health.
“But in this case,” he went on, “the right treatment would first involve removing Jasam and yourself from your vessel—”
“And leave us without a suit!” Keet broke in. “And, and life support? We’ve already lost our dolls — Jasam’s destroyed, and mine damaged beyond the ability to do sensitive repair work. No!”
They called their robot crew members “dolls,” Prilicla thought, and the accompanying emotional radiation was indicative of the feelings held for a friend and helper as well as for a pet or plaything. Curious — but satisfying that curiosity would have to wait until the more urgent problem of removing them from their ship-sized protective suit was settled.
“On Trolann,” he went on, projecting reassurance with every ounce of empathicenergy in his mind, “there must be doctors, healers, beings who cure or repair organic disease or damage. To perform this work effectively there must be easy access to the site of the trouble, so am I correct in thinking that they prefer the sick or injured patient to be unclothed?”
“Yes,” said Keet. “But that is on Trolann. Out here…”
“Out here,” said Prilicla gently, “you would be much safer. Rhabwar, the ship that you see nearby, was expressly designed for and contains all the equipment necessary to do such work, and it has done it many times. But the equipment is both bulky and highly sensitive. If it was to be moved to your vessel, a difficult job in itself, there would be a serious risk of the ship’s protective devices disabling its computer-operated circuitry, as it does with the druul machines. There isn’t much time left. Your life-support consumables, Jasam’s especially, have leaked away and are close to exhaustion.
“If both of you are to survive,” he ended, “You must agree and I must act, quickly.”
There was a moment’s silence while Keet radiated growing uncertainty, then it said, “Both of us? I, I thought one of us would stay in our searchsuit until the organic and mechanical repairs were done, then Jasam would be reinserted and… There is very little organic damage to myself.”
“I know,” said Prilicla. “But I will need your help and advice for the extraction process. You will be conscious and aware and will be able to tell us exactly what we have to do at every stage, and we will be able to use the experience more easily to detach your more seriously injured life-mate. We have already analyzed and reproduced your food, air, and working fluid, the last two of which are very similar to our own. My present plan is to put both of you into a covered litter that contains all your life-support requirements, and where you will be able to give close, emotional support to Jasam during the transfer to our ship and the organic-repair work afterwards.”
There was another silence, then Keet said, “Detaching Jasam is a difficult and specialized job that is done only in case of an onboard emergency by a doll. Jasam’s doll was killed in the first explosion and mine was damaged in the second. The control circuitry serving the forward cluster of fine, peripheral digits, the ones needed for a complete body extraction, was burned out. My doll is incapable of the delicate work that would be required. It is certain that we will both die.”
“That is not certain,” said Prilicla, “and is not even likely. Controlled by our own sensitive digits will be even finer and more delicate mechanisms that are capable of doing the work. We are widely experienced in the extraction of damaged organic casualties from the wreckage of starships, and friend Fletcher will make a very good doll.”
The captain made a noise that did not translate.
CHAPTER 21
When Lieutenant Dodds and the covered litter arrived it was met by Keet’s doll and quickly escorted forward to Prilicla and Fletcher in the control section. Guided by its mistress and in spite of the impaired movement of its finer digits, the doll was able to help and occasionally hinder Prilicla and the captain during the long and physically uncomfortable process of detaching and extricating Keet from the mass of control, communications, and life- support plumbing. It was a present and obvious subject of interest to both Fletcher and himself, and in an attempt to keep the Trolanni’s mind off the continuing discomfort they were inflicting as well as its deep concern for Jasam, whose communications line they had been forced to sever temporarily, Prilicla began to question it with gentle persistence about the dolls.
It was an interesting change of subject.
“I don’t know why you find them of such interest,” Keet protested, radiating minor embarrassment. “They are toys, playthings, used mainly by the very young, or some adults who feel the need to remind themselves of the kind of people that we used to be in the past, when we could move freely and swim and climb and play together and touch without being weighed down and smothered by heavy and uncomfortable protective suits. The dolls are lifelike, life-sized, and closely modeled after their owners, and while the children’s are simple both in mind and structure, those of the adults are highly sophisticated, and are capable of a wide range of supportive functions and recreational activities which their owners can enjoy vicariously and which in many cases answers a psychological need.
“Jasam and I,” Keet went on, “were to be enclosed permanently in a searchsuit where, for operational reasons, we would be close but unable to make physical contact for the rest of our lives. The project psychologists decided that a crew of two specialized dolls — in design and function the most versatile and intelligent to be built — would operate and maintain our search-suit and, it was thought, the fact that they were exact copies of ourselves would help reduce our feelings of loss and loneliness and so maintain our sanity.”
Prilicla reached into the restricted space the captain and the robot had cleared for him in the dense mass of plumbing, and put a tiny clamp on the fine tube that carried the liquefied food from the nearly empty reservoir through Keet’s abdominal wall. It was a little like brain surgery, he thought, involving as it did the manipulation of delicate organs in a very confined space. He concentrated on the work for several minutes until he was satisfied with it, then withdrew before speaking.
“Did they?” he said.
“They did,” it ended, “until we found this fresh, lovely, and untouched world and our position beacons blew up, and your rescue ship blundered onto the scene.” It paused, then added, “I don’t think you, or your druul-like helper, are blundering now.”
“Thank you,” said Prilicla, knowing that Keet’s feelings were backing up its words. “But now we have to transfer you to the litter and attend to some superficial wounding caused by the extraction. The treatment will be quick and simple, a few sutures and the application of a healing ointment suited to your metabolism. You won’t have an adverse reaction to it because it is identical to one of the medications carried in your doll’s medical kit which, you will remember, we analyzed and reproduced earlier. Ready everyone?”
It was like moving a limp, half-cooked pancake through a three-dimensional maze of barbed wire, the captain said on their private frequency. Prilicla had no idea what a pancake was, his only Earth-human food weakness being spaghetti, and had to take the other’s word for it. But finally they had Keet out of its control cocoon, its wounds treated, and resting comfortably in the litter.
“What now?” it said.
“Now,” Prilicla replied, “we seal the litter and move it into Jasam’s section, reconnect the communications line so you’ll be able to tell it what has been happening while friend Fletcher and I do the same for our own people who must make preparations to receive two new casualties. After that… My apologies, I need to sleep again.”
While they were moving the litter to the other section of the control center, Prilicla quickly explained the situation to Pathologist Murchison while transmitting visuals of the scene that were being relayed to the surface by Rhabwar. The ground facility was more spacious than the ambulance ship’s casualty deck, and all of his medical staff as well as the Terragar survivors were there. Keet and Jasam were talking together and the captain was about to begin his situation report, both of which were being recorded in case he needed to refer to them later, when he suddenly lost touch with reality.
Captain Fletcher looked at the sleeping Prilicla, lowered his voice, and, using a frequency that the two aliens could overhear, spoke briskly.
“Courier Vessel One,” he said. “We can now report that the distressed alien ship is non-hostile and that the damage inflicted on Terragar was due to a combination of ignorance and a close-range defense system of high
