Sector General Omnibus 1 - Beginning Operations Read Online Free

dense globular star cluster, O‘Mara thought, and rather beautiful if you were in a mood to appreciate it. He wasn’t, because on most of these floating sub-assemblies there were pressor-beam men on watch, placed there to fend off sections which threatened to collide. These men would see and report it to Caxton if O’Mara took his baby alien outside even for feeding.
    The only answer apparently, he told himself disgustedly as he retraced his way, was nose-plugs.
    Inside the lock he was greeted by a noise like a tinny foghorn. It blared out in long, discordant blasts with just enough interval in between to make him dread the arrival of the next one. Investigation revealed bare patches of hide showing through the last coat of food, so presumably his
little darling was hungry again. O’Mara went for the sprayer.
    When he had about three square yards covered there was an interruption. Dr. Pelling arrived.
    The project doctor took off his helmet and gauntlets only, flexed the stiffness out of his fingers and growled, “I believe you hurt your leg. Let’s have a look.”
    Pelling could not have been more gentle as he explored O’Mara’s injured leg, but what he was doing was plainly a duty rather than an act of friendship. His voice was reserved as he said, “Severe bruising and a couple of pulled tendons is all—you were lucky. Rest. I’ll give you some stuff to rub on it. Have you been redecorating?”
    “What … ?” began O’Mara, then saw where the doctor was looking. “That’s food compound. The little so-and-so kept moving while I was spraying it. But speaking of the youngster, can you tell me—”
    “No, I can’t,” said Pelling. “My brain is overloaded enough with the ills and remedies of my own species without my trying to stuff it with FROB physiology tapes. Besides, they’re tough—nothing can happen to them!” He sniffed loudly and made a face. “Why don’t you keep it outside?”
    “Certain people are too soft-hearted,” O’Mara replied bitterly. “They are horrified by such apparent cruelties as lifting kittens by the scruff of the neck …”
    “Humph,” said the doctor, looking almost sympathetic. “Well, that’s your problem. See you in a couple of weeks.”
    “Wait!” O’Mara called urgently, hobbling after the doctor with one empty trouser leg flapping. “What if something does happen? And there has to be rules about the care and feeding of these things, simple rules. You can’t just leave me to … to …”
    “I see what you mean,” said Pelling. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then went on, “There’s a book kicking around my place somewhere, a sort of Hudlarian first aid handbook. But it’s printed in Universal …”
    “I read Universal,” said O’Mara.
    Pelling looked surprised. “Bright boy. All right, I’ll send it over.” He nodded curtly and left.
     
     
    O’Mara closed the bedroom door in the hope that this might cut down the intensity of the food smell, then lowered himself carefully into the
living room couch for what he told himself was a well-deserved rest. He settled his leg so that it ached almost comfortably and began trying to talk himself into an acceptance of the situation. The best he could achieve was a seething, philosophical calm.
    But he was so weary that even the effort of feeling angry became too much for him. His eyelids dropped and a warm deadness began creeping up from his hands and feet. O’Mara sighed, wriggled and prepared to sleep …
    The sound which blasted him out of his couch had the strident, authoritative urgency of all the alarm sirens that ever were and a volume which threatened to blow the bedroom door off its runners. O’Mara grabbed instinctively for his spacesuit, dropped it with a curse as he realized what was happening, then went for the sprayer.
    Junior was hungry again …!
    During the eighteen hours which followed it was brought home to O’Mara how much he did not know about infant Hudlarians. He had