Final Diagnosis

CHAPTER 19

Prilicla broke the long silence that followed by saying, “Friend Hewlitt, we would like to begin retracing your path from the position of the old hole in the garden enclosure where you escaped to the tree from which you fell. If you are ready, please lead the way.

On the other side of the garden fence he began half walking, half wading through the long, thick growth that looked like Earth grass unless one looked at it more closely, ignoring the insects that were too small for the differences to show, and staring up at the hot, blue sky with its scattered cloud shapes that were too irregular and normal to look alien. Stillman kept pace with him but did not speak, and the others were lagging too far behind for him to hear what they were saying. They were probably talking about him, he thought angrily, and discussing the clinical and psychological implications of his latest flight of fancy.

“I wasn’t sure at first, Dr. Stillman,” he said, trying to start a conversation that might change his mental subject, “but I recognized you, too. You seemed to be much taller then, but I suppose all adults are giants to a four-year-old. Apart from that you haven’t changed much.”

“I didn’t recognize you at all,” said Stillman. He smiled and patted his ample waistline. “You have grown up while I grew out.”

“It was lucky finding you still here,” Hewlitt went on. “I thought the Monitor Corps moved its people all over the galaxy.”

“I am very lucky to be here,” said Stillman.

They walked in silence for at least thirty paces, and he was beginning to wonder if his words had somehow given offense when the other went on, “On this Etla we have an ongoing culturalcontact situation that is, well, delicate, because in so many ways the natives are not alien. When dealing with an intelligent species that is completely alien, if a misunderstanding occurs, allowances are made on both sides. Here we are trying both to understand and gradually reeducate a culture that took a wrong turning. Or rather, they were misinformed and misguided by their emperor into mass xenophobia and defending themselves offensively against a no flexistent threat. We had to gain their trust and show them-we are still showing them-that other-species intelligent life-forms are like themselves, not necessarily bad or good, just different.

“Even in your time we had a few other-species personnel attached to the base,” Stillman went on. “The idea was to dilute the Etlan xenophobia by showing aliens working beside us in harmony, and occasionally we would send them out with a covert guard on very carefully arranged visits to public places. They would be spectators at important sporting events, or go on sightseeing trips where the sightseeing was two-way or, most important, to meet and talk to children in schools. Now the base personnel and specialist civilian support comprises three Etlans for every one Earth-human or other-species being, so the cultural-contact program is progressing well.

“But the problem is complicated by the fact that, even though they are nice, friendly people, they are very proud. Even I forget sometimes how different they are; mistakes can still be made. That, as well as its natural lack of charm, is the reason Shech-Rar is not pleased to have a wildly assorted bunch of extraterrestrials conducting an unspecified investigation and blundering around in ignorance of the situation.

“Nothing personal,” he added, “but you have just received a condensed and edited version of my lecture to newly arrived Corps personnel.”

Hewlitt did not think it was his place to reply. He could hear the others moving closer, but apparently they were more interested in listening to the two in front than talking. The silence continued until Stillman gave a small, awkward laugh and spoke again.

“If an officer is able and dedicated and successful in gaining the natives’ trust,” he said, “his superiors like him to remain for as long as possible so as to give continuity to the process. Apparently I displayed unusual aptitude by insisting on marrying an Etlan and staying here after my service retirement date. She is the reason why I told you I was lucky to be here.”

“I understand,” said Hewlitt.

The other seemed to sense his embarrassment. He said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going maudlin in my old age. We met during my second year here. She was what they call a Mother Teacher of the Young, one of the people who instruct four- to seven-year-olds, and the first Etlan to agree to introduce a Tralthan teacher equivalent and share her class with it. She had already accepted the idea that the best time to instruct children was before they had a chance to acquire their parents’ prejudices. She was a widow. There were an awful lot of widows and orphaned children about at the time. We could have none of our own, naturally, but we adopted four before we became too old to…

“Doctor,” said Murchison, lengthening her stride until she drew level with them. “I know that the species difference is a bar to procreation, but it might answer a few puzzling clinical questions, or maybe puzzle us even more, if you knew of an exception to that rule. Do you? And if so, is it possible that one of Hewlitt’s parents was an Etlan. Or that he was an Etlan fosterling?”

Stillman shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. I knew his parents very well before he was born, and I was present when he arrived.”

“It was a pretty wild idea, anyway,” said Murchison, holding up her hand and clenching it into a fist. “You are looking at a hand clutching at hypothetical straws.

Hewlitt remained silent. He was aware of a strange feeling of temporal double vision. The grass was waist-high as it had been to the four-year-old Hewlitt, the trees and bushes had grown taller and thicker, but so had he, and the smell of sun-warmed vegetation and the droning and ticking sounds of insects were exactly the same. Only the distances between the landmarks had shrunk with age.

“I remember this very well,” he said, and raised his hand to point. “The first bush I played around is there.”

“Can you remember eating anything here?” said Murchison. “A wild berry, perhaps, or did you pull a blade of grass and chew on it? I’m thinking in terms of a possible antidote to the toxic material ingested later.”

“No,” said Hewlitt, and pointed again. “That ruined house was next. But I’m surprised it wasn’t pulled down or rebuilt by now. The whole area is still a wilderness.”

“That is deliberate,” said Stillman. He looked all around him before going on. “This was the place where the battle which finally overthrew their imperial representative was fought, and the area where all the off-wonders are housed. It is intended both as a reminder of the bad old days and the promise of the new. So far it seems to have worked. On public holidays this is a nice, quiet place to picnic, except when the Etlan children find some off-world kids to play with, when the noise can be horrendous.”

The house was little more than a shell with its roof open to the sky and weeds growing in the debris covering the floor. There were scorch marks on one wall, but after the passage of so many years the burnt smell was probably due to memory rather than lingering smoke. A different generation of small animals and insects scampered or crawled through the weeds, and Murchison asked if he remembered being bitten or stung by any of them. He shook his head, but she asked Naydrad to help her gather and trap a few random specimens for later analysis.

“Next,” he said, pointing, “I went to that burned-out fighting vehicle, over there.”

This time it was Fletcher rather than Hewlitt who was doing the exploring. They heard him crawling through the dark interior, muttering not quite under his breath that it was a tighter squeeze for a man than a child, until his head and shoulders reappeared through the entry hatch.

“It is a medium-level-technology mobile gun platform,” he reported, “with control positions for a crew of three. The larger weapon is designed to fire exploding shells; the smaller used beltfed solid projectiles. The ammunition, fuel, and most of the circuit boards have been withdrawn. There is nothing left but a few items of equipment not worth salvaging and a lot of insects. Do you want specimens?”

“Yes, please,” said Murchison. “Different, if possible, to those from the house.”

“To me,” said Fletcher in a disgruntled voice, “one squishy insect looks much like another.”

“If you need information on local insects, ma’am,” said Stillman, that is one of my wife’s subjects. She would be pleased to help. What kind of information are you looking for exactly?”

“We don’t know exactly, Doctor,” Murchison replied. “It is possible that the younger Hewlitt was having too much fun at the time to remember being stung or bitten, and that could have a bearing on what happened to him later.”

“I understand,” said Stillman, “I think.”

They followed him to the vehicle that lay on its side with its stripped tread lying like a metal carpet beside it, and to the other vehicles he had played in, on, and around. The others had stopped speaking, because Hewlitt was talking and remembering every detail as he walked. Finally they came to the tall tree with the twisted branches and green-and-yellow, pear-shaped fruit that overhung the steep slopes of his ravine.

“Those branches only look strong,” said Stillman as Fletcher was about to start climbing. “They won’t bear the weight of an adult.”

“That is not a problem, friend Stillman,” said Pnilicla. The slow beating of its wings increased in frequency and it rose like a stately, iridescent dragonfly to hover above the fruit-bearing branches of the treetop.

“Please be careful, Doctor,” Stillrnan called after it, in a worried voice. “The skin is thin at this time of year and the juice is deadly stuff.”

The Major did not speak again, although it was obvious that he wanted to interrupt several times while Hewlitt was describing how he had picked and eaten the fruit, fallen, and wakened at the bottom of the ravine with the younger Stillman bending over him. While they were climbing down the steep slope to the bottom, he kept his lips pressed so tightly together that they might have been held closed with sutures.

“I feel you wanting to say something, friend Stillman,” said Pnilicla. “What is it?”

The monitor officer looked around the rock- and wreckagestrewn floor of the ravine, then up at the fruit-bearing treetop. Unlike the first time Hewlitt had seen it, the sun was bright and high and showed just how dangerous the place was and how very lucky he had been to survive the fall without serious injury.

Stillman cleared his throat and said, “On Etla that tree belongs to a rare and, in spite of its lethal fruit, protected species. This one is very old and slow-growing and at most is only a few meters taller than when the young Hewlitt fell from it, and this is a deep and dangerous ravine. If he had climbed to the topmost branches, eaten even a single mouthful of that fruit, and then fallen down here, he would have been dead. Twice.

“I have no wish to offend you,” he went on, looking straight at Hewlitt. “My explanation at the time was that you had been overtined, hungry, and thirsty after playing for many hours in the sun. The sight of the fruit at the top made you try to climb the tree, but gave up the attempt and slid down the slope rather than falling to the bottom. The condition of your clothing at the time, plus the fact that there was not a single scratch or a bruise on you, supports this theory. After trying to climb the tree and seeing what you thought was a cluster of edible fruit at the top, you fell asleep so that your memory of the event was a mixture of dreams and reality.

“Sorry,” he ended. “You may not be aware of lying, but neither can you be telling the truth.”

For several minutes the medical team maintained a diplomatic silence while busying themselves with the collection of plant and insect specimens at Murchison’s direction. Hewlitt was well used to the polite disbelief of others, and Stillman was just another doctor who had decided that an overactive imagination was all that ailed him, so his feelings were of irritation and disappointment rather than anger. That was why he was surprised when Pnilicla’s flying showed signs of instability-he knew that it was not his own emotional radiation that was the cause-and less surprised when the empath answered the question before anyone could ask it.

“Friend Fletcher,” it said. “You are radiating high levels of curiosity and excitement. Why?”

The captain was kneeling beside a thick, torpedo-shaped object that was almost hidden by undergrowth and soil washed down from the slopes by rain. Fletcher opened his equipment pack and withdrew what looked like a high-penetration scanner.

“There is evidence of foreign technology here,” he said. “This object is structurally more sophisticated than the other wreckage hereabouts. I’ll be able to tell you more after I’ve had a closer look at the interior.”

“It might not be important,” said Stillman, “but Hewlitt was found sleeping beside that thing. At the time I was too interested in his condition to bother looking at another piece of wreckage.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Murchison, moving quickly to join Fletcher. “Danalta, Naydrad, until we know what this means, forget about the bug and plant specimens.”

Still trembling from the emotional radiation of the others as well as its own excitement, Pnilicla alighted on the ground beside them. “Ml recorders are on, friend Fletcher,” it said. “When you are ready.”

The captain’s words and actions were precise and unhurried as he described aloud what he saw, thought, and did at every stage of his examination, so much so that Hewlitt wondered if the other was talking for posterity in case the thing blew up in his face. Pnilida, with whom cowardice was a prime survival characteristic, and everyone else were standing or hovering as close to Fletcher as possible without getting in his way and seemed not to be worried. Hewlitt moved closer to join them.

According to Fletcher, the object was just a hollow cylinder under three meters long and half a meter in diameter, with two sets of four triangular stabilizers projecting from the midsection and tail. The outer surface of the casing was pitted and discolored and showed evidence of surface melting that suggested it had been subjected to a brief period of ultra-high temperature. There was also a trace of radioactivity, very faint and harmless, indicating that it might have been briefly exposed to an external source of intense radiation as well as heat. Propulsion was by a single, integral chemical booster that occupied three-quarters of the volume. From the analysis of the burnt residue and a rough estimate of the vehicle’s weight, he judged the range to be about sixty to seventy miles.

There were two small, recessed compartments with opened, hinged flaps spaced about one meter apart along the longitudinal axis, equidistant from the vehicle’s center of gravity. The remains of four rotted strands of cable sprouted from the openings, suggesting that the vehicle was intended to be soft-landed in the horizontal position by twin parachutes. There was no sign of the parachute fabric because, Fletcher said, it was either biodegradable or it had been torn off by branches on the way down.

“The first ten inches of the nose section hinges downward,” Fletcher went on. “It probably fell open on landing and was later covered by soil and grass. Apart from the latch mechanism it seems to be filled with dense padding that has not rotted. The forward quarter of the vehicle, where normally I would expect to find the warhead, is filled with the same padding except for a cylindrical space five inches in diameter running along the longitudinal axis for a distance of three-quarters of a meter. Inside the hollow there is a five-inch circle of plastic, thickly padded on the forward face and with the other side attached to a short bar and… and what looks like a piston mechanism designed to expel a cylindrical container of some kind from the hollow interior. But, owing possibly to a malfunction or a rough landing, the piston traveled only halfway along its track so that the container was not completely expelled and, an unknown time later, it was shattered.”

The gloves he was wearing were like a tough, transparent second skin, combining sensitivity of touch with maximum protection. Fletcher kept his eyes on the scanner display as he moved his free hand into the opening.

“As well as about a million insects nesting in the padding,” he continued, “there are small pieces of glasslike material inside and, yes, I can see more of them partially buried in the grass and soil around the hinged nose cone. They appear to be highly polished on one side and covered with a dark brown, matte coating on the other. I expect you will want specimens?”

Murchison dropped onto her hands and knees beside him and said, “Yes!”

Hewlitt could not remember ever hearing a word spoken with such vehemence and suppressed excitement. Fletcher gave her one of the fragments, which she placed in the portable analyzer hanging from her equipment harness. Everyone waited for her to speak.

“Our analyzers agree,” she said to Fletcher. “It is a thin, brittle, very strong glasslike plastic. The degree of curvature indicates that it is a fragment of a cylindrical flask. Apart from a few small traces of insect excrement, the outer surface is clean and highly polished. The opaque coating on the inner surface appears to be a synthetic nutrient, probably in solution, that has since dried out. I will need more specimens and a lengthy session with the ship’s analyzer to tell you the form of life it was meant to feed. Ml I can say now is that the vehicle contained an organism or organisms that needed to be kept alive.”

Fletcher was about to hand her another one of the fragments when he stopped to look at Stillman.

“Doctor,” he said, “did the Etlans ever use chemical or biological weapons?”