James White - The Galactic Gourmet

The preliminary briefing had suggested that the medical team could expect some arguments from the authorities on-site, Gurronsevas thought worriedly, but this sounded like a very serious difference of opinion indeed. He wondered what a shy and timid emotion-sensitive like Prilicla could do against such strong opposition.“… Regrettably,” Williamson continued, “I cannot order you back to Sector General because, theoretically, you have operational authority at the scene of any disaster, and this could quickly become a disaster on the largest scale. But the Wem are a proud race with a degenerating culture which, as often happens in situations like this, still retains much of its weapons technology. We do not want to risk another Cromsaggar Incident here. For the safety of your crew and to avoid the physical and non-physical trauma that a failure with casualties would bring to any empathic entity who was responsible, I would strongly advise you to return to Sector General without delay.

“Please give my advice serious consideration, Senior Physician Prilicla,” it ended, “and let me know your intentions as soon as possible.”

Prilicla was maintaining a stable hover in front of the communicator’s vision pick-up and giving no indication of being intimidated, Gurronsevas saw, or perhaps it had only one form of response to another thinking being regardless of the other’s high rank or bad manners. It said, “Captain, I am grateful for your concern over the safety of my crew, and for your understanding of the emotional distress I personally would suffer in the event of them sustaining injuries. Knowing this, you must also know that I belong to the most physically fragile, timid and abjectly cowardly species in the Federation, the members of which will go to great extremes to avoid physical pain or emotional discomfort for ourselves or those around us which, for an empath, is the same thing. Friend Williamson, it is a law of nature, an evolutionary imperative, that I take no unnecessary risks.”

Williamson gave an impatient shake of its head and said, “You are the senior medical officer on Rhabwar, the ambulance ship that has more high-risk rescue missions to its credit than any other vessel in the Monitor Corps. You may argue that at the time those risks were necessary and unavoidable, even by a being to whom cowardice is a way of life. But with respect, Senior Physician, the risks you would take on Wemar are unnecessary, avoidable and stupid.”

Prilicla showed no physical reaction to the other’s harsh words and, Gurronsevas realized suddenly, the reason must be that Tremaar was orbiting many thousands of miles away and far too distant for even an empath of Prilicla’s hyper-sensitivity to detect Williamson’s emotional radiation. Gently, it said, “My immediate intention is to assess for myself the situation in the north temperate zone, where the technology level and living conditions are primitive and, hopefully, the Wem minds are more flexible, before deciding whether or not to land and/or subsequently abort the mission.”

Captain Williamson exhaled audibly but did not speak.

“If or when we land,” Prilicla went on, “I would be grateful if you would maintain orbital surveillance of the area so as to warn us of any hostile action that the Equatorials might be mounting against us. Rhabwar’s meteor shield will protect the ship against anything the Wem can throw at us, but I have no intention of starting a war, even a defensive war, and will lift off and go elsewhere before that can happen. I would also be pleased to have any new information not contained in our preliminary briefing. I would appreciate having that information as soon as is convenient.

“Our primary interest is in areas where there is little or no weapons technology,” Prilicla continued, “and subsistence-level conditions with, if possible, a higher than average infant population. We are assuming that Wem parents resemble other civilized beings in that they would be willing to subordinate their racial pride and anger at outside interference if by so doing they could alleviate the hunger of their children. And if the proper approach can be made and the parents can be influenced into accepting our help, it would be advisable to minimize their embarrassment by not being too obvious regarding the food supply operation.”

For a moment Williamson turned its head to give a quiet instruction to someone off-screen, then it returned its attention to Prilicla and said, “We both know that once you land in the disaster area, and in this case that means anywhere on this whole damn planet, you have the rank. Very well, your immediate requirement is for continuous intelligence updating, protective surveillance from orbit, and covert supply drops at night if or when necessary. You’ve got it. Anything else?”

“Thank you no, friend Williamson,” said Prilicla.

The other began shaking its head slowly from side to side, then it said, “I was told that trying to make you change your mind would be like fighting cobwebs — a maximum expenditure of energy with minimum results. I have said all that I can to dissuade you. It was good advice, Senior Physician, even though I cannot force you to take it, but …be very careful down there, friend.”

Before Prilicla could reply, Williamson’s face disappeared to be replaced by that of Captain Fletcher, who said briskly, “ Tremaar is already sending the update you requested. Their communications officer tells me that it includes some nice close-ups of adult and young Wem, the disposition of their defenses and some ideas about their social structure and behavior, which are mostly guesswork, but that last bit is unofficial. I’ll run the new material on your repeater screen as soon as we have it all. Meanwhile, Rhabwar is closing Wemar under cruising thrust and we are estimating low-orbit insertion in thirty-two hours and two minutes.”

“Thank you, friend Fletcher,” the empath replied. “That will give us plenty of time to review the new information before landing.”

“Or time to change our minds about landing,” said Naydrad.

Murchison laughed quietly and said, “I don’t think so, that would be too sensible.”

A few minutes later the main screen began displaying the new material and, during the discussion that followed, Gurronsevas quickly discovered what it was like to be an unseen observer.

Surprisingly it was the non-medic Fletcher who began by saying that, with all due respect, his opposite number on Tremaar had been deliberately exaggerating the threat posed by the Wem heavy weaponry which, they had seen for themselves, was very old, badly corroded, and showed no signs of recent use, while the emplacements and connecting system of defensive pits were overgrown or reduced by natural erosion. The long-range weapons were of the chemically-powered type firing solid or exploding projectiles, but in Fletcher’s opinion they would be a greater danger to the users than their targets. Because the vision pickups sent down could not be directed inside a Wem dwelling or sub-surface arsenal without them being immediately seen and destroyed, it was possible that the Wem had concealed stocks of portable weapons but this, too, was unlikely.

“My reason for believing this,” Fletcher went on, “is based on our covert observations of the young Wem. Like most youngsters, they play at being hunters or warriors, using the toy spears or bows and arrows that are the harmless, scaled-down weapons of the adults. But not one of them has been seen pointing a pretend weapon and shouting ‘Bang!’ which, incidentally, seems to be the same word-sound in every species’ language, so it is unlikely that chemically powered weapons are used widely by their parents. As well, the population of the Wem fortified villages we’ve seen have shrunk so much that their defenses can no longer be fully manned. My feeling is that the early fortifications were built to repel raiders in search of meat. But now the surviving Wem are so widely scattered, and their numbers and those of their food animals so reduced, they are no longer capable of mounting a long-range raid because they would probably starve before reaching the target village.