your upper arm.
“You-you’re not supposed to give me anything that might… began Hewlitt.
“I know, I know,” said the doctor, its rapid, clicking speech sounding more impatient than usual. “If you remember, it was I who told you that you are to receive no medication of any kind until we have identified the condition we are treating, which is why I require a fairly large sample. I am withdrawing blood, Patient Hewlitt, not injecting medication. You will feel nothing, but if the sight distresses you then close your eyes.
He had never been distressed by the sight of his own blood, at least not in the number of small quantities that the doctor seemed to consider a large sample. When it was over, Medalont thanked him and said that it would have to hurry if it was to make a lunch meeting on time.
As the doctor had promised, Hewlitt had not felt a thing, and a small area of nonsensation persisted inside the fold of his elbow where the samples had been withdrawn. He relaxed back into the pillows but decided to stay awake until after lunch by watching and listening to the other patients who were within range of his translator. Compared to his blind near-panic of yesterday, he was surprised by the growing curiosity he was feeling about them.
Hewlitt did not know how much time went by, because it was too much trouble to bother lifting his wrist to look at his watch. He continued to feel fine, comfortable, without pain, and very curious about the thick, grey fog that had drifted into the ward and was keeping him from seeing the other beds. The sounds of the ward, too, were fading, but he was able to see and hear the flashing red light and the strident beeping noises coming from the monitor on his chest, and Charge Nurse Leethveeschi looming over him and shouting into its communicator.
“Bed eighteen, classification DBDG Earth-human. Two-plus minutes into cardiac and respiratory arrest. Resuscitation team, move!”
Something like a column of oily seaweed projected from Leethveeschi’s body and pushed a bulge in the creature’s protective envelope to flop onto Hewlitt’s chest. He felt the steady, regular pressure of a heart massage, and the last thing he saw was the charge nurse leaning closer.
No, not mouth-to-mouth, he thought desperately, you’re a bloody chlorine-breather… .
CHAPTER 6
The sight of the procession that was emerging from the nurses station brought all other activity and conversations in the ward to a halt. It was led by Senior Physician Medalont, followed by Charge Nurse Leethveeschi, his nameless Hudlar nurse, and a Kelgian and a Nidian intern who were guiding a float containing the multispecies resuscitation equipment between them, and an Earthhuman wearing a green Monitor Corps uniform who brought up the rear. Inevitably they traveled the full length of the ward to gather in a semicircle around his bed.
Coming close to death five hours earlier had not made him feel any less fearful of ETs, nor had it improved his disposition one littie bit.
“What the hell are you going to do to me this time?” he said.
“Nothing that I haven’t already done,” the senior physician replied in a voice that might have been reassuring to another Melfan. “Do not be concerned; I am simply withdrawing another blood sample. Please bare your upper arm.
The Kelgian intern looked at its Nidian colleague, its silvery fur tufting into spikes. It edged the resuscitation trolley closer and added, “If you do nothing, Patient Hewlitt, then neither will we.”
One of the things he had learned from his few brief conversations with the Kelgian patient in the adjoining bed was that members of that species were incapable of telling a lie. To another Kelgian, the continuous, subtle, and expressive movements of their silvery fur displayed what they were feeling and thinking from moment to moment, like a form of visual telepathy; so they did not know or understand the meaning of the word. They had the same difficulty with concepts like tact, politeness, diplomacy, and bedside manners.
Once again Hewlitt felt the tiny circle of metal pressed against his skin. Medalont said, “The instrument currently in contact with your arm contains one very fine, short, recessed needle whose entry you will not feel, and another that is longer and slightly thicker. The first one injects a local anesthetic which desensitizes the underlying nerve endings, and the second withdraws the blood. Good, here it comes. Thank you, Patient Hewlitt. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” Hewlitt replied. “How am I supposed to feel?”
Medalont ignored the question and said, “Are you aware of any changes of sensation, however small, anywhere within your body?”
“No,” he said.
“Any feeling of discomfort in the chest or arms,” it went on, “or difficulty with breathing? Tingling or loss of sensation in the extremities? Headache?”
“No,” said Hewlitt. “There is a numb patch where you took the blood. It feels the same as last time.”
“If present,” said Medalont, “the symptoms would be minor, an early warning of possible trouble to come. They could be so minor, in tact, that you may be unsure whether or not you are imagining them.”
“So far as I know,” said Hewlitt, making an effort to control his temper, “I have no minor, imaginary symptoms.”
The Earth-human in the green uniform smiled briefly and resumed doing and saying nothing.
“Have you any nonphysical symptoms?” Medalont persisted. “An anxiety or fear, perhaps, that could intensify to the point where it might cause stress on the physical level? I realize that I am moving into Lieutenant Braithwaite’s territory, but…
“You are,” said the uniformed man, speaking for the first time. “But feel free, everyone else does.”
Before the senior physician could reply, Hewlitt said, “If you mean am I worried then yes, I feel worried, very worried. Until I came to this place I never had a heart attack, but I don’t think I feel bad enough to frighten myself into another one.”
“Were you feeling frightened before the first one?” asked Medalont.
“No, just sleepy and relaxed,” said Hewlitt. “But right now I’m scared.”
“We won’t allow anything to happen to you this time,” said Medalont, “so try not to worry.
For what seemed like a very long time there was silence from everyone. Leethveeschi’s body pulsed slowly inside its chlorine envelope, the Hudlar’s speaking membrane remained still, the Kelgian’s fur was rippling along its body as if blown by an unfelt wind while its Nidian partner checked the equipment on the resuscitation float, and Medalont opened and closed its pincers once every few seconds like some kind of silent, organic metronome. It was the senior physician who spoke first.
“Charge Nurse, give me your estimate again of the elapsed time between my first withdrawal of blood sample, the monitor’s signaling the patient’s distress, and the sequence of events which followed.”
“Out of consideration for the feelings of the patient,” said Leethveeschi, “who appears to have some understanding of medical nomenclature, it might be better if that information were withheld.”
“And I,” said Medalont, “am hoping that with full information available the patient may be able to shed some light on its own condition. Go on, Charge Nurse.”
“Approximately twelve and a half minutes after you withdrew the blood sample and left,” said Leethveeschi, in a tone as corrosive as the chlorine it was breathing, “the patient’s monitor signaled an emergency condition. Ten seconds later the life signs went flat, completely flat, and sensory response and cerebration began the shutdown characteristic of approaching termination. The nursing staff were outside the station and busy preparing to serve a meal so I responded, preferring not to waste an additional few seconds needed to relay the information to another. Considering the stability of the patient’s condition until then, I suspected that equipment rather than cardiac failure had occurred. When I reached the patient and initiated chest massage forty seconds later it had lost consciousness, and it remained in that condition until the resuscitation team arrived six and one-quarter minutes later—”
“Are you sure about that, Nurse?” Medalont broke in. “In the excitement could subjective factors have caused you to exaggerate? Six minutes is not a good response time.”
