All Judgment Fled by James White Page B

and quickly. But there were

only two usable spacesuits, the physicist's and his own. Hollis' would

fit only Hollis. McCullough's might, at a pinch, fit Drew but nobody

else. He was afraid to consider all the implications -- they were too

terrible. But more than anything, he did not want to think about the

contorted, alien shape he was holding and the frightful things which

must surely happen as a result of its death.
     
     
"Doctor," said the colonel in a voice harsh with pain, "you're supposed to

know how to treat human beings. Leave that thing alone, it's dead anyway."
     
     
He was glad to be able to give his undivided attention to the injured,

but somehow the alien cadaver seemed always to be in sight whenever he

looked up from a patient, and it became more and more difficult not to

think about it. The blood of both species was the same color, a fact

which should not have surprised him considering their closely similar

atmospheric requirements, and the droplets filled the compartment like

dark, frozen rain. The absence of gravity, as well as making it difficult

to control bleeding, made it completely impossible to deal quickly with

even a simple wound.
     
     
Even with the patients cooperating by lacing their arms or feet into the

wall netting, and Hollis doing his best to hold McCullough in position

while he treated them, it took a long time.
     
     
Morrison was in bad shape. An alien had tried to fasten itself onto his

head and chest, but the colonel had been able to interpose his elbow

just in time. His forearm was a little longer than the full extension

of the alien's horn, so that while his helmet had been hammered into so

much scrap metal and his shoulder and upper arm were a mass of punctured

and incised wounds, he had escaped with his life. Drew, apparently,

had discarded his ski stick in favor of his feet and one leg had suffered

in consequence, although the injuries were much lighter than the colonel's.

Berryman had a badly lacerated face, caused by running it against the edge

of his broken visor.
     
     
But it was the spacesuits which had suffered worst of all, first from

the attacks of the aliens and now at the hands of McCullough.
     
     
Cutting and extending the tears in the fabric of the suits, pulling back

the plastic and metal foil and the tubing of the air-conditioning systems,

affected him much more deeply at times than probing and cleaning the wounds.

If they were not already fatally infected, the wounds would heal --

the human body was self-repairing to a fantastic degree. But increasing

the damage to a suit which was not repairable was to inflict a wound

of a much more serious nature. In space the suit was much more than a

protective skin -- Walters, who was in a position to know, had insisted

that it was analogous to both womb and placenta, and that losing it

prematurely could give rise to a really drastic form of birth trauma.
     
     
The thought of being without his own suit in this place was enough to

drive McCullough to the edge of panic, and he hated to think of how the

others would feel when the shock of their injuries wore off and they

realized the full extent of what had happened to them.
     
     
His thoughts had taken a Freudian and definitely morbid turn by the time

he had finished with them. He found himself staring at the dead body of

the Two and wondering if any of them would ever see home again.
     
     
The colonel spoke suddenly. His voice sounded very weak and either he

was not using his suit radio or the Two's horn had wrecked it. He said,

"You will have to report our -- our predicament, Doctor. And tell Walters

to send the technical material and photographs at the same time. Hollis

will have to help you with this -- he is the only one of us capable of

understanding what we saw in the blister and passing it on. When all

this has been done, you will maintain continuous radio contact with us

until something has been worked