In Deep (7 page)

The trouble was, you could never be right all the time. Following the book to the letter, or improvising brilliantly, either way, you were bound to make mistakes. The thing was, to cross them off and go ahead just the same.

Carver firmed his chin and straightened his back, looking down at the sick gorgon. It was sick, all right, there was no “question about that: the thing’s limbs drooped and weaved slightly, dizzily. Its hide was dry and hot to the touch. “How long has he been like this?” Carver demanded, hesitating only slightly over the “he”: aliens were “it” to him and always had been, but it didn’t do to let anybody know it.

“Twenty minutes, more or less,” said Dr. Nasalroad. “I just “got here myself”—he stifled a yawn—“about ten minutes ago.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Carver asked him. “It’s ,Alvarez’s shift.”

Nasalroad looked embarrassed. “I know. Alvarez is in the hospital, as a patient. I think he assaulted a cook’s helper named Samuels—poured soup over his head. He was shouting something about boiling the boil on Samuel’s neck. We had to put him under sedation; it took three of us.”

Carver set his jaw hard. “Nasalroad, what in thunder is happening on this wheel, anyhow? First this thing attacks my wife—then Alvarez—” He glared down at George. “Can you pull him out of this, whatever it is?”

Nasalroad looked surprised. “That would be a large order. We don’t know any gorgon medicine—I was assuming you’d want to beam down and ask
them
.”

That was reasonable, of course: the only hitch was, as usual, a matter of interpretation. Was this something they had negligently allowed to happen to an important alien representative, or was it the necessary and proper punishment they had all been looking for? Carver glanced at his thumbwatch: it was just about three hours before the elders’ deadline.

He asked Nasalroad, “What color would you say he is now? Not pink, certainly.”

“No-o. But not blue, either. I’d call it a kind of violet.”

“Hm. Well, anyhow, he’s got smaller than he was, isn’t that right?
Conspicuously
smaller.”

Nasalroad admitted it.

Carver made his decision. “Do the best you can,” he said to Nasalroad. He lifted his wristcom, said briskly, “Have you got a line-of-sight to the planethead?”

“
Yes, sir
,” the operator answered.

“All right, get me Rubinson.”

A few seconds passed. “
Planethead
.”

“Rubinson, this is Carver. Tell the elders we’ve got a pretty unhappy gorgon here. We’re not sure just what did it—might have been anyone of a lot of things—but he’s lost a good deal of weight, and his color”—Carver hesitated—“it’s
bluish
. Definitely bluish. Got that?”

“
Yes, chief. Thank goodness! I’ll pass the message along right away, and call you back
.”

“Right.” Carver closed the wristcom with an assertive snap. The gorgon, when he glanced down at it, looked sicker than ever, but never mind. What happened to the gorgon was its lookout; Carver was doing his duty.

Alvarez awoke with a horrible headache and a sense of guilt. He was not in his own cubicle, but in one of the hospital bunks, dressed in a regulation set of hospital pajamas (with removable hood—and gloves, capable of being converted into a spacesuit). He could just see the wall clock at the far end of the room. It was twenty-three hours—well into his shift. Alvarez scuttled out of bed, groaning, and looked at the chart beside it.
Mania, delusions. Sedation. Signed Nasalroad
.

Delusions: yes, he was having one now. He imagined he could remember heaving up a big tureen of mock-turtle soup over Samuels’s startled face-splash, a smoking green torrent.

Good heavens! If that was
real
—Samuels! And the gorgon!

Groaning and lurching, Alvarez darted out of the room, past the orderly, Munch, who was sitting with a story viewer on his lap and couldn’t get up fast enough. “Dr. Alvarez! Dr. Nasalroad said—”

“Never mind Nasalroad,” he snapped, pawing in the refrigerator. He remembered those cultures being right back there: but now they were gone.

“—not to let you up until you acted normal again. Uh, how do you feel, Doctor?”

“I feel fine! What difference does that make? How is
he?
”

Munch looked puzzled and apprehensive. “Samuels? Just superficial burns. We put him to bed in his own cubby, because—”

“Not Samuels!” Alvarez hissed, grabbing Munch by the front of his suit. “The gorgon!”

“Oh, well, he’s been sick, too. How did you know, though, Doctor? You were snoring when it happened. Listen, let go my suit, you’re making me nervous.”

“Where?” Alvarez demanded, thrusting his scrawny face close to the other’s.

“Where what? Oh, you mean the
gorgon?
Up in the little assembly room, the last I—”

Alvarez was gone, out the door and down the corridor like a small, bearded fireball. He found an anxious crowd assembled—Commandant and Mrs. Carver, Dominick and his staff, Urban and two assistants from Semantics, orderlies, porters, and Dr. Nasalroad. Nasalroad had the gaunt and bright-eyed appearance of a man who has been on wake-up pills too long. He started when he saw Alvarez.

“What’s up?” Alvarez demanded, grabbing his sleeve.

“Where’s the gorgon? What—”

“Be quiet,” said Nasalroad. “George is over in that corner behind Carver. We’re waiting for the delegation from planetside. Rubinson said they were coming up, three of them with some kind of a box…”

A loudspeaker said suddenly, “I have the tender locked on. Contact. Contact is made. The lock is opening; get ready, here they come.”

Alvarez couldn’t see past Carver’s bulk; he tried to get away, but Nasalroad stopped him. “I want to
see
,” he said irritably.

“Listen,” Nasalroad said. “I know what you did. I checked the Bets-off and those cultures against inventory. The gorgon seems to be recovering nicely, no thanks to you. Now has the stuff worn off you, or not? Because if not—”

A rustle went over the group. Alvarez and Nasalroad turned in time to see the door opening. Two large, vigorous-looking gorgons waddled through; they were carrying an enameled metal box between them. “
Foop!
” said the first one, experimentally. “Where is gorgon George?”

“I’m all right,” Alvarez muttered. “If I wasn’t, I’d have done something uncivilised to you by now, wouldn’t I?”

“I guess so,” said Nasalroad. They elbowed closer as the group shifted, making a space around the three gorgons. Peering, on tiptoe, Alvarez could see George standing shakily beside the other two. “He looks terrible. Those are big ones, those other two, aren’t they?”

“Not as big as George was when we got him,” Nasalroad muttered. “Listen, Walt, if it turns out you’ve ruined the whole thing, I’ll take a dose of Bets-off myself, and—”

“Listen!” snarled Alvarez. One of the gorgons was explaining. “This is panga box. What you call? You know panga?”

“Well, uh, yes and no,” said Dominick uncomfortably. “But what about the punishment? We understood—”

“Punishment later. You George, go in box.”

Obediently, George waddled over and squatted beside the mouth of the box. He bobbed uncertainly; he looked for all the world like a large woman trying to get into a small sports copter. There was a minor outbreak of nervous laughter, quickly suppressed.

George leaned, retracting most of his upper appendages. His round body began to be composed into a squarish shape, wedging itself into the box.

The other gorgons watched with an air of tension, photoceptors rigidly extended. A hush fell. Among the humans present there was a general air of Why-are-we-all-whispering?

George wriggled and oozed farther into the box. Momentarily he stuck. He flicked blue, then pink. His “feet,” almost retracted, scrabbled feebly at the bottom of the box. Then he was in.

One of the other gorgons solemnly closed the lid on him and fastened it to make sure, then opened it again and helped him out. All three gorgons began to make rhythmic swaying motions with their “arms” and other appendages. George, Alvarez thought, looked smug. He felt a sudden premonitory pang. What had he done?

“What’s it all about?” Nasalroad demanded. “Are they measuring him for a coffin, or—”

Dominick, overhearing, turned and said, “I don’t think so. Now this is interesting. You remember they said a panga box. What I’m afraid of is, they may have a standard of size. You see what I mean, they’re measuring George to see if he falls below the minimum standard of, uh, panga relations.”

“Oh, heavens,” said another voice. It was Urban of Semantics, who had been neglected of late; they hadn’t needed him since George learned English. He was peering over Dominick’s shoulder, looking dumbfounded. He said, “But don’t you know the word we’ve been translating ‘elders’ really means ‘smallest ones’? Good heavens—”

“I don’t see—” Dominick began, but the Commandant’s voice drowned him out. “Quiet! Quiet please!” Carver was trumpeting. He went on, “Our friends from Seven have an announcement to make. Now, then.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was George who spoke, in the lisping accents of the gorgon language. No human present understood a word of it except Urban, who turned pale under his tan and began stammering inaudibly to himself.

One of the larger gorgons began to speak when George stopped. “Most elder person, known to you by name George, wishes me to thank you all for kindness done him when he was humble youth.”

(“Youth,” muttered Urban. “But it really means “ungainly one”—or “fat boy”! Oh, my
heavens!
”)

“Now that he has become an elder, it will be his most pleasure to repay all kindness in agreeable legislative manner.”

(“What does that mean?” Alvarez said aggrievedly. “Why can’t he talk for himself, anyway?”

“It would be. beneath his dignity now,” said Nasalroad. “Hush!”)

“—
If
,” said the gorgon, “you will succeed in giving elder person, known by name George, proper punishment as aforesaid.”

While the others stared with dumb dismay, Carver briskly snapped open his wristcom. “Exactly how long have we got till that gorgon deadline is up?” he demanded.

There was a pause, while ears strained to catch the tiny voice.

“
Just under half an hour
.”

“This meeting will come to order!” said Carver, banging on the table, George and the other two gorgons were sitting opposite him, with the centerpiece of nasturtiums and ferns between them. Grouped around Carver were Dominick, Urban, Womrath, Alvarez, Nasalroad, Kelly and Ritner.

“Now this is the situation,” Carver said aggressively. “This gorgon turns out to be a member of their ruling council, I don’t understand why, but never mind that now—the point is, he’s friendly disposed towards us, so we’ve succeeded in this mission if we can find that proper punishment—otherwise we’re in the soup. Suggestions.”

(Dominick craned his bald head toward Alvarez across the table. “Doctor, I had a thought,” he murmured. “Would you say—is there anything peculiar about the gorgon’s body constitution, as compared say to ours?”

“Certainly,” said Alvarez, dourly. “Any number of things. You name it, they—”

Giving them a dirty look, Carver nodded to Ritner. “Yes?”

“Well, I was thinking. I know the rack was a washout, but there was another. thing they used to use, called the Iron Virgin. It had a door, like, with spikes on it—”

(“What I had in mind,” Dominick said, “is there anything that would tend to limit their body size—any danger or disadvantage in growing large?”

Alvarez frowned and looked at Nasalroad, who hitched his chair closer. “The pressure—?” said Nasalroad tentatively. They rubbed their chins and looked at each other with professional glints in their eyes.

“What
about
the pressure?” Dominick prompted eagerly.)

“How long would it take you to build a thing like that?” Carver was asking Ritner.

“Well—ten, eleven hours.”

“Too long. That’s out. Next!”

(“They’re actually a single cell—all colloidal fluid, at a considerable osmotic pressure. The bigger they get, the more pressure it takes to keep that shape. If they got too big, I rather imagine—”

Alvarez snapped his fingers, awed. “They’d burst!”)

Carver turned with an indignant glare. “Gentlemen, if I could get a little cooperation out of you, instead of this continual distraction—All right, Womrath?”

“Sir, I was just wondering, suppose if we let him turn into a fish, the way he did before in the pool—but then we’d net him and take him out of the water fast. That way, maybe—”

“It wouldn’t work,” said Kelly. “He changed back in about a second, the other time.”

Nobody was paying any attention to him. One of the big gorgons, who had been staring fixedly at the flowers in the middle of the table, had suddenly grabbed a handful and was stuffing them into his mouth. George said something shrill in gorgon talk, and snatched. the flowers away again. The other gorgon looked abashed, but flushed pink.

George, on the other hand, was distinctly blue.

His “hand,” clutching the mangled flowers, hesitated. Slowly, as if with an effort, he put them back in the bowl.

The other two gorgons twined their “arms” around him. After a moment George looked more like his old self, but a hint of blue remained.

“What is it?” said Carver alertly. “Did we do something, finally?” He snapped open his wristcom. “There’s still ten minutes before the deadline, so—”

“Did you turn blue because we punished you, George?” Womrath asked.

“No,” said George unexpectedly. “Hard for me to be elder.” He added a few words in his own language to the other gorgons, and their “arms” twined around him again. “Before, they panga to
me
,” added George.

(“Then that’s why he took the pie away from the Commandant’s wife!” said Dominick, smiting himself on the forehead.

“Of course. They—”

“What’s that? What’s that?” Carver turned, bristling.

“Why, this explains that pie business,” said Dominick. “He felt protective towards your wife, you see—that’s what ‘panga’ means. They none of them have much control over their own appetites, so they guard each other. As they grow older, and get more self-control, they’re expected to get smaller, not bigger. George felt confused about his panga relationships to us, but in your wife’s case, he was positive one more mouthful would make her explode—”