Alien Medicine

By LASZLO GUBANYI

A young medical student, by the accidental finding of a strange metal object, becomes aware of a large colony of alien people living on Earth. This knowledge eventually will cause him to be taken to their distant planet where there is a much more scientifically advanced civilization. There he finishes his medical studies and returns to Earth to practice medicine and to assist the aliens to advance Earth civilization to be able to join the vast Galactic Union.

He gets into difficult situations when trying to use his alien medical knowledge at the local hospital.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796001860

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Laszlo Gubanyi.

ISBN:                Softcover                    978-1-7960-0187-7

                          eBook                          978-1-7960-0186-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/24/2019

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

CHAPTER ONE

The flat stone was flying over the water, touching the surface three, four times. The perfectly symmetrical, expanding rings marked the spots on the mirror smooth surface until with a final ‘plop’ it disappeared under the water.

Then another. Then a third one.

Then there was a lull while he was looking for more stones to throw.

It was a very quiet, secluded place.

Carlos had found it accidentally while fishing, looking for a good spot along the river.

This was a good spot.

Just on the outside curve along the bend of the river, the water was slow and clean.

Carlos had never got a really big fish in here, but although he had to throw back a lot of fish due to their small size, he always left this place with enough for one or two meals.

What he most liked about this place was the quietness, and that no one came here.

Although it was very close to the main road, to get here you had to cross a very unsightly area, full of tall, twisted trees, very heavy undergrowth and large patches of wet, smelly, muddy areas.

The large amount of rubbish thrown here from the main road did not make the place more attractive.

But when you got to this pebbly bend on the river, the air was clean, the water peaceful and quiet and the few large pieces of driftwood stuck in the shallow water made the place even more picturesque.

The place was like a beautiful oasis in the middle of a muddy rubbish heap.

Carlos came here quite often, even when he was not fishing.

This was his place, and his alone.

came here looking for peace and quiet when he felt that he had to get away.

He had to get away when the daily hassles got too heavy to cope with, and this was happening more and more frequently in recent times.

In this place he always found peace. Just being in this place he felt better.

The green foliage, the sun reflecting on the quiet water surface, the crunching sounds of the pebbles under his shoes; all this had a peaceful, strengthening effect on him.

After a while absorbing the soothing quietness of the place, Carlos always left strong and ready to return and face the world.

Not that he had any real trouble he could put his finger on.

He had a good family. Both his parents worked hard to make a living and Carlos had no problems at home.

He had no real problems away from home either.

In the third year of medical school, he was doing reasonably well.

He could have done better in his grades, but found studying a bit boring.

He was studying very little.

Carlos was one of those students who appeared to retain everything they heard once and while attending the lectures he absorbed everything that was said there.

The books were boring to him as they were just extended repetitions of what he heard in the lectures.

So he had no problems there.

His life was okay, on the surface.

Carlos had no problems with his classmates; everyone seemed to like him, talk to him, be with him. Still, he did not have a friend, a real friend.

After talking and joking with his classmates, they left on their way and he was alone.

Carlos was not active in any school sports, he did not share the others’ interests, and he did not participate in any out of school leisure activities with the others.

Very friendly on the surface, in reality he was a loner.

At first, he had many invitations to parties and other meetings, but as he did not show much interest in them, eventually they left him alone.

Carlos always said that he preferred to be alone, but in reality this was not true.

He missed the company of others, although he denied it, even to himself.

He wanted to mix with them, to go to parties, to share their fun.

Still, he was not able to do it. Tried many times, always failing.

He had nothing to say to them, no common ground to have a conversation.

Carlos could not enjoy their loud music, the drinking at the parties, the aggressive behaviour.

When he went to these parties, he always finished alone.

Alone in the middle of dozens of people.

So he stayed away from them and no one missed him. He kept himself busy on his own.

His teachers, when they noticed his interest, encouraged him to use the laboratory in the university hospital.

He was the only student, who not only had access to the inner sanctums of the faculty, but eventually had a well-equipped laboratory where he could do his experiments. There was no supervision; he had a free hand to do there whatever he wanted to do. So he spent most of his time there, putting all his energies into these experiments.

He seriously studied the effect of cancerous cells on unicellular organisms, or protozoa, which he cultivated in Petri dishes.

Carlos even managed to publish his results in a scientific magazine.

He also experimented with transplanting tissues from one rat to another one.

First he developed his technique in skin transplants, producing his famous (for a short time) dragon rats. He took a large white rat, and cut small squares of skin along the middle of its back, from head to tail, then taking care not to interrupt the blood supply for the skin squares, he turned them around so that the fur was pointing towards the head.

When the wounds healed and the fur grew back, there were patches of the fur standing up along the back of the rat, giving it a scaly, dinosaur-like appearance.

He also tried to exchange patches of skin between white and black rats, but this was not successful. The recipient rat always rejected the implanted skin.

His school mates in general knew about his activities, which produced a lot of respect towards him, but this did not help to make friends.

The way he could not share their interests— they could not understand his.

So he stayed alone.

Respected every now and then, but always alone.

Which was fine by him most of the time, but even while he denied it, he missed their company.

Sometimes it was difficult to cope with this loneliness. Even at home—both of his parents were hard at work making a living and had very little time for him. And sometimes, when he could not sleep at night and felt like crying or screaming in the darkness, he went to his place by the river.

To his secret, perfect place—the only place where he could feel happy alone, and when he went home he took with him the peacefulness of the place.

On these days, after visiting his place by the river, he was more able to converse with his school mates and even took part in some of their activities.

Still, this never lasted long and his general lack of communication made him completely unaware of what was happening around him. This sometimes produced very awkward situations. Like the one which happened during one of the practical biochemistry classes.

As was the routine thing to do, he finished the required experiments, wrote down his results, and when he put his worksheet in the pile with the others, he asked the teacher if in the practical exam they would do the same type of work.

It was a very natural question; still, his teacher looked at him in a strange way.

This is your practical exam, he said at the end in a very low voice.

Carlos had no idea.

His grades were adequate, but only just, which really upset some of his teachers as they were expecting more of him.

Still, Carlos could not concentrate on his studies. He just wanted to go through and get rid of this unpleasant university situation and start to live an independent life.

He really looked forward to his life as a doctor.

Being only in the third year he had very little official contact with medicine—still, Carlos spent much more time in the hospital than his school mates. He started to follow the older students on their rounds, finding them more pleasant company as they mainly talked about medicine.

This subject really fascinated him.

The discussions about the patients, their problems, their sicknesses and the ways to help them.

Carlos picked up more morsels of information from them than during his cold, monotonous classes.

Naturally, this did not help his grades.

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Friday.

It started like any other Friday.

Breakfast. He was completely ignored by his parents as they were discussing home economics.

Carlos was used to it. Used to being ignored.

Then go to lectures, Anatomy first, then Physiology. Absolutely boring subjects both.

Carlos did not mind the practical demonstrations, but the lectures were absolutely boring.

The lecturer’s slow, monotonous voice reciting names and places, it was really hard to listen.

Most of his concentration went on the effort to stay awake.

Then the overheard conversation in the corridors. The party tomorrow night.

Very big Saturday night party at his closest ‘friend’s’ house.

Plans were made to make it a wonderful party. Everybody was invited.

Except him.

He would not have even known about it, except for the accidentally overheard conversation.

Not that he would have gone.

He did not like these sorts of parties.

He would not have gone anyway. Still, it did hurt being ignored.

To be so obviously disliked by his classmates. It did not feel good at all.

Carlos had got used to rejection by now; at home, at the university or anywhere else he would go.

Still, it hurt, used to it or not.

He just kept walking with his head hanging to his chest, feeling sorry for himself.

Walking through the heaps of rubbish towards his secret place.

The water there was the usual calm, peaceful water, its smooth surface reflecting the light of the day.

Sitting down on the pebbly waterfront, hugging himself with both arms across his chest, trying to forget about this new insult to his self-confidence.

And this place, his secret place, worked on him as it always did.

The aching limbs got better as all the muscles slowly relaxed, the tightness in the pit of his stomach was set and soon, he even had the shadow of a smile on his face.

The place was magically wonderful.

As always, when he came to this place, Carlos was feeling much better.

He could relax now and enjoy the sunlight on his face, although the brightness did not seem to be coming from above.

There was something very shiny on the edge of the water, just like a shiny mirror reflecting the bright sun.

He got up to see what it was.

It was just a piece of flat, shiny metal. Nothing unusual about it.

It was about thirty by thirty centimeters and it was just too shiny for a piece of metal.

It looked a bit too clean to be a piece of metal in the water.

No dirt or rust marks.

As if the dirt could not stick to it.

Careful not to wet his shoes, Carlos picked up the piece of metal, and nearly dropped it the next second.

It was incredibly light.

It had the weight of a thin sheet of paper. Practically nothing.

Judging by the thickness of the metal, it should have been quite heavy.

It was not.

It was unnaturally light.

Carlos examined the metal sheet with more interest now.

Clean cut, sharp edges, a little bent in one corner. It looked absolutely clean, brand new. Unnaturally clean. Not a scratch on it.

Carlos tried to bend it, but it was too rigid to bend.

He rubbed it against a rock—the rock got deeply marked with not a scratch on the metal.

He took out his pocket knife and tried again and again to mark the metal.

Very soon, his knife was completely blunt without him being able to produce the tiniest scratch on the shiny metal surface.

Something very funny is going on in here, thought Carlos. This is not an ordinary piece of metal. I do not know what it is but had better take it home to have a better look.

At home he had no more luck, and after wrecking a metal file and blunting two chisels, Carlos gave up, without being able to produce a mark or a scratch on the metal surface.

It was an incredible piece of metal.

It did not melt or soften at high temperatures, did not react to freeze or to any corrosive material he could find.

And this incredible lightness. Metal like this just could not exist. It was unnatural.

It did not fit into anything known.

But it did exist. He was holding it in his hands.

This incredibly light, indestructible piece of metal he was holding in his hand was the proof of something that … what? Should not exist?

Well, okay, let’s collect the data we have got. Carlos decided that he would be very scientific about his find.

We’ve got a piece of metal with some unique characteristics which defies all accepted physical laws. That is one.

Two is --we do not have a two. This is all we’ve got.

The what, where and why has to come later.

First we have to establish how unique this artefact is by looking for more.

It cannot be very unique if every Tom, Dick and Harry can find one.

So the next few weeks were spent in a very vigorous search of his ‘secret areas,’ - with very little useful yield.

Carlos did find a lot of bent pieces of scrap metal when he started to dig in the area. Most of them were normal metallic pieces, old and corroded—but he also found quite a few specimens of this special ‘space metal,’ as he had started to call it.

Lots of pieces of bolts, nuts, wires and several pieces of twisted metal sheets, all of the same incredibly light and strong material. Due to the lack of corrosiveness it was impossible to judge their age, but due to the deep and hidden locations of some of the fragments, they were probably very old.

Their distribution appeared also to be limited to a small area.

Something happened here in the past. Something came down with a big bang here— I wish I knew what it was.

The next few weeks were spent in public libraries, looking for a description of something crashing down in that area.

He could not find anything.

There were descriptions of quite a few incidents in the area, but nothing which appeared big enough to produce those fragments.

Okay, Carlos boy, it looks like we’ve got as far as we can take this. We need to call in the big boys on this.

Carlos had a fairly good idea of what it was that he had found.

It could not be much of a choice.

He could also understand the possible importance of his find and that this was not the kind of thing you could just sit on.

On the other hand, he also had a fair idea of his continuing participation in this project once it became public knowledge. He would be completely out of everything and no one would even remember his name.

This was not fair. It was his find.

He should get some benefit out of it. Something.

Not just pushed away by the big boys, which obviously would happen if he just blurted out his find to someone.

He had to be careful with this one. Plan it well.

Milk it for what it was worth.

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Mr Roberto Mitchell Theodore Eugenio Fernandez leaned back in his chair behind his massive, old fashioned desk.

This may sound like something simple to do, but it had taken Mr Fernandez many years of practice to be able to achieve it.

A few centimetres more towards the back, his chair would have overbalanced, making his round head come into violent contact with the wall behind, right on the balding spot carefully covered by the hair combed across it.

A few centimetres less and his remarkable stomach would not have cleared his desk and would have stayed stuck under the front drawer in a very unbecoming fashion.

Still, the many years spent behind the same desk ought to give him some benefits.

Stretching luxuriously in his precariously balanced chair, Mr Fernandez contemplated the leftovers of his recent lunch above the stretching curvature of his stomach.

I probably should lose some weight, he said to the offending body part, as he usually did nearly every day.

After lunch, of course, each time.

He decided to go on a diet, as he did this day by day.

The routine before meals was to make frantic phone calls to ensure his next meal.

After the meal, another firm decision to diet.

This routine over the years had become so much part of his daily life that he did not even realise the irony of the situation, and if we do not count the periodical need to get a bigger and bigger chair, there were no obvious indications that this system has failed him.

Of course, it was not just his fault. Partly, maybe.

A small part, maybe.

But when your office is situated in a neighborhood, where within a one hundred meter radius there are six establishments able to produce a fantastic array of culinary delights—well, you cannot fully blame yourself.

One is only human, with the usual human weaknesses.

That Mr Fernandez had a larger share of these weaknesses—you couldn’t blame him completely for it.

He really wanted to lose weight.

He started his diet after nearly every meal. It was not his fault…

Anyway, this was not today’s main problem.

His first problem was the usual one— to finish his meal. This was a problem of a kind, as Mr Fernandez enjoyed eating.

He was not really choosey, he just liked to eat. It was one of the main pleasures of his life.

It nearly physically pained him when the meal was finished and he could not eat any more.

Not that there was no more food- (food was always just a phone call away)-but no place where to put it.

In spite of its size, his stomach had its limitations and when it was full, it was very full.

Still, these were just the usual day to day meal to meal problems.

Today, he had another problem to worry about. Not a new one either.

‘The Plain Truth’ was in trouble. Financial and legal trouble.

Still, it had had a good run.

When he, received the control of the magazine from his father, in the same way that his father had received it from his father, ‘The Plain Truth’ had been a very successful gossip magazine.

Being amongst the very first gossip magazines of its time, ‘The Plain Truth’ distinguished itself by having no limits to its publication.

Anything happening anywhere in the world which had some public interest— you could read about it in ‘The Plain Truth.’

This was quite easy at that time.

There were plenty of things happening in the world. Strange rituals, unexpected findings.

The world used to be full of new stuff.

There were plenty of things you could write about. Not lately.

It was not just that nothing of interest appeared to be happening in the world anymore, there were fifty other magazines like ‘The Plain Truth’ to report on it.

Even the film stars were more careful of their private lives and Mr Fernandez could not even remember the last juicy reality gossip they had provided.

Recently, most of the magazines relied on snippets of information which they blew out of proportion, so much so that by the time they hit the street they had nothing of the original story in them.

Naturally, this did not help the credibility of the magazine, but they had to publish something.

Publish, or go out of business.

Mr Fernandez did not want to go out of business. So he published stories, gossips—anything.

Sometimes his stories even had a hint of truth in them—not very often of course.

He needed a story. Any story.

Something big, something flashy and juicy. Anything.

If it had some truth in it, it would be better, but it was not really necessary.

He had plenty of writers to make it sound like a real story.

He needed an idea.

The insistent telephone broke the magical peacefulness of the after lunch somnolence.

Mr Fernandez tried to ignore it for a time, but after a while he had to answer it.

Mrs Irrindua - you know very well…

I am sorry, Mr Fernandez. I know you do not like to be disturbed at this time of the day but I’ve got a young gentleman in here who asked very nicely to see you.

I do not care how nicely he is asking. Give him an appointment for later, like anyone else.

Sir, I do understand how you feel; still, I really think you should see him now.

Mr Fernandez swallowed with difficulty the list of adjectives he was about to call her.

He had just remembered that Mrs Irrindua had been with the company long before he took it over and if she said he should see this fellow, she must have a very good reason for it.

Okay, okay. Send him in please. He gave up in the end.

"Well, young fellow, my secretary seems to believe that your visit could be important.

What can I do for you? Please- sit down."

"Are you Mr Fernandez, editor of ‘The Plain Truth?’

Editor and owner, yes.

I was made to believe that your magazine pays for information.

Information we can publish. What do you have in mind?

I have come into some information which I think could be very important to any newspaper.

And you are looking for the best buyer?

Correct.

May I inquire about the nature of this information?

I’ve got irrefutable proof of UFOs.

"My young fellow, before we go any further, let me warn you about a few basic facts.

For more years than I care to remember, people have been trying to do just that, and always failing. There were a few very successful hoaxes in the past, but eventually all proved to be false. This magazine, just like any other, would love to have the information you just mentioned, but due to the bad past record on this subject, no one would offer you payment unless you could offer an absolute proof of the reality of your claim."

Suppose I could offer you this absolute proof, how much would it be worth to your magazine?

Naturally, we are talking hypothetically, but information like that could be worth a few thousand dollars.

A few thousand?

Yes. We usually pay generously.

Mr Fernandez, we are obviously talking about different things. I will not waste your time any more. I am obviously talking to the wrong person.

Now hold on, young fellow. Just sit back on that chair. We were talking about a hypothetical situation. Tell me if I am wrong.

"You are wrong. I was offering you a tangible proof of the existence of UFOs.

Something you can touch, something you can hold in your hand, bite if you want to. And you value it at a few thousand dollars. Now, do you not understand what I am offering you, or do you just not have the money? Either way, you are not the right person for me."

You are serious?

Very.

Did you find an UFO?

Parts of it.

Mr. Robert Mitchell Theodore Eugenio Fernandez kicked his chair back so it crashed against the wall behind him.

The story.

The magical, fantastical story all newspaper or magazine editors could only dream about.

The answer to the UFO phenomena.

This could be so big that… that there was no comparison.

Jesus and Buddha shaking hands in his office would not be that big.

He could milk it for years.