Dirge

  Her ignorance was soon to be rectified, however.

  Having just listened to as concise a briefing as the relevant department had been able to prepare with virtually no notice at all, vaan Leuderwolk filled her in on what was known about the Unop-Patha as it had been related to him. Occasionally she would nod her understanding or interrupt to ask a precise, terse question. By the time they reached B hold she felt she knew as much about these Unop-Patha as did the captain of the Ronin.

  They were waiting for her: half a dozen child-sized aliens with round, almost tubby bodies, big eyes, and no visible ears. What she could see of their bodies was covered with a thick, coarse, green-brown hair. They wore miniature space suits and had removed their headgear. Small black noses with four openings peeped out from near the top of the skull, just barely visible within the dense fur.

  Lahtehoja and her small entourage halted before them. A specialist eighth-class wearing the insignia of communications walked over, saluted, and accepted the commander's admonition to stand easy with obvious relief.

  Lahtehoja glanced automatically at the man's ident. "What do we have here, Mr. Waitangi?"

  The specialist was prepared. "Their vessel hailed ours, Commander, and requested permission to come alongside. They claimed to have found and picked up a lone human from a marooned ship drifting in low synchronous orbit on the far side of the nearer moon." As he spoke the specialist frequently glanced down at the oversized reader he held, the rapid but controlled movement of his eyes automatically scrolling the information it displayed. "We had to run the transmission three times to make sure we had it straight." He smiled tolerantly at the waiting, curious aliens. "Their communications technology is pretty primitive."

  "Apparently it was good enough to find this person when neither we nor any of our predecessors in this system could."

  The specialist's smile vanished instantly. "Naturally, they want to transfer him, but they say that they can't."

  Lahtehoja's neatly highlighted brows drew together, and her voice fell slightly. "Why not?"

  The young man hurried his response. "They say that when they try, he - we've determined from their description that the individual in question is male - he resists. Sometimes violently."

  The commander nodded knowingly. "And they're afraid he'll hurt one of them or do some damage to their ship. I can understand that, noting the disparity in our respective sizes."

  "Excuse me, Commander, but that's not the reason." The specialist assumed an apologetic air. "They say that they have him safely isolated on their ship, but they're afraid he'll hurt himself."

  "Hmm." Lahtehoja eyed the inquisitive, clearly awed visitors with new respect. "So we don't know much about these Unop-Patha, but we see that they understand compassion. I'll accept that as a basis for working with any alien species. Ask them if they will permit some of our medical personnel to go aboard their ship and remove this person they have so obligingly rescued."

  With a nod, the specialist turned to face the visitors. As he spoke through the translator that hung from around his neck he crouched to bring his face more in line with those of the aliens he was addressing - and also to assume a less intimidating aspect.

  It took a few moments, what with the specialist's need to adjust the translator each time human or alien spoke. Unlike

  High Thranx, for example, or Pitar, no one on board the warship spoke Unathian. There was no need for it.

  Eventually the specialist rose. The look of satisfaction on his face preceded his announcement. "They say that they have no objection, but suggest that anyone we wish to send to visit their vessel be chosen as much for physical dimensions as for pertinent skills."

  "Thoughtful of them." The commander turned her head in vaan Leuderwolk's direction. "Find me some short doctors and nurses and have them assembled here. Let's see what these people have found." In a less authoritative tone she added, "What the devil is one lone individual doing stuck out here, of all places, and where the hell did he come from?"

  "I'm as curious to know as you are, Ludmilla." The captain watched as the petite aliens began redonning their rudimentary suit helmets. "Who wouldn't be?"

  It took several hours for the hastily assembled medical team to be transported to the Unathian vessel and to return. They made the transfer in a couple of the Ronin's accessory craft - not because Lahtehoja and vaan Leuderwolk did not trust the patently inoffensive Unop-Patha, but because the transportation the aliens courteously offered to provide would have been too cramped even for the purposely diminutive group of physicians and assistants.

  Lahtehoja was back on the bridge attending to the normal workday duties of a task-group commander when she was notified that the medical team had returned. Leaving the Ronin under designated cluster command, she and vaan Leuderwolk took an express lift to the infirmary. Lieutenant Colonel Holomusa, chief of medical staff, was waiting for them in the reception area. Cursed with the face and frame of a caricatured undertaker, he resorted to scanning makeup to enliven his otherwise doleful appearance. For all that, he was an upbeat and merry fellow, exactly the sort a patient confined in an infirmary would want to see coming toward them.

  He was not smiling now, however. Lahtehoja did not like to see confusion and uncertainty spread like a mask across the faces of those under her command. She especially did not like to see it dominating the usually cheerful countenance of a ranking physician.

  "I can see the prognosis in your face." She sighed. "Educate me."

  Holomusa glanced down at his reader. "Anglo-Oceanic male, height one hundred and seventy-two centimeters, weight fifty-one kilos." Noting her questioning look he added, "The reduced body weight doesn't appear to fit naturally on his frame. He has the underlying musculature of a much stockier man. One doesn't have to be a physician to be able to tell just by looking at him that his health has suffered - psychologically as well as physiologically. In other words, he's had to deal with shock to his nervous system as well as an insufficiency of food. Naturally, each magnifies the deleterious effects of the other." The chief medical officer swallowed. "After examining him, I'd say it's a wonder he's not in worse shape. Given his condition, it's something of a surprise that he's even alive."

  Vaan Leuderwolk spoke up. "To what do you attribute his survival, Ben?"

  The physician made a noncommittal gesture with his reader. "Better to ask him that. It certainly wasn't a sound and satisfying diet. He's suffering from an impressive catalogue of nutritional deficiencies." He nodded in the direction of the recovery chamber. "Not vitamins, though. Pills can help, but they're no substitute for solid food."

  Lahtehoja turned toward the silent, shuttered chamber where their mysterious visitant lay. "You're feeding him now?"

  "In a manner of speaking." Holomusa chuckled softly. "He's receiving a steady flow of osmotic fluids."

  Vaan Leuderwolk nodded knowingly. "When will he be able to sit up and take solid food?"

  "Yes, and how soon can we talk to him?" Lahtehoja had to restrain herself from carrying the conversation into the recovery room. Commander of the visiting force she might be, but within the confines of the infirmary it was Holomusa who was in charge.

  "I don't know," the chief medical officer replied candidly.

  The commander ground her teeth - a bad habit she had never quite been able to break. "That's not the kind of answer I expect from my staff. I don't deal in incertitude."

  "You think I like to?" Among the complement of the Ronin, the chief physician was one of the few the commander could not intimidate. "Nonspecific as it is, that's my prognosis. The man's comatose. I'm not going to try and force him out of it. Push his condition and we could lose him permanently."

  As always, Lahtehoja was ready with a sharp retort. Instead of delivering it to the unblinking physician, she sighed again and raised her gaze ceilingward. "All right, Ben. It's your call. What happened when you went aboard the Unathian ship?"

  "They took us to the room where they were holding him."
Holomusa's tone was even, professional, but vaan Leuderwolk could tell that the physician had been shaken by the incident. "He was curled up in a corner, not quite fully fetal, but on the way. As soon as I saw the state he was in I ordered everyone else to remain in the corridor and out of his line of sight. I'm not a big man, but the Unop-Patha are a lot smaller, and I had to bend low to fit through the doorway."

  "What did he do when you entered his'space'?" Lahtehoja's voice was flat, unemotional, analyzing.

  "Started whimpering," the physician told her without missing a beat. "I've seen disturbed men and women, people who have suffered a severe mental shock, try to dig their way into the floor or climb through the walls. This is the first time I've seen one try to crawl into himself." Behind the three officers, the commander's orderly stood mesmerized by the doctor's tale.

  "As soon as I saw that there was a very real chance of him hurting himself, I stopped where I was. Trying to make eye contact, I just started talking to him. Anything I could think of, whatever came to mind, so he would hear a familiar, non-threatening, hopefully soothing human voice. My object was to get him to relax, to slow his heart rate, which I supposed might be dangerously high, and to get him to trust me."

  "And did you?" With one ear Lahtehoja was straining to hear sounds from the recovery chamber, but the only audible noise besides that of their own voices were the soft beeps and hums of efficient, indifferent instruments.

  "Long enough to stick him with an osmotic hypo that pumped him full of tranquilizer. I was ready to jump him, to call for help, or to flee back out the doorway depending on his reaction. Funny - all he did was slip quietly into unconsciousness. Never uttered a sound. We squeezed him back through the door, off that claustrophobic Unathian ship and onto one of ours. He's been sleeping soundly until about an hour ago, when he woke up."

  "Woke up?" Vaan Leuderwolk blinked. "I thought you said he was comatose."

  "All right, maybe 'woke up' is an overstatement. He opened his eyes and he's breathing on his own. Other than that, there's nothing there. Severe trauma." He spread his hands helplessly. "Not much I can do here. Sure, we're trained and equipped to deal with a whole range of combat psychoses, but wherever this guy has retreated to, he's gone deep. I could try to pull him out -"

  "Why don't you?" Lahtehoja prompted him.

  "Like I said. Because if I make a mistake, I could drive him down deeper into the pit. Deep enough so that he might never come out. I'm not prepared to take that responsibility."

  "Suppose I change my mind and order you to try?"

  The chief medical officer stiffened slightly. "Then I would respectfully relinquish my post and report to the brig. I assure you that in that event every one of my subordinates will follow me, one by one."

  "Take it easy, Ben," she soothed him. "I had to ask. I have no intention of trying to countermand or supersede a medical decision. Damn! That means we'll have to take him back to Earth for treatment without knowing his history. We'll end up seeing his story on the tridee like everyone else."

  "If he ever recovers enough to tell his story," the cautious physician reminded her.

  "What about physical details?" vaan Leuderwolk prompted the other man. "Identification, clothing, indication of possible origin?"

  "His garments were filthy." Fastidious physician that he was, Holomusa's expression wrinkled at the distasteful memory. "My inclination was to have them burned." At the look of alarm that spread over the faces of the commander and the captain the physician hastened to reassure them. "Ai, don't have a stroke in my presence! Rest assured that everything has been properly preserved for future examination. I can tell you that his garments disclosed nothing spectacular or specific, which was in itself telling. They were clothes such as anyone might wear around the house - or on a ship. Casual and domestic. No uniform. Nothing in his pockets or sealed secretively in the fabric of his clothing.

  "He carried no identification. Nothing. I have been informed that the suit he was wearing when the Unop-Patha found him is a very old model. It was in bad shape, barely pressure-safe. Certainly would never have passed inspection on this ship, or on any private vessel that valued its certificate. It showed evidence of having been repaired, restored, and refitted more times than is legal. I spoke of burning our mystery man's clothing. His space suit should have been burned before he stepped into it."

  "Yet it kept him alive," vaan Leuderwolk pointed out. "On the inner moon."

  "In what circumstances?" Lahtehoja's brain was running hot. "Did the colony have a scientific station there? Some kind of observation post, perhaps for weather watchers?"

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Commander." Vaan Leuderwolk knew what his superior was thinking. His thoughts had rushed down the same path of possibilities - until some basic research had shot them down. "According to every available record on Treetrunk there was not recently and never was any kind of colonial outpost or base of any kind on either of the planet's two moons. They're too small and their orbits are too irregular to make them of much use in that regard, and like most relatively new, rapidly expanding colonies, this one had no resources to spare on scientific frivolities. Their standard- issue communications satellites did the same kind of work more easily and cheaper." He paused briefly.

  "Of course, whatever annihilated the population took the time and care to destroy anything that might have been capable of recording what was taking place at the time. Including all communications and monitoring satellites."

  Lahtehoja grunted. "So we don't even know where this poor bastard is from."

  Holomusa shook his head sadly. "Not based on his appearance, his suit, or his clothes, no. We can't even say if he's from Treetrunk or some passing ship that subsequently vanished. And that's all we have to go on."

  "Not quite," the always calculating commander countered. "There's the vessel the Unop-Patha found him in." Badly as she wanted to speak to the survivor, it could wait. Turning to the Ronin's captain, she issued the order for a change of orbit.

  Starting at opposite ends, two teams of investigators would examine the exterior of the unknown survivor's ship while a third plumbed its interior. Should they encounter anything of significance, it would be removed to the cruiser's labs for more detailed analysis. Following this preliminary survey and investigation the tiny ship itself would be brought aboard the warship, where further studies could continue in a controlled environment during the flight back to Earth.

  Even if the Unop-Patha had not provided details of the vessel's location, it would have been easy to find. The inner moon was not large. But anyone not making a deliberate search of its far side, she reflected, would never have picked up the incredibly feeble remnant of a signal that the diminutive craft was emitting. Identifying it proved surprisingly easy.

  It was a lifeboat. A lifeboat from a KK-drive ship. What it was doing crewed by a single psychotic on the inner moon of Argus V no one could say. It was only when the Ronin was several days out from Treetrunk and deep in space-plus that a team of inspecting engineers brought the news.

  Certain details had led them to one unlikely but inescapable conclusion. The lifeboat had not been launched from a ship. Leastwise, not in recent memory. Instead, it had been used to travel from a planetary surface to the satellite where it had been found. A one-way trip with no possibility of return or of traveling anywhere else. A suicide run - or one of ultimate desperation. Tests of microscopic particles clinging to its interior confirmed the obvious: that Treetrunk had been the origin of the battered vessel's most recent and final flight.

  What was an ancient, oft-repaired, and amateurishly refitted lifeboat doing on a colony world like Treetrunk in the first place? That was a question for which the most detailed examination of the boat failed to supply an answer. The craft's on-board instruments had recorded only flight data, and there was no magic bottle full of answers hidden away in a cabinet or storage locker waiting to be opened. Only its presumed pilot, navigator, crew, and sole survivor could provide an ex
planation.

  And he wasn't talking.

  The government intended to keep the matter as quiet as possible for as long as possible. Revelation that someone might have survived the Treetrunk massacre, much less have been a living witness to its destruction, would have sparked an outcry and concurrent media frenzy unprecedented in the history of interstellar colonization. Under the resultant pressure for information it might have proven well-nigh impossible for the physicians assigned to the case to perform their work properly. It was decided at the highest levels that the comatose survivor's privacy would be protected at all costs, along with that of the specialists who were charged with doing their utmost to try to revive him.

  The hospital was located in a quiet suburb of Kavieng, on the Pacific island of New Ireland. It was as isolated from the mainstream of world culture and tridee attention as it was possible for such a facility to be while remaining close to relevant government centers of operation on Bali and in Brisbane. Originally a center for research into and treatment of tropical diseases, over the years it had been expanded and modified to serve the needs of a wide area, including and beyond the Bismarck Sea. Workers on the regional tuna and lobster farms were among its regular clients.

  Not everyone knew what the unconscious man in room fifty-four had been admitted for, nor the cause of his condition. An unusually large number of visiting doctors came and went from his bedside, prescribing, consulting, and conversing among themselves. Some were rumored to be specialists from as far away as Europe and North America, and several members of the staff recognized one especially famous neurosurgeon who was noted for never leaving his distinguished practice in Gangzhou.