Conway moistened his lips. Up to now he had not thought much about this moment — he had thought that it would be easy to do this because the young SRTT had been such a menace to the hospital in general and caused so much trouble in his own section in particular. But now he was beginning to feel sorry for it. It was, after all, only a kid who had been sent out of control by a combination of grief, ignorance and panic. If this thing did not turn out right …
He shook off the feelings of doubt and inadequacy and said harshly, “You see that beastie in the middle of the room. I want it scared to death.”
He had to elaborate, of course, but the Monitors got the idea very quickly and began using the equipment which had been sent them with great fervor and enthusiasm. Watching grimly, Conway identified items from Air Supply, Communications and the various diet kitchens, all being used for a purpose for which they had never been designed. There were things which emitted shrill whistles, siren howls of tremendous volumes and others which consisted simply of banging two metal trays together. To this fearful racket was added the whoops of the men wielding those noisemakers.
And there was no doubt that the SRTT was scared — Prilicla reported its emotional reactions constantly. But it was not scared enough.
“Quiet!” yelled Conway suddenly. “Start using the silent stuff!”
The preceding din had only been a primer. Now would come the really vicious stuff — but silent, because any noise made by the SRTT had to be heard.
Flares burst around the shaking figure in the middle of the floor, blindingly incandescent but of negligible heat. Simultaneously tractor and pressor beams pushed and pulled at it, sliding it back and forth across the floor, occasionally tossing it into mid-air or flattening it against the ceiling. The beams worked on the same principle as the gravity neutralizer belts, but were capable of much finer control and focus. Other beam operators began flinging lighted flares at the suspended, wildly struggling figure, only yanking them back or turning them aside at the last possible moment.
The SRTT was really frightened now, so frightened that even non empaths could feel it. The shapes it was taking were going to give Conway nightmares for many weeks to come.
Conway lifted a hand mike to his lips and flicked the switch. “Any reaction up there yet?”
“Nothing yet,” O’Mara’s voice boomed from the speakers which had been set up around the room. “Whatever you’re doing at the moment you’ll have to step it up.”
“But the being is in a condition of extreme distress …” began Priicla.
Conway rounded on his assistant. “If you can’t take it, leave!” he snapped.
“Steady, Conway,” O’Mara’s voice came sharply. “I know how you must feel, but remember that the end result will cancel all this out …
“But if it doesn’t work.” Conway protested, then: “Oh never mind.” To Prilicla he said, “I’m sorry.” To the officer beside him he asked, “Can you think of any way of putting on more pressure?”
“I’d hate anything like that being done to me,” said the Monitor tightly, “but I would suggest adding spin. Some species are utterly demoralized by spin when they can take practically anything else …
Spin was added to the pummeling which the SRTT was already undergoing with the pressors-not a simple spin, but a wild, rolling, pitching movement which made Conway’s stomach feel queasy just by looking at it, and the flares dived and swooped around it like insane moons around their primary. Quite a few of the men had lost their first enthusiasm, and Prilicla swayed and shook on its six pipe-stem legs, in the grip of an emotional gale which threatened to blow it away.
It had been wrong to bring Prilicla in on this, Conway told himself angrily; no empath should have to go through this sort of hell by proxy. He had made a mistake from the very first, because the whole idea was cruel and sadistic and wrong. He was worse than a monster.
High in the center of the room the twisting, spinning blur that was the younger SRTT began to emit a high- pitched and terrified gobbling noise.
A crashing bedlam erupted from the wall speakers; shouts, cries, breaking noises and the sounds of running feet over-laying that of something slower and infinitely heavier. They could hear O’Mara’s voice shouting out some sort of explanation to somebody at the top of his lungs, then an unidentified voice yelled at them, “For Pete’s sake stop it down there! Buster’s papa has woke up and is wrecking the joint …
Quickly but gently they checked the spinning SRTT and lowered it to the floor, then they waited tensely while the shouting and crashing being relayed to them from Observation Ward Three reached a crescendo and began gradually to die down. Around the room men stood motionless watching each other, or the whimpering being on the floor, or the wall speakers, waiting. And then it came.
The sound was similar to the alien gobbling which had been relayed through the annunciators some hours previously, but without the accompanying roar of static, and because everyone had their Translators switched on the words also came through as English.
It was the elder SRTT, incurable no longer because it was physically whole again, speaking both reassuringly and chidingly to its erring offspring. In effect it was saying that junior had been a bad boy, that he must cease forthwith running around and getting himself and everyone else into a state, and that nothing else unpleasant would happen to him if he did as he was told by the beings now surrounding him. The sooner it did these things, the elder SRTT ended, the sooner they could both go home.
Mentally, the runaway had taken a terrible beating, Conway knew. Maybe it had taken too much. Tense with anxiety he watched it — still in a shape that was neither fish, flesh or fowl — begin humping its way across the floor. When it began gently and submissively to butt one of the watching Monitors in the knees, the cheer that went up very nearly gave it a relapse.
“When Prilicla here gave me the clue to what was troubling the elder SRTT, I was sure that the cure would have to be drastic,” Conway said to the Diagnosticians and Senior Physicians ranged around and behind O’Mara’s desk.
The fact that he was seated in such august company was a sure sign of the approval in which he was held, but despite that he still felt nervous as he went on. “Its regression toward the — to it — fetal state — complete dissolution into individual and unthinking cells floating in the primeval ocean — was far advanced, perhaps too far judging by its physical state. Major O’Mara had already tried various shock treatments which it, with its fantastically adaptable cell structure, was able to negate or ignore. My idea was to use the close physical and emotional bond which I discovered existed between the SRTT adult and its last-born offspring, and get at it that way.”
Conway paused, his eyes drifting sideways briefly to take in the shambles around them. Observation Ward Three looked as though a bomb had hit it, and Conway knew that there had been a rather hectic few minutes here between the time the elder SRTT had come out of its catatonic state and explanations had been given it. He cleared his throat and went on:
“So we trapped the young one in the DBLF recreation room and tried to frighten it as much as possible, piping the sounds it made up here to the parent. It worked. The elder SRTT could not lie doing nothing while its latest and most loved offspring was apparently in frightful danger, and parental concern and affection overcame and destroyed the psychosis and forced it back to present time and reality. It was able to pacify the young one, and so all concerned were left happy.”
“A nice piece of deductive reasoning on your part, Doctor,” O’Mara said warmly. “You are to be commended.”
At that moment the intercom interrupted him. It was Murchison reporting that the three AUGLs were showing the first signs of stiffening up, and would he come at once. Conway requested an AUGL tape for Prilicla and himself, and explained the urgency of the matter. While they were taking them the Diagnosticians and Senior Physicians began to leave. A little disappointedly Conway thought that Murchison’s call had spoiled what might have been his greatest moment.
“Don’t worry about it, Doctor,” O’Mara said cheerfully, reading his mind again. “If that call had come five minutes later your head would have been too swollen to take a physiology tape …
