Murchison, because all of his attention was focused on the enormous but incredibly fragile insect that was flying on three sets of slowly beating, iridescent wings toward him.

As it drifted to a halt above his bed and he felt the faint downdraft from its wings, Hewlitt remembered that he had always disliked insects, and the larger they were the more he wanted to swat them. But this one was the most delicate and beautiful creature he had ever seen. Even his tongue was paralyzed with wonder.

“Thank you, friend Hewlitt,” it said, the quiet trilling and clicking sound of its speech forming an almost musical background to the translated words. “Your emotional radiation is pleasant and most complimentary. I am Prilicla.”

“What,” he said, finding both his voice and his anxiety again, “what exactly are you going to do to me?”

“I have already done all that is necessary, friend Hewlitt,” it replied, “so there is no reason for your anxiety.”

The others who had been waiting must have overheard it, because they were moving closer. When they had gathered around his bed, Prilicla raised its voice and went on, “At the present time there are no detectable abnormalities present in Patient Hewlitt’s mind, nor were there during my earlier examination of Patient Morredeth, who should now be discharged and sent home without further delay. I feel the disappointment in all of you, naturally, and I am sorry. So far as I am concerned I can feel absolutely nothing wrong with the patient.

“Friend Hewlitt,” it went on as it made a feather-light landing on the bottom of his bed, “how would you like a ride in an ambulance?”

He saw Prilicla’s body begin to tremble and realized that the empath must be sharing his own feelings of anger and bitter disappointment, feelings that he had suffered so often in the past. He said, “Don’t try to humor me, dammit! You think there’s nothing wrong with me and you’re going to send me home.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Prilicla. “This time the ambulance will be taking the patient from hospital to the scene of the original accident.”

Even though his stay in Ward Seven had just about obliterated all traces of his xenophobia, Hewlitt was relieved to discover that on this particular ambulance the Earth-human DBDGs were in a majority of five to three.

During nonmedical operations, he learned, the special ambulance ship Rhabwar was commanded by a very serious young officer called Major Fletcher, while three other Monitor Corps lieutenants, Haslam, Chen, and Dodds, were responsible for communications, engineering, and astrogation, respectively. Since Hewlitt was not allowed to leave the casualty deck, he would have little contact with any of them or they with the medical team unless the ship was called to a medical emergency requiring their presence on the casulty deck. If that happened, command transferred to the team’s senior medical officer, who turned out to be the empathic Cinrusskin GLNO Prilicla, until the emergency was resolved.

He had been surprised, and later, when he came to know her better, very pleased, to find that the empath’s principal assistant was Pathologist Murchison. The remaining two medics were a Kelgian DBLF specialist in heavy rescue operations, Charge Nurse Naydrad, and Dr. Danalta, who was physiological classification TOBS and the most alien and, at times, familiar creature that Hewlitt had ever seen or expected to see.

Danalta was a polymorph who could make itself look like anything or anyone, and it loved to show off. But when it was the shape-changer’s turn to watch over him, especially when he was expected to sleep and not talk, it sat on the deck by his bedside like a lumpy, green pear that was featureless except for the single, large eye and ear that it extruded for the purpose.