Free In Deep by Damon Knight

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.
III
    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