James White: Final Diagnosis

“That doctor,” the nurse replied, “was arranging for Patient Kletilt’s transfer to a different ward, and I was repositioning the patient during the examination. It is Senior Physician Karthad, who is currently the hospital’s specialist in other-species obstetrics and gynecology and has no interest in your case. But if you will wait for just a moment longer, Patient Hewlitt, your own doctor will be here to examine you.”

He had seen pictures of the Melfan species as well as a few lifesize specimens in the corridors during his trip to the ward, but this was the first one that had been motionless and very, very close. It still looked like an outsize crab that was wearing its skeleton on the outside. But this time he barely noticed the thin, tubular legs projecting from the slits where the bony carapace and underside joined, because he was staring at the head with its big, vertically lidded eyes, enormous mandibles, and pincers projecting forward from the place where ears should have been. The two feelers growing from the sides of its mouth were so long and thin and fragile that they looked ridiculous by comparison. The creature’s fearsome head moved closer and, inevitably, it said, “How are we feeling, Patient Hewlitt?”

Just as inevitably, Hewlitt replied, “Fine.~~

“Good,” said the other. “I am Dr. Medalont, and I would like to give you a preliminary examination and ask a few questions, if you don’t mind. Please fold back your blanket and lie face downward. There is no need to remove your garment; my scanner imaging will not be affected by it. I shall explain everything as we go along.”

The scanner was a small, flat, rectangular object that reminded Hewlitt of an old-time book. Its “spine,” Medalont told him, contained the depth-focus and enhancement controls; the matte black underside that was being moved slowly over every square inch of his body surface held the microsensors; and the top surface displayed a picture of the underlying organic structures. An enlarged scanner image was being repeated on the bedside viewscreen, possibly for the benefit of the nurse. He twisted his neck to look at it.

“Stop wriggling, Patient Hewlitt,” said the doctor. “Now lie face upward. Thank you.”

One of its pincers gripped him gently by the wrist and straightened his arm by his side. A feeler curled down to lie vertically along the crease inside his elbow, while the other one dropped like a soft, furry feather across his nose and mouth, making him fight a sudden urge to sneeze. A few minutes later the pincer and the feelers were withdrawn and the doctor straightened up.

“If I remember my Earth-human DBDG anatomy and vital signs correctly,” said the doctor, adding a series of quiet, untranslatable clicks that might have been the Melfan equivalent of a chuckle, “I am inclined to agree with your self-diagnosis. Apart from a little general muscular tension, which is understandable in these circumstances, you are in very good physical condition.”

This was how so many of the other examinations had ended, Hewlitt thought angrily, with the doctor pronouncing him fit. A few of the early ones had laughed at him, too, or accused him of wasting their time. This Medalont seemed to be a polite one, in spite of being an extraterrestrial, and would probably satisfy itself by wondering aloud what he was doing here.

Instead, it said, “I would like to ask you a few questions, Patient Hewlitt. They are questions you will have been asked many times, and your answers are in the case history. But I am hoping that those answers, because of their constant repetition, may have become inaccurate or incomplete, and I may be able to uncover information missed by my predecessors. Except as an infant and very young child on Etla, you have never traveled beyond the atmosphere of Earth, your home world. Correct?”

“Yes,” said Hewlitt.

“Were there any other-species contacts on Etla?”

“I can remember seeing a few extraterrestrials,” he replied, “but not well enough to describe them now. I was only four at the time and they frightened me. My parents said that I would grow out of it but kept me out of the way whenever they had other-species visitors. Obviously I didn’t grow out of it.”

“There is still time,” said Medalont. “What do you remember of your childhood illnesses? Begin with the earliest episodes, please.”

“Not much,” Hewlitt replied. “I was a pretty healthy infant, I learned later. But when my parents died in the flyer accident it was decided to return me to my grandparents on Earth, and I was given the usual immunizations against Earth-human child and adult diseases. That was when the trouble started. There were very few Earthpeople living on Etla at that time, and as my parents had not planned on returning to Earth, there had been no need for them to worry about giving me preventive shots.”

“Do you know the reason for that?” asked the doctor.

“I think so,” said Hewlitt.

“Then tell me,” said the other. “Explaining it to me aloud might give you something less to worry about while living among all us aliens.”

Hewlitt disliked being humored. He was neither a simple child nor a senile oldster, and it irritated him when some medical knowit-all implied that he was dim-witted, or worse, uneducated. He said, “If you sneeze I won’t be affected by your Melfan germs, and vice versa. The same situation applies to all the other life-forms in the hospital. It is a matter of evolution and environment. Germs that evolved on one world cannot affect or infect beings who are native to another. On Earth people said that some hospitals, usually the very old or badly run ones, were places one went to catch other people’s diseases as well as, hopefully, getting rid of one’s own.

“Is that why there is only one patient of any given species in this ward?” he ended. “To eliminate the risk of own-species crossinfection?”

Dr. Medalont blinked its eyes hard enough for Hewlitt to hear the eyelids clicking together. Then it said, “That is not a reason the hospital would admit to officially, and there are other reasons. You seem to be well-informed medically, but would you now kindly return to the account of your early onset of symptoms?”

“Listening to the number of doctors that have discussed my case over the years,” Hewlitt replied, “I couldn’t help learning a few things. But all right, back to the symptoms. After the first immunization shot before moving to Earth, I was told that I’d had a bad reaction to it: high temperature, body rash, and inflamed mucous membranes, all of which cleared up within a few days; the symptoms were not entirely those of the diseases I was being vaccinated against. The same thing happened after I arrived on Earth, with different symptoms and recovery times. And I can remember other times when I just did not feel well, when I would become suddenly tired even though I hadn’t been playing very hard, or get sick and vomit for no reason, or run a slight temperature or break out in spots. But the symptoms were not severe enough for me to remember them in detail or how long they lasted. My grandparents were curious but not seriously concerned. They took me to a local doctor who agreed with them that I was a sickly child who seemed to be catching every virus in the book.

“But I wasn’t sickly,” he went on, angry at the memory of that first, unjust accusation. “Between times I was very fit and was always picked for the school team and track events when…

“Patient Hewlitt,” Medalont broke in. “These episodes of nausea, minor skin eruptions, and the other symptoms that were not related, at least as far as you knew at the time, to the immunization shots. Could they have followed the administration of other forms of medication? A mild palliative for a headache, perhaps, or a painkiller given after an accident during a sporting contest that you were too excited to remember? Or did you eat something you should not have eaten, like uncooked or unripe vegetation?”