Mike Resnick - Birthright

He awoke feeling no better rested, and within a matter of minutes was standing next to Jennings of Pathology as they took turns viewing slides in the latter's lab. “Not that having very few red corpuscles proves a damned thing,” Jennings was saying. “It could, of

course, indicate a serious blood deficiency. On the other hand, maybe the damned beast doesn't need red

corpuscles. I think, though, that we'd better go under the assumption that this blood count is pretty near normal.”

“Any reason why?” asked Darlinski.

“The best,” Jennings grinned. “If it's not normal, we're out of luck. I've broken down the blood structure, and there's no way we could synthesize red corpuscles of a type this thing wouldn't reject before it died for lack of them. So, pragmatism being what it is, we'll pretend that whatever else is wrong, the blood count's normal.”

Darlinski nodded his head and grunted his assent. “How about the tissues?” “You mean the scrapings?” asked Jennings. “Well, we might be running into a little more luck there ... or worse luck, depending on your point of view.” “Suppose you tell me what my point of view is,” said Darlinski warily. “If your point of view is that of a doctor looking for something to cure, we might have something for you. Here, take a look.”

Darlinski bent low over the powerful microscope and peered through it. A tiny skin sampling was on the slide, and even without resorting to the highest magnification Darlinski was aware of an enormous amount of cellular activity.

“What's happening?” he asked.

“Can't say for sure,” said Jennings. “But by all rights, that ought to be a very dead piece of skin, and it just as obviously is not. For the life of me I can't figure out what's feeding it or supplying it with whatever it needs in the way of blood and oxygen.” “Speaking of oxygen,” said Darlinski, “what kind of dose can I give her?” “Based on the blood structure, I'd say she's living in her equivalent of an oxygen tent right now. I wouldn't want to be the guy responsible for giving her a higher dose. It just might burn her lungs out.” “How about the smears?”

“Now, that's something really interesting,” said Jennings. “You found something?”

“Nope. I found absolutely nothing.”

“You're an easy guy to interest,” said Darlinski. “Hold on a second, boss,” said Jennings. “Let me ask you a question first: Who the hell told you that this was a female?”

“Hammett.”

“And who told him?”

“The Pnathians.”

“Yeah? Well, you can't prove it by me.” “What did the smears show?” asked Darlinski, scratching his head. “Nothing. Or, rather, nothing even remotely sexual. I've labeled the three smears One through Three. Now, Smear One, taken from the bottommost orifice, showed traces of water, a couple of enzymes, and the residue of two or three other organic liquids. From this, and the fact that they're not broken down, we've got to figure that its sole purpose is the ingestion of liquid nourishment. Smear Two has numerous traces of solids, plus a few decay germs and something which seems to act as a mild preliminary stomach acid. Ergo, that's where the solid nourishment goes. Smear Three is a problem, but I'd be willing to wager that its function is strictly vocal.” “But, damnit, one of those orifices has to be the equivalent of a vagina!” snapped Darlinski. “They're the only orifices on the whole goddamed body, and the subject is definitely a female.” “Maybe so, but she doesn't kiss and copulate in the same general area,” said Jennings. “There is absolutely no trace of any sexual hormone, lubricant, or other secretion known to science, and since she's a warm-blooded oxygen-breather, I have to think that her sexual hormones wouldn't be that hard to spot.”

“Could the orifice be used for excretion?” asked Darlinski. “Highly doubtful,” said Jennings. “No, I'll make it stronger. Definitely not. I would certainly have found something to indicate it if that were the case. Sorry to give you a problem, boss, but that's the way I read it.”

“A problem? Hell, you've given me a pair of them.” “Yeah?”

“First, I've got a female patient with no discernible sex organs. And second, I've got an eater with no discernible means of excreting waste products.” “Maybe that's what's wrong.” Jennings grinned. “Maybe she ate too much and is due to explode.” “Thanks a lot,” said Darlinski. “Well, I'd better get back down there and see if I can figure out what to do next.”

When he arrived a few minutes later he found the Pnathian gasping weakly for air. Its face, and hence its breathing orifice, was covered with a foul-smelling substance which seemed to be coming from its food-ingesting orifice. Quickly summoning an intern to help him, Darlinski managed to turn the Pnathian on its side and, taking an antiseptic wipe, began cleaning its head off. In a few moments the breathing became normal again, and, instructing the intern to keep a watchful eye on the patient, he took a sample of the substance up to Pathology.

“Well,” said Jennings after some thirty minutes of testing, “we've solved one of your problems. It seems that the same mouth, or orifice, does double duty: it both ingests the food and excretes it. Very inefficient.

In fact, uncommonly so.”

“You're sure it's not vomit?” asked Darlinski. “Absolutely,” said Jennings. “Vomit would still have some partially undigested food left. This stuff is all broken down. The body's taken most of what it needed, and this is what's left.” “We're learning things all the time,” said Darlinski. “I bet if they left the damned thing here for another year or so, I might even figure out what's killing it.” “According to the newstapes,” said Jennings, “you've got considerably less than a year.” “Don't remind me. What are the chances of it dying if I take some X-rays and fluoroscope it?” “I don't think the X-rays will do any harm. Under normal circumstances I'd say that fluoroscoping was out of the question until we knew more about it, but these are hardly normal circumstances, so you might as well go ahead.”

Two hours later Darlinski was looking at a number of X-rays that were laid out before him and cursing furiously.

“Well, boss?” asked Jennings on the intercom. “It can't have any broken bones,” said Darlinski. “The damned old girl doesn't have a bone in her entire body!”

“Learn anything from the fluoroscope?”

“Not a thing. I've seen insects with more complicated digestive systems. The food goes in, is carried to just about every cell in the body, and what remains will be coming out again in a day or so. All that's left is brain damage and how the hell do I know whether it exists or not until I've seen a working model of an undamaged brain?” He loosed another stream of curses. “This stupid creature just doesn't make any sense!”

“Agreed,'’ said Jennings. “You know those scrapings?” “What about them?”

“They're growing. Another week and they'll cover the whole damned slide.” “Could it be a form of cancer?” asked Darlinski. “No way,” came the reply. “No cancer I know of ever acted like this. These scrapings haven't been cultured; by rights, they should be dead and decaying.” “Besides, if there was some kind of skin cancer, I'd have spotted it before now,” agreed Darlinski. He stood up. “This is crazy! The respiratory system is working, the digestive system is working, the circulatory system is working. What the hell can be wrong with it?” “A stroke?” suggested Jennings.

“I doubt it. If there were a blood clot in the brain, something else ought to be hampered too. I figure we

can rule out a heart attack, too; we haven't made the slightest attempt at treatment and yet the condition, whatever it might be in regard to the norm, is completely stable. It seems to me that if anything sudden hit her, she'd either degenerate or start improving. But she doesn't do either.” “If you're looking for some paradoxes,” added Jennings, “you might figure out why everyone keeps calling it a female.”