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All he got out of it was a bruised hand; Sir Isaac made no response. Don hung for a moment, wondering
what to do. That his acquaintance was in a bad way he felt sure, but his training in first aid did not extend
to Venerian pseudosaurians. He dug back into his childhood memories, trying to think of something.
The same ship's officer who had rearranged the berthing appeared at the forward or "upper" hatch,
floating head "down." "All okay this deck?" he inquired perfunctorily and started to back out.
"No!" Don shouted. "Case of blast shock."
"Huh?" The officer swam on into the compartment and looked at the other passenger. He swore
unimaginatively and looked worried. "This is beyond me; I never carried one before. How the deuce do
you give artificial respiration to a thing as big as that?"
"You don't," Don told him. "His lungs are completely enclosed in his armor box."
"He looks dead. I think he's stopped breathing."
A memory floated to the top in Don's mind; he snatched it. "Got a cigarette?"
"Huh? Don't bother me! Anyhow the smoking lamp is out."
"You don't understand," Don persisted. "If you've got one, light it. You can blow smoke at his nostril
plate and see whether or not he's breathing."
"Oh. Well, maybe it's a good idea." The spaceman got out a cigarette and struck it.
"But be careful," Don went on. "They can't stand nicotine. One big puff and then put it out."
"Maybe it's not such a good idea," the ship's officer objected. "Say, you sound like a Venus colonial?"
Don hesitated, then answered, "I'm a Federation citizen." It seemed like a poor time to discuss politics.
He moved over to the dragon's chin, braced his feet against the deck plates and shoved, thus exposing
the Venerian's nostril plate, which was located under the creature's head in the folds of his neck. Don
could not have managed it, save that they were in free fall, making the bulky mass weightless.
The man blew smoke at the exposed opening. It eddied forward, then some of it curled inside; the
dragon was still alive.
Still very much alive. Every eyestalk sprang to rigid attention; he lifted his chin, carrying Don with it, then
he sneezed. The blast struck Don where he floated loosely and turned him over and over. He threshed in
the air for a moment before catching a handhold on the hatch ladder.
The ship's officer was rubbing one wrist. "The beggar clipped me," he complained. "I won't try that again
soon. Well, I guess he'll be all right."
Sir Isaac whistled mournfully; Don answered him. The spaceman looked at him. "You savvy that stuff?"
"Some."
"Well, tell him to use his squawk box. I don't!"
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Don said, "Sir Isaac use your voder." The Venerian tried to comply. His tentacles hunted around,
found the keys of the artificial voice box, and touched them. No sounds came out. The dragon turned an
eye at Don and whistled a series of phrases.
"He regrets to say that its spirit has departed," Don interpreted.
The ship's officer sighed. "I wonder why I ever left the grocery business? Well, if we can get it unlatched
from him, I'll see if 'Sparks' can fix it."
"Let me," said Don and squirmed into the space between the dragon's head and the deck plates. The
voder case, he found, was secured to four rings riveted to the Venerian's skin plates. He could not seem
to find the combination; the dragon's tendrils fluttered over his hands, moved them gently out of the way,
unfastened the box, and handed it to him. He wiggled out and gave it to the man. "Looks like he kind of
slept on it," he commented.
"A mess," the other agreed. "Well, tell him I'll have them fix it if possible and that I'm glad he wasn't
hurt."
"Tell him yourself; he understands English."
"Eh? Oh, of course, of course." He faced the Venerian who immediately set up a long shrilling. "What's
he say?"
Don listened. "He says he appreciates your good wishes but that he is sorry to have to disagree; he is
unwell. He says that he urgently requires" Don stopped and looked puzzled, then whistled the Venerian
equivalent of "Say that again, please?"
Sir Isaac answered him; Don went on, "He says he's just got to have some sugar syrup."
"Huh?"
"That's what he says."
"I'll be How much?"
There was another exchange of whistles; Don answered, " Uh, he says he needs at least a quarter of
a there isn't any word for it; it's an amount about equal to half a barrel, I'd say."
"You mean he wants half a barrel of waffle juice?"
"No, no, a quarter of that an eighth of a barrel. What would that come to in gallons?"
"I wouldn't attempt it without a slipstick; I'm confused. I don't even know that we have any on board."
Sir Isaac set up more frantic whistling. "But if we don't, I'll have the cook whip up some. Tell him to hold
everything and take it easy." He scowled at the dragon, then left quite suddenly.
Don attached himself to one of the steel straps and asked, "How are you feeling now?"
The dragon replied apologetically to the effect that he needed to return to the egg for the moment. Don
shut up and waited.
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The captain himself showed up to attend the sick passenger. The ship, being in free trajectory for the
satellite space station, would not require his presence in the control room until well pastnoon, New
Chicago time; he was free to move around the ship. He arrived in company with the ship's doctor and
followed by a man herding a metal tank.
The two conferred over the dragon, at first ignoring Don's presence. However neither of them knew the
piping speech of the dragon tribe; they were forced to turn to Don. Through him Sir Isaac again insisted
that he required sugar solution, as a stimulant. The captain looked worried. "I've read somewhere that
sugar gets them drunk the same as alcohol does us."
Don again translated for the Venerian; what he had asked for was simply a medicinal dose.
The captain turned to the medical officer. "How about it, surgeon?"
The doctor stared at the bulkhead. "Captain, this is as far outside my duties as tap dancing."
"Confound it, man, I asked for your official opinion!"
The medical officer faced him. "Very well, sir I would say that if this passenger should die, you having
refused him something he had asked for, it would look very, very bad indeed."
The captain bit his lip. "As you say, sir. But I'll be switched if I want several tons of intoxicated dragon
banging around in my ship. Administer the dose."
"Me, sir?"
"You, sir."
The ship being in free fall it was quite impossible to pour out the syrup and let the Venerian lick it up, nor
was he physically equipped to use the "baby bottle" drinking bladder used by humans when weightless.
But that had been anticipated; the tank containing the syrup was a type used in the galley to handle soup
or coffee in free fall. It had a hand pump and an attachable hose.
It was decided, Sir Isaac concurring, to place the end of the hose well down the dragon's throat. But
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