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The TRLH had a thin carapace which covered its back and curved down and inward
to protect the central area of its underside. Four thick, single-jointed legs
projected from the uncovered sections and a large, but again lightly boned
head contained four manipulatory appendages, two recessed but extensible eyes
and two months, one of which had blood coming from it. The being must have
been hurled against several metal projections. Its shell was fractured in six
places and in one area it had been almost shattered, the pieces being severely
depressed. In this area it was losing blood rapidly. Conway began charting the
internal damage with the X-ray scanner, then a few minutes later he signaled
that he was ready to start.
He wasn't ready, but the patient was bleeding to death.
The internal arrangement of organs was different from anything he had
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previously encountered, and different from anything in the experience of the
six personalities sharing his mind. But from the QCQL he received pointers on
the probable metabolism of beings who breathed such highly corrosive air, from
the
Melfan data on the possible methods of exploring the damaged carapace, and the
FGLI, DBLF, GLNO and AACP contributed their experience. But it was not always
helpful-at every stage they literally shrieked warnings to be careful, so much
so that for seconds at a time Conway stood with his hands shaking, unable to
go on. He was probing the recorded memories deeply now, hitherto it had only
been for data on language, and everything was coming up.
The private nightmares and neuroses of the individuals, triggered off by being
so inextricably mixed with the similar alien nightmares around them, and all
mounting, growing worse by the minutes. The beings who had produced the tapes
did not all have e-t hospital experience, they were not accustomed to alien
points of view. The proper thing was to keep reminding himself that they were
not separate personalities, Conway told himself, but merely a mass of alien
data of different types. But he was horribly, stupidly tired and he was
beginning to lose control of what was going on in his mind. And still the
memories welled up in a dark, turgid flood. Petty, shameful, secret memories
mostly concerned with sex-and that, in e-ts, was alien, so alien that he
wanted to scream. He found suddenly that he was bent over, sweating, as if
there was a heavy weight on his back.
He felt Murchison gripping his arm. "What's wrong, Doctor?" she said urgently.
"Can I help?"
He shook his head, because for a second he didn't know how to form words in
his own language, but he kept looking at her for all of ten seconds. When he
turned back he had a picture of her in his mind as she was to him, not as a
Tralthan or a Melfan or a Kelgian saw her. The concern in her eyes had been
for him alone. At times Conway had had secret thoughts of his own about
Murchison, but they were normal, human thoughts. He hugged them to him tightly
and for a time he was in control again. Long enough to finish with the
patient.
Then suddenly his mind was tearing itself apart into seven pieces and he was
falling into the deepest, darkest pits of even different Hells. He did not
know that his limbs stiffened or bent or twisted as if something alien had
separate possession of each one. Or that Murchison dragged him out and held
him while Prilicla, at great danger to life and its fragile, spidery limbs,
gave him the shot which knocked him out.
CHAPTER 22
The intercom buzzer awakened Conway, instantly but without confusion in the
pleasant, familiar, cramped surroundings of his own room. He felt rested and
alert and ready for breakfast, and the hand he used to push back the sheets
had five pink fingers on it and felt just right that way. But then he became
aware of a certain strangeness which made him hesitate for a moment. The place
was quiet...
"To save you the where-am-I-what-time-is-it? routine," O'Mara's voice came
wearily, "you have not been consciously with us for two days. During that
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