Alien Emergencies - James White [152]
“Very well,” Conway said. “Pathologist Murchison will remain with her feet, and too few legs, on Trugdil. Doctor Prilicla, you will keep Charge Nurse Naydrad with you, since it will obviously be of greater assistance in preparing and presenting the casualties for examination and treatment than would the Engineer and Communications Officer. Haslam or Dodds can return with the litter and medical supplies which we will specify later. Questions?”
“No questions, friend Conway,” Prilicla said. “The lander is docking now.”
Murchison and Conway returned their full attention to the casualties. The Captain was examining the hull of the wreck. They could hear him tapping at the outer skin and making the metallic scraping noises characteristic of magnetic sound sensors being moved across the surfaces. The wind kept changing direction so that the casualties in the shadow of the outcropping were sheltered only from the sun and not the wind-driven sand.
From Rhabwar Haslam reported that the area was being affected by a small, local sandstorm which should clear before the lander returned in half an hour. He added reassuringly that nothing was moving in the area except themselves and several patches of ambulating thorn bushes, which would lose a race against a debilitated tortoise.
All but three of the casualties had been moved to the outcropping, and while Conway was bringing them in the pathologist was protecting the others from the wind and sand by loosely wrapping them in transparent plastic sheets after first attaching a small oxygen cylinder to each survivor. The tanks released a metered quantity of gas calculated to satisfy the metabolic requirements of the entity concerned. They had decided that encasing the casualties in makeshift oxygen tents could do no harm since the pure oxygen would assist the weak respiration and aid in the healing of the wounds, but with a completely new life-form one could never be sure of anything. Certainly the treatment showed no sign of returning any of the casualties to consciousness.
“The uniformly deep level of unconsciousness bothers me,” Murchison said as Conway returned carrying, with difficulty, one of the large aliens they had classified as DCOJ. “The level does not bear any relation to the number or severity of the wounds. Could they be in a state of hibernation?”
“The onset was sudden,” Conway said doubtfully. “They were in the process of fleeing their ship, according to the Captain. Hibernation usually occurs in a place of safety, not when the being concerned is in immediate physical danger.”
“I was thinking of an involuntary form of hibernation,” Murchison said, “perhaps induced by their injuries, which enables them to survive until help arrives—What was that?”
That was a loud, metallic screeching noise which came from the wreck. It lasted for a few seconds, then there was a moment’s silence before it was repeated. They could hear heavy breathing in their suit phones so it had to be coming from Fletcher.
“Captain,” Murchison said, “are you all right?”
“No trouble, ma’am,” Fletcher replied at once. “I’ve found a hatch in what appears to be a cargo hold. It is, or was, a simple hermetically sealed door rather than an airlock. When the ship tipped over the door couldn’t open fully because the outer edge dug into the sand, which I’ve now cleared away. The hatch opens freely now but the hinges were warped in the crash, as you probably heard. Two of the occupants were trying to escape, but couldn’t squeeze through the narrow opening. They are one of the large- and one of the medium-size types, both with amputation wounds, neither of them moving. Shall I bring them to you?”
“I’d better look at them first,” Conway said. “Give me a few minutes to finish with this one.”
As they were placing the last casualty inside its makeshift oxygen tent, Murchison said, “Have you found any trace of the criminal, Captain?”
“Other than the wounding