by James White
“And do you remember anything else that is probably unimportant?” said O’Mara.
Hewlitt took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sarcasm for Prilicla’s sake rather than the major’s, then said, “If we assume that physical contact is required for the creature to transfer to a new host, and it was continually interested in the possibility of making such a move, what about my interest in Leethveeschi and that doctor who drove into the ward in a pressurized tank? I am very sure that I wanted no physical contact with either of them, especially the charge nurse, so the curiosity could not have been mine. Does that mean the creature wastes its time on feelings that are impossible for it to fulfill, or is it capable of transferring itself to any living being regardless of species?”
O’Mara gave a short, irritated sigh. He said, “There was always the chance that you would add to the problem rather than help provide the solution. If you are right and our friend is not confined to transferring into warm-blooded oxygen-breathing hosts, that will seriously complicate our search.” He looked at the medics in turn. “Is such a radical, cross-species transfer possible?”
Diagnostician Conway was the first to speak. He said, “As close to impossible as makes no difference.
“Until Patient Hewlitt arrived among us,” said O’Mara with the sarcastic edge returning to his voice, “we thought it impossible for a microorganism that had evolved on one world to survive in a life-form from another.”
Conway did not take offense. He said, “That is why I said close to impossible, sir. However, there are major differences in the metabolism and life processes of a chlorine-breathing host, and the biochemical adaptation needed would be, again, close to impossible…”
“And who would want to live inside an Illensan anyway?” said Naydrad.
“As for more exotic life-forms like the TLTUs, SNLUs, or VTXMs,” he went on, ignoring the interruption and glancing toward Hewlitt to show that the explanation was for his benefit, “I would say with more confidence that they are completely unsuitable as hosts. The first breathes high-pressure, superheated steam in an environment which, in the old days, was used to sterilize infected surgical instruments. SNLUs are methane life-forms with a complex mineral and liquid crystalline structure which decomposes at temperatures in excess of eighteen degrees above absolute zero. As for the VTXMs, the Telfi are another hot life-form, not because of an elevated body temperature but because they need to absorb high levels of hard radiation to support their life processes.
“It follows that these three life-forms can be eliminated as potential hosts,” the diagnostician ended, “because a virus would be unable to survive in any of them.”
Before O’Mara could reply, Prilicla made an unsteady landing on top of an unoccupied piece of furniture. Its trembling was minor and of the kind, Hewlitt had discovered, indicating that it was nerving itself to the major effort of saying something disagreeable.
“It is possible that you are wrong, friend Conway,” it said. “And I, too, may be contributing to the problem rather than its solution because we cannot exclude the Telfi as possible hosts. Our virus was able to survive when its escape vehicle was in close proximity to the nuclear detonation that destroyed Lonvellin’s ship. The outer casing of the creature’s pod was partially melted and superficially damaged by flying wreckage, but it had also absorbed sufficient radiation for strong traces to be present after twenty-five years. At the time it took the young Hewlitt as a host, it had been occupying that pod and absorbing significantly higher, although diminishing, levels of radioactivity during the five years following the original contamination.”
“Oh,” said the diagnostician.
O’Mara actually smiled, although it was clear that his face muscles were unused to that form of exercise. He said, “Does anyone else want to make a fool of itself? Hewlitt, you are wanting to say something.”
For a moment Hewlitt wondered if the chief psychologist had an empathic faculty like Prilicla, then decided that it was probably the result of training, observation, and long experience. He shook his head and said, “It probably isn’t important.”
“If it isn’t,” said O’Mara, “I’ll be the first to let you know. Spit it out.”
Hewlitt was silent for a moment, wondering how such a thoroughly unsympathetic person had been able to survive and rise to a high position in a caring profession like psychiatry; then he said, “Something has been bothering me about the meeting with my cat on Etla. It was an ordinary, black-and-white cat, and big and fat instead of being the skinny near-kitten I remembered, but I recognized it. And even though I had changed physically, grown four or five times more massive and with marked differences in face and voice, it recognized and came toward me at once. You are probably thinking that I am being sentimental about a childhood pet…
“The thought had crossed my mind,” said O’Mara.
but I think it was more than fond memories,” Hewlitt went on, “because I had almost forgotten about that cat until I was admitted to the hospital and Lieutenant Braithwaite started questioning me about my childhood. It was as if there was a bond between us, a feeling almost of pride in some kind of shared experience that seemed to go beyond the child-and-his-pet relationship. The feeling is tenuous, very difficult to describe, and, well, it is probably due to all this talk about intelligent virus invasions. This time my imagination may really be running away with me. I should not have mentioned it.”
“But you did mention it,” said O’Mara, “even though doing so has caused you to feel embarrassed and even ridiculous. Or are you hoping that I, or one of the other fine, incisive, clinical minds here assembled, will decide whether or not it was worth mentioning?”
The fine, clinical minds in the room joined Hewlitt in remaining silent. He returned the other’s stare, wondering if O’Mara’s lids had been glued permanently in the open position.
“Very well,” the psychologist went on. “Think carefully about what you have just said and follow it through. The word ‘impossible’ has been used too loosely here, so I shall resist the temptation to use it again. Are you suggesting, however reluctantly, that this strange, tenuous, indescribable feeling that you had for your onetime pet, and which you believe it reciprocated, was a legacy that may have been left by your common viral invader? And are you also suggesting that the ex-hosts of the virus might share this peculiar, insubstantial feeling of a shared experience and be able to recognize each other? Presumably I am right because your face is becoming very red, but I would like verbal corroboration.”
“Yes, dammit,” said Hewlitt. “To both questions.
O’Mara nodded and said, “Which means that you could act as some kind of virus witch-finder with the ability to track down our quarry through its previous and, presumably, its present hosts. Naturally, we are grateful for any help you can give us but, well, apart from the instant recognition and the vague feelings you say you shared with the cat who, regrettably, is unable to offer corroboration, have you any other evidence, observations, or vague, indescribable feelings to support your contention?”
He looked away from O’Mara, feeling that the heat of his embarrassment must be warming the whole room.
“Friend O’Mara,” said Prilicla. “At the time the incident occurred I was aware of the feelings of the cat and friend Hewlitt. They were as described.”
“And as I suggested, little friend,” said O’Mara, “they were vague, indescribable, subjective, and probably useless.” He turned to his communicator, which was already live, and went on, “Has the Padre returned? Good, send it in.” To Hewlitt he said, “We have medical matters to discuss which do not require your presence. I feel sure that I have embarrassed you more than enough for one day. Thank you for your assistance. Padre Lioren will escort you to the dining hall.”
In the instant that the Tarlan entered the room it stopped dead, all four of its eyes directed at Hewlitt’s reddening face. He stared back at it, wanting to speak but knowing that he was going to be ridiculed again.
“Mr. Hewlitt,” said O’Mara in a voice whose sarcastic tone had been replaced by one of sympathy and concern. “You have many years’ experience of having your words disbelieved by the medical and psychiatric fraternity, so I hoped that your feelings would not be seriously wounded by my own incredulity. In the circumstances your reaction seems abnormal. Please, what is it that you are not wanting to tell me?”
“The vague feeling of recognition I was trying to describe,” said Hewlitt, raising a hand to point at Lioren, “is coming from the Padre.”
“I can confirm that,” said Prilicla.
For the first time since he had entered the office, Hewlitt saw the chief psychologist blink.
CHAPTER 25
“Padre,” said O’Mara, swiveling his chair to look up at the Tarlan standing in the doorway, “have you been hiding something from us?”
Lioren bent one eye in the psychologist’s direction and kept the other three trained on Hewlitt as it said, “Not intentionally. This is as much of a surprise to me as it is you. Your instructions were that the psychology staff in the outer office listen in to this meeting for later discussion. I returned early from the AUGL ward and overheard Patient Hewlitt’s description of his feelings about the cat. I–I need a moment to think.”
“Take it,” said O’Mara. “But Padre, organize your thoughts, try not to edit them.
“Very well,” said Lioren. It did not appear to be offended by the other’s remark unless turning one of its eyes toward the ceiling was a derogatory gesture on Tarla. After a short pause it went on. “In the course of my duties I am aware of many subtle and often indescribable feelings that I have for my charges, both patients and staff, and of similar feelings they have toward me. Even though we Tarlans find physical contact between strangers distasteful, very often I find it necessary when the laying on of hands or a simple handclasp is required to convey feelings that are too difficult for either of the persons concerned to articulate. Until Hewlitt described the bond that it felt existed between its pet and itself, and I realized that a similar feeling existed between the two of us and another former patient, Morredeth, I had not considered the matter of any importance. Now it has become very important because it seems that I became a host to the virus creature. I also know how and when the transfer must have taken place.
“At the time I was not aware of anything unusual about the incident,” the Padre went on. “The damage to a young Kelgian’s fur is a particular tragedy, since it is both an unsightly deformity which precludes mating and a severe impairment of its primary channel of communication. From the time Patient Morredeth learned that the condition was permanent it was in urgent need of nonmaterial support. In common with the majority of civilized worlds, Kelgia has several religious beliefs the precepts of which are familiar to me, but Morredeth subscribed to none of them. All that I could offer it during my daily visits was sympathy and conversation and, well, gossip about other patients and staff members in an attempt to take its mind off its own troubles. The attempt was unsuccessful and the patient remained in a condition of deep, emotional distress until, on the visit following its physical encounter with Patient Hewlitt, there was a total remission of symptoms.”
Lioren paused and for a moment the tall, angular body concealed by the narrow cone of its cloak trembled, apparently at the recollection, then grew still.
“In spite of being the hospital padre,” it said, “I have difficulty accepting an event, no matter how inexplicable it may seem, as miraculous. But not knowing then of the existence of this intelligent virus creature, I was almost convinced otherwise. Morredeth’s behavior following its cure was abnormal in that it was almost insane with delight and relief. I had already touched, or rather stroked, the area of damaged fur in an attempt at giving nonverbal reassurance. But it insisted that I share its joy by feeling for myself the mobility of the regenerated fur with one of my medial hands. That was when it must have happened.
“The fur was indeed highly mobile,” Lioren continued, “so much so that long tufts of it wrapped around and became entangled in my digits. For a moment my hand was held tightly against the skin, and I was afraid to pull it free in case I uprooted strands of the newly grown fur. I was aware of my palm being wet but was unsure whether the perspiration was the patient’s or my own, and at the time I had no idea that the sudden presence of moisture was associated with the creature’s mechanism of transfer. Shortly afterward I removed my hand from the fur without difficulty, congratulated Patient Morredeth on its cure, then left to visit other patients.”
“But didn’t you feel anything?” Hewlitt said before anyone else could speak. “Like better, healthier, or at least different? Did you feel anything at all?”
O’Mara frowned at Hewlitt before returning his attention to Lioren. He said, “They would have been my questions, too. Well, Padre?”
“I do not remember any unusual feelings,” Lioren replied, nor was I expecting them. Perhaps my present feeling of being close to another one of the virus creature’s ex-hosts was obscured by my relief and pleasure over Morredeth’s cure. As well, my health is excellent so it would be difficult for me to feel better physically, although I am less certain about the health of my mind. Apparently our virus creature s ability as a healer does not extend to clinical psychology.”
What kind of psychological problem, Hewlitt thought, could be troubling a highly moral and altruistic being whose popularity among the patients and staff was second only to that of Prilicla? He was wondering if he dared ask when the answer was provided by the chief psychologist.
“Padre,” he said, “you were exonerated of all guilt for the deaths of the Cromsaggar, and soon, I hope, your subconscious will also accept that verdict. But while we are on the subject, on Cromsag you were seriously injured and given emergency treatment by a ship’s medic not fully experienced in Tarlan physiology. As a result there was some minor scarring. Are the scars still visible?”
“I don’t know,” said Lioren, “because I rarely look closely at my own body. Narcissism is unknown among Tarlans. Shall I remove my cloak?”
“Please,” said O’Mara.
Two of Lioren’s medial hands emerged from slits in its long, blue cloak and began releasing the fastenings. Feeling vaguely embarrassed, he looked at Prilicla, who was hovering close by, and whispered, “Should I turn my back?”
“No, friend Hewlitt,” the empath replied. “Tarlans do not subscribe to the Earth-human nudity taboos, and the Blue Cloak of Tarla that it wears is a symbol of professional and academic eminence as well as providing a site for many concealed, internal pockets. Look closely. Friend Lioren has turned completely around and, and I see no scars.
“Because there are none,” said Lioren. Its four eyes were turned downward and hanging from each stalk like single, heavy fruit. “The surgery was neat though hurried so that the scars were not obvious, but now they have completely disappeared.”
O’Mara nodded and said, “Apparently our virus has left you its usual visitor’s card, a perfectly healed and healthy body. That is all the confirmation we need that you were a host. Or maybe you still are.” He looked at Prilicla. “Is the virus still in residence?”
“It is not,” the empath replied. “There is only one source of emotional radiation emanating from the Padre and it is its own. At this range, if another intelligence was present I would detect it at once.
“You would detect it without any possibility of error,” asked O’Mara, “regardless of the species of the host?”
“Yes, friend O’Mara,” Prilicla replied. “I could not help but detect it. Emotionally its presence would be obvious, as obvious as if you were to grow a second, thinking head…
O’Mara actually smiled. “In this medical madhouse that might be an advantage.
“I am less certain with a person like friend Conway,” the empath went on, “who thinks he has eight or nine minds. That confuses the emotional radiation and adds an element of doubt.”
“Diagnostician Conway,” said Hewlitt firmly, “is not a former host.”
“I concur,” said Lioren.
“And I’m glad,” Murchison said, laughing. “Having a multiply absentminded husband is bad enough.”
The chief psychologist gave a single, impatient tap on his desktop and said, “We digress. For reasons that are obvious we must treat the discovery of the creature’s present whereabouts as a matter of extreme urgency.
The reasons are not obvious to me, Hewlitt thought, but he was not being given the chance to ask questions.
“To find it we have one empathic detector who can spot its presence provided the host is within conversational distance and is not a diagnostician, and two ex-hosts who can only identify the people who have already been inhabited if they are within visual range. In both cases the exact distance involved has yet to be established. All of these former hosts as well as the current one must be traced without delay. We are fairly sure that Hewlitt’s only contact within the hospital was Patient Morredeth, from whom the Padre received the virus before it moved to another patient…
“With respect,” Lioren broke in, “it might not have been to another patient.”
O’Mara gave a small, irritated nod and said, “Padre, I have not forgotten that your work includes counseling members of the staff as well as patients. You must interview all of them again, identify the one who inherited the virus from you, and, if it is no longer in residence, trace and talk to all of that person’s subsequent contacts until you find the present host. Report the location to this department, request Monitor security assistance and a medical quarantine, and remain with the entity concerned until Dr. Prilicla arrives to confirm the presence of the virus.
