the doctor through the bleak corridors of the hospital, indifferent to the cries, the moans, the sounds of anguish coming from the beds ranked in the vast wards.
Indifferent also to the glimpses of doctors working in operating theaters, the machines, the attendants, the creatures on which they worked. People were basically machines; those who healed them were engineers repairing the biological fabrications. They were merciful in their fashion-but efficiency came first.
An attitude of which the cyber approved.
'In here,' said Wuhu as they approached a door. 'Far down on the left.'
'You have mobile screens?'
'Of course.'
'See they are placed in readiness. I understand the patient is comatose-have drugs on hand together with a hypogun. You use such a device?'
'We are not primitives,' said the young man, stiffly. 'May I ask what drugs you intend to use?' He blinked at the answer, his momentary hope of scoring a small victory over the other's ignorance vanishing as he realized the cyber knew as much about medicine as himself. Even so he uttered a warning. 'They are potent compounds. Excessive use or certain combinations could result in convulsions and death.'
Ardoch said, 'Your orders were plain, were they not?'
'To obey you-yes, they were plain.'
'Then do as you were directed. See to the screens, obtain the drugs and equipment but, first, show me the patient.'
He lay on a narrow cot, a mass of decaying tissue, the face distorted, the cheeks sunken, the lids closed over the twitching eyes. Beneath the thin sheet, which was his only cover, the body seemed distorted, one leg ending in a stump, the hips swollen, asymmetrical. The skin was scaled, cracked and oozing a thin, odorous pus. A crust had formed at the edges of the mouth.
He was not alone.
Ardoch stiffened at the sight of the cowled figure which sat beside the cot, hands resting on the patient's arm, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he enhanced the hypnotic trance into which he had thrown the sick man.
'You are standing on a meadow bright with little flowers with a brook running along one end and trees giving shade at the other. There are friends with you, a girl whom you love and who loves you in return. Soon you are to be married but now you are young and filled with the joy of life. The sun is warm and together you will swim in the clear water. You can feel it now. You are touching it and your friends are laughing and your girl is smiling and you are content. From the trees come…'
The monk paid no attention as the cyber halted at his side, concentrating on the hypnotic suggestions he was implanting in the mind of the dying man so that, at least, he would know a brief if final happiness.
As Wuhu came to join him Ardoch said, 'Does this man have permission to do what he is doing?'
'Brother Venn is known to the hospital. He comes and goes as he pleases.'
'That is not what I asked.'
'Yes, he has permission to tend the patients. When we have done all that we can do then he seems able to give added comfort. It costs nothing.'
'I understand the patient was comatose.'
'He was, brother.' Verin rose to his feet to stand beside the cyber, his brown robe in sharp contrast to the scarlet, the homespun to the shimmering weave. 'But there are ways to bring comfort even to a mind locked in on itself.'
'You have used drugs?'
The monk shrugged aside the accusation. 'I have used nothing but touch and words, brother. They are all that is needed for anyone wise in their application. Words and-' he let irony edge his tone '-a little understanding. Men are not machines no matter what those who would find it convenient for them to be may claim.'
Watching them Wuhu sensed the mutual antagonism which wreathed them like an invisible cloud. Masked yet it was there as they faced each other. Like natural enemies, a cat and dog perhaps, or the opposing articles of differing faiths. The monk who believed in love and tolerance and the cyber who believed in nothing but the cold logic of emotionless reason which had no room for sentiment and no place for mercy. The Church and the Cyclan face to face over the dying.
If it came to a war between them who would win?
An academic question as the young doctor was quick to realize. Those who had dedicated their lives to the doctrine of peace would never seek to kill and those who followed reason would never yield to the final stupidity. Between them would be no bloody battles or corrosive wars in which planets would burn and men wither like flies in winter. And yet, even so, always between them there would be conflict.
But, if by some incredible twist of fate actual war should rise between them, Wuhu would back the Cyclan. They were not afraid to exterminate.
And yet who could assess the stubborn resolve of a crusade?
He shook his head, aware that such speculation had no place here at this time, if ever, and the moment of strain passed as Ardoch turned toward him.
'Where are the screens?'
They arrived as the monk, after a final glance at the dying man, moved quietly down the ward to where another patient was in need of his ministration. He and all the occupants of the neatly set rows of beds, vanished from sight as attendants set the screens into place and turned the area around the bed into an oasis of privacy.
'The drugs.' Ardoch gestured at the physician. 'This man is in a deep, hypnotic trance. I want him brought out of it and his mind placed in a state of conscious awareness. It would be as well if you recognized the urgency of the situation.'
In other words kill him if it was necessary but wake him long enough to listen and answer. Wuhu was aware of the implication but, a physician of Fralde, he had no compunction at cutting short a life which was already lost. And it would be an act of mercy to shorten the dying man's anguish.
As he stepped forward to lift the charged hypogun and rest it against the flaccid throat of the patient the cyber caught his arm.
'A moment. I wish to check the medication.' He twisted a knob and ejected the charge. 'As I suspected. You were about to give far too high a dose of painkiller. Coupled with the rest it would have given him a momentary euphoria. You forget that he is experiencing subjective pleasure. Before he can be of use that must be eradicated. Here.' He handed back the instrument. 'I want him awake, aware and in pain. Commence!'
Silently the doctor obeyed. The hiss of the airblast carrying the drugs into the patient's bloodstream was followed, within seconds, by a groan.
It yielded to a scream.
'God! God the pain! The pain!'
The voice was thick, slobbering, the words almost lost in the liquid gurgle of phlegm, the dissolving tissue of decaying lungs. On the cover the hands clenched, fingers digging into the fabric, pus thick at cracked joints.
'The pain!'
'It will be eased if you cooperate.' Ardoch sat on the edge of the bed and leaned towards the contorted face. Reflected light from his robe gave the pasty flesh an unreal flush of artificial health. 'Your name? Your name, man! Your name!'
'Fatshan. Fatshan of the Sleethan. The engineer. We got caught in the Rift. A generator-for God's sake do something about the pain.'
The hypogun hissed as the cyber gestured. Wuhu stepped back, eyes and ears alert, Ningsia, for one, would be grateful for any information he could gain and convey. As if guessing his thoughts Ardoch held out his hand.
'Give me the hypogun and go.'
'Leave my patient?'
'To me, yes. And I shall not remind you again of your instructions.' As the man left the cyber stared at the dying engineer. 'Look at me,' he commanded. 'At the robe I wear. You have seen others like it before I think. On Harald? On board the Sleethan?'
The only pleasure a cyber could experience was the glow of mental achievement and, as the dying man
