“There is localized surface damage to the brain casing,” the doctor said with the clinical objectivity which seemed to characterize medics, regardless of species. “The effect on the brain itself is uncertain because the Keidi skull is thicker and more complexly structured than that of the patient. There is evidence, however, that the injury has affected the brain function, with intermittent and increasing periods of pain and mental confusion, and partial loss of consciousness which will gradually become total. There is an added, and perhaps more serious, psychological problem which requires immediate attention if the patient’s mental capabilities are to be of use to you.”
The focusing muscles on the First’s speaking horn twitched, but he remained silent as the doctor went on. “You will realize that the patient is not a Keidi, nor does he possess the physical and mental stamina of our species. He is of a more advanced culture, possesses a more sophisticated and delicate sensory network, and is accustomed to a much more comfortable standard of living in which his bodily needs are constantly filled by machines which synthesize his food, fabricate his furniture and clothing, and maintain him in optimum physical health.
“I have also learned,” the doctor continued, “that the patient’s normal environment is on the planetary surface, in an abode that is warm, spacious, well-lit, and surrounded by open air and distant vegetation. His duty obligations involve extended periods of traveling the awful immensities between the stars. Being confined in this small, comfortless, underground room among what he considers to be hostile beings, and with a tiny supply of food which is unlikely to be replaced is, in combination with the continuing discomfort of his injury, threatening to bring about irreversible psychological damage.”
The report, Martin thought, was far more than he could have hoped for. His relief was so intense that it felt like another pain. Beth’s fingers tightened on his shoulder as the First made an untranslatable sound, then spoke.
“I agree, Doctor,” he said. “His misfortunes are many, and the worst among them is that he came to Keida uninvited. Can you suggest a treatment?”
“None that will guarantee a cure,” the doctor replied. “I would not risk a surgical investigation even if he was a Keidi and not the physiological and clinical puzzle that he is, because my specialty is concerned with the other end of the anatomy, and the female anatomy at that. The only treatment I can suggest is pallative; a cold, wet pad might help reduce the local discomfort. Regarding the psychological condition, more positive treatment is possible but a cure is not guaranteed.”
“If you were guaranteeing results, Doctor,” the First said, “I would be concerned about your own psychological condition. Go on, what can be done for him?”
“In my opinion,” the doctor resumed, “the condition will be alleviated by withdrawing the patient, for the longest periods allowable to a prisoner, from the present stressful environment and surrounding him as much as is possible in the present circumstances, with familiar, reassuring objects, and allowing personal contact which is sympathetic rather than that of the hostile Estate people.
“The patient trusts me,” he went on. “If I am not his friend, he senses that at least I am not an enemy. He should be allowed to speak to me and I to reassure him, in privacy, without the presence of hostile listeners. His original clothing should be returned to him, he should be given the opportunity to exercise in the open, under my supervision, naturally, and be allowed to see his ship. He should also be allowed…”
“To escape?” the First finished for him in a sarcastic voice. “You ask too much!”
“I ask nothing,” the doctor said quietly. “It is you who ask how the patient may be rendered more cooperative and mentally coherent, so that your negotiations can proceed. Naturally, I would expect you to post guards, at a distance but close enough to prevent an escape to the ship if, as is doubtful, he is physically and mentally capable of attempting it. But this is an unimportant detail. The important thing to understand is that the patient has had a severe physical and emotional shock, that there is evidence of increasing mental dysfunction. Being able to wear his own clothing and see his ship, even at a distance which you consider safe, should renew and reinforce his knowledge of who and what he is, and perhaps enable him to adapt to the pressures of imprisonment on an alien planet.
“If no action is taken,” the doctor added, “there is a serious risk of the patient’s knowledge and capabilities and, I suspect, those of the life-mate and their vessel, being lost to you.”
The First’s focusing muscles were bunching like clumps of yellow seaweed around his horn. “No!” he said. “Your prescription is too risky for us. We confined these Galactics, an unprecedented action to take during the preliminaries of an important negotiation, because we cannot trust them…”
It was the strangest argument that Martin had ever experienced, and if he had been feeling better he would have enjoyed it, because the First talked angrily and continuously while the doctor retained a clinical impassivity and total silence, and won.
“Very well,” the First said finally, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. “You may exercise and talk with the patient outside. But you will be guarded at a distance, a short distance, and you will hold the translation device in clear sight at all times. If the off-worlder tries to free it from its cage to call for help, or even looks as if he might be doing so, or dies physically to escape, whether or not the attempt is successful, his life-mate will be severely chastised. Do you both understand that?”
Without waiting for a reply, the Keidi leader added, “Your clothing will be returned to you,” and stamped out of the cell.
Although he remembered every step of the journey, the return to the ground-level entrance seemed three times longer, and the stairs much steeper, than they had been on the way in. Outside the building they began walking slowly and silently along the road leading toward the landing area, while Keidi guards kept their distance ahead, behind, and on both flanks.
The rain had stopped some time ago and the ground was drying out. The rising, or perhaps setting, sun illuminated the low buildings and the distant hull of the lander with the warm, orange tones of a theater spotlight. When Martin finally broke the silence, he knew that he was taking an incredibly stupid risk.
“I am deeply obligated to you for arranging this temporary freedom,” he said, “but it shames me to admit that I was not completely honest with you, and you should know that the description of some of my symptoms was, well, exaggerated.”
The doctor made an untranslatable sound and said, “I have been long enough in the profession to know when a patient, regardless of his species, is lying to me. And you should know, off-worlder, that in spite of the dramatization of your symptoms, your condition is worse than you yourself realize. That is why I argued for you to be allowed out here, so that you would at least have the opportunity of escaping, if your condition eventually allows it. You and your life-mate must try to protract the negotiations with the First until you are feeling better. Also, I consider myself partly responsible for your involvement with this fanatical and untrustworthy being. This and my other personal obligations to you must be discharged.”
Martin continued walking, not knowing what to say.
“But I can only give you the opportunity, off-worlder,” the doctor went on, “not actively support any future escape attempt. The First is unforgiving of those who oppose him. His triple obligation to me for attending his granddaughter, and your share of it for bringing me to her quickly, would be argued away. I have no wish to spend the rest of my life in the First’s labor camp.”