Station MRK-3?”
“This is Trainee-Assistant William Waltham at Station MRK-3,” replied Bill. “Receiving you clearly, Hospital Spaceship Paar, Information Center. Please go on.”
“This is Hospital Spaceship Paar Information Center Computer Unit, answering for Patient Lafe Greentree.”
“May I speak to Mr. Greentree, please?” asked Bill.
There was a slightly longer than usual time lag, before the Computer Unit answered again. “Patient Greentree,” it announced, “is not able to communicate at the moment. Repeat, the patient is not able to communicate. You may speak with the Computer Unit which now addresses you.”
“But I have to speak with him,” protested Bill. “If I can’t speak with him, will you relay my call to my next nearest superior?”
“Patient Greentree is unable to speak,” replied the voice after the usual pause. “I have no authority to relay your call to anyone else. You may speak with the Computer Unit now addressing you.”
“Computer Unit! Listen!” said Bill desperately. “Listen to me. This is an emergency. Emergency! Mayday! Emergency! Please bypass normal programing, and connect me at once with my nearest superior. If you cannot connect me with my nearest superior, please connect me with any other human aboard the Hospital Spaceship! I repeat, this is an emergency. Bypass your usual programing!”
Again, there was a longer than usual pause. Then the Computer Unit’s voice replied once more.
“Negative. I regret, but the response must be negative. This is a military ship. I cannot bypass programing without instructions from proper authority. You show no such authority. I cannot, therefore, bypass programing. I cannot let you speak to Patient Greentree. If you wish, I can give you the latest bulletin on Patient Greentree’s condition. That is all.”
Bill stared, tight-jawed, at the communications equipment. Like any other trainee-assistant he had been taught to operate such sub-time communicators. But of course he had not yet been informed on local code calls and bypass authorization procedures. That information would have to come to him in the normal course from the Resident himself. He was exactly in the position of a man who picks up a- phone and finds himself connected with an automatic answering service, stubbornly repeating its recorded message over and over again.
“All right,” he said, finally, defeated. “Tell me how Resident Greentree is, and how soon he’ll be coming back to his duty post, here.”
He waited.
“Patient Greentree’s condition is stated as good,” said the machine. “The period of his hospitalization remains indefinite. I have no information on when he will be returning to his post. That is the extent of the information I can give you about this patient.”
“Acknowledged,” said Bill grimly. “Ceasing communication.”
“Ceasing communication with you, Station MRK-3,” said the speaker.
It fell silent.
Numbly and automatically, Bill reached out to shut off the power to the equipment. After it was shut off, he sat where he was, staring at the unlighted console. The suspicion which had first stirred in him yesterday when he had arrived to find a deserted Residency was now confirmed and grown into a practical certainty.
Something was crooked in the state of affairs on Dilbia, particularly within the general vicinity of Muddy Nose Village; and no more evidence was needed to make it clear that he was the man on the spot, in more ways than one. If he had only had time to check the communications equipment out thoroughly on his arrival, he would never have left the Residency without discovering that crookedness before he got himself irretrievably involved in local affairs.
The power cable, detached by either Hemnoid or human hands, had kept him in ignorance of his actual isolation here just long enough for him to get himself into trouble. As it stood now, he was cut off from outside human aid, cut off even from his
“This is Trainee-Assistant William Waltham at Station MRK-3,” replied Bill. “Receiving you clearly, Hospital Spaceship Paar, Information Center. Please go on.”
“This is Hospital Spaceship Paar Information Center Computer Unit, answering for Patient Lafe Greentree.”
“May I speak to Mr. Greentree, please?” asked Bill.
There was a slightly longer than usual time lag, before the Computer Unit answered again. “Patient Greentree,” it announced, “is not able to communicate at the moment. Repeat, the patient is not able to communicate. You may speak with the Computer Unit which now addresses you.”
“But I have to speak with him,” protested Bill. “If I can’t speak with him, will you relay my call to my next nearest superior?”
“Patient Greentree is unable to speak,” replied the voice after the usual pause. “I have no authority to relay your call to anyone else. You may speak with the Computer Unit now addressing you.”
“Computer Unit! Listen!” said Bill desperately. “Listen to me. This is an emergency. Emergency! Mayday! Emergency! Please bypass normal programing, and connect me at once with my nearest superior. If you cannot connect me with my nearest superior, please connect me with any other human aboard the Hospital Spaceship! I repeat, this is an emergency. Bypass your usual programing!”
Again, there was a longer than usual pause. Then the Computer Unit’s voice replied once more.
“Negative. I regret, but the response must be negative. This is a military ship. I cannot bypass programing without instructions from proper authority. You show no such authority. I cannot, therefore, bypass programing. I cannot let you speak to Patient Greentree. If you wish, I can give you the latest bulletin on Patient Greentree’s condition. That is all.”
Bill stared, tight-jawed, at the communications equipment. Like any other trainee-assistant he had been taught to operate such sub-time communicators. But of course he had not yet been informed on local code calls and bypass authorization procedures. That information would have to come to him in the normal course from the Resident himself. He was exactly in the position of a man who picks up a- phone and finds himself connected with an automatic answering service, stubbornly repeating its recorded message over and over again.
“All right,” he said, finally, defeated. “Tell me how Resident Greentree is, and how soon he’ll be coming back to his duty post, here.”
He waited.
“Patient Greentree’s condition is stated as good,” said the machine. “The period of his hospitalization remains indefinite. I have no information on when he will be returning to his post. That is the extent of the information I can give you about this patient.”
“Acknowledged,” said Bill grimly. “Ceasing communication.”
“Ceasing communication with you, Station MRK-3,” said the speaker.
It fell silent.
Numbly and automatically, Bill reached out to shut off the power to the equipment. After it was shut off, he sat where he was, staring at the unlighted console. The suspicion which had first stirred in him yesterday when he had arrived to find a deserted Residency was now confirmed and grown into a practical certainty.
Something was crooked in the state of affairs on Dilbia, particularly within the general vicinity of Muddy Nose Village; and no more evidence was needed to make it clear that he was the man on the spot, in more ways than one. If he had only had time to check the communications equipment out thoroughly on his arrival, he would never have left the Residency without discovering that crookedness before he got himself irretrievably involved in local affairs.
The power cable, detached by either Hemnoid or human hands, had kept him in ignorance of his actual isolation here just long enough for him to get himself into trouble. As it stood now, he was cut off from outside human aid, cut off even from his
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