Mind Changer sg-12

by James White

  “Go on,” said Mannen.

  O’Mara tried hard to sound as if he wasn’t lecturing as he went on, “We know that lack of sleep causes short-term irritability that can, unless it is countered, grow into something more permanent and much worse. I’ve already detected the beginning of an intense xenophobic reaction in the Kelgian, Eurilian, and Nidian trainees I spoke to, and that is really dangerous. In time there will be members of sixty-odd, some of them very odd, intelligent species working here. They should not be collected into their own little same-species enclaves, with tight circles of same-species friends, all sharing in same-species social and recreational activities. This is expected to be the galaxy’s biggest and best multi-species hospital. If it is to work as it should then the staff has got to mix, and not only at lectures or on the wards…”

  He stopped as Mannen held up one hand again and said, “Lieutenant, I’m not your grandmother, but if I was I’d tell you not to teach me to suck eggs.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said O’Mara. “It’s something I feel strongly about.”

  Mannen nodded and looked at his watch. “Right. What else do you want from me?”

  “I would like you to start conning your students,” O’Mara said quickly. “I don’t mean tell them lies exactly, just shade the truth a little. And spend a few minutes of every lecture, longer if you can manage it, asking them about their personal feelings and progress rather than their clinical work. Be like a stern father no matter what size they are. You can say that you’ve noticed that some of them are looking tired and are falling behind in their studies but you are aware of the reason. Tell them about the hush-field units which will be installed in the quarters of those who really need them, but the process will be a gradual one over the coming months and, regrettably, some of them will have to make the best of the situation until then. Without saying so directly, suggest that their ability to adapt to this situation, and to understand the needs, behavior, and feelings of their other-species colleagues, can have a very beneficial effect on their grades, and that the last few of them to have their rooms fitted with hush fields can feel deservedly proud of themselves.

  “As yet I haven’t discussed this idea with my chief,” he went on quickly, “but when I do, I’m sure Major Craythorne will be glad to talk to and encourage them along the same lines. He’s much better than I am at that sort of thing.”

  “I disagree,” said Mannen. “Is that all?”

  O’Mara hesitated. “No, sir. I don’t know how, but is it possible for you to modify the content of your lectures and study assignments so that one student, or students, have more understanding, or perhaps background knowledge regarding a particular assignment than the others, so that for the best results they will be forced to use a lot more of their free time outside of lectures and ward duties to exchange this knowledge and, well, be forced into using their free time to mix with each other to talk shop? They have to be forced, I mean encouraged, to mix. Is this possible?”

  “Possible,” said Mannen, “but not easy. It would mean reorganizing my whole… Lieutenant, you’ve got a nasty, devious mind?

  Pleased, O’Mara nodded. “I’m a psychologist, sir.

  The other gave him a long look under lowered brows, then went on, “Right, your ideas are workable and I’ll do as you suggest. I’m not a psychologist, but as a clinical tutor of long experience I know when someone is trying to hide something from me. What else is in your nasty, devious mind, Lieutenant?”

  O’Mara felt his face growing warm. He hesitated, then said, “I’d rather not say, sir. The major has given me full responsibility for this one and my idea is a bit unusual, and comes under the heading of a crude but effective solution. I haven’t thought it through properly and it might not work, so I think it’s better that you don’t know the details.”

  Mannen nodded, looked at his watch again, and got quickly to his feet. “Just try not to wreck the hospital,” he said.

  “I won’t, sir,” said O’Mara as he rose to leave. Under his breath he added, At least, not all of it.

  His next stop was at his quarters, where he changed into his oldest and most stained set of coveralls, the ones that the laundry was continually sending him notes about suggesting that they should be sent without delay to the incinerator. It was likely that Major Craythorne would not be pleased by what he intended to do, and he didn’t want to make matters worse by ruining another uniform. Besides, he needed to find his way among the service tunnels under the dining hall, and that could not be done quickly if one wanted to stay clean.

  He found Technician Lennenth working on one of the battery of cleaning, food-delivery, and systems-checking robots in its charge. It was wearing two sets of coveralls. Kelgians were inclined to be overprotective where their silver fur was concerned.

  “O’Mara,” said Lennenth, “what do you want?”

  “I want you to do me a big favor,” he replied.

  “Earth-humans don’t always say what they mean,” said Lennenth. “Do you mean you want me to return the big favor you did for me?”

  O’Mara shook his head. “You are under no obligation to do anything for me,” he said. “If you simply return that favor, we’re quits. But if you do this one for me, we’ll each owe the other a favor and that might come in useful in the future. Do you agree?”

  “O’Mara, you’re making my head hurt,” said Lennenth. “Your help with the Tralthan waste-pumping system failure under Ward Fifteen earned me a promotion, so either way, I’ll do it. What exactly do you want done?”

  “First,” he said, “are you still responsible for the dining-area cleaning and maintenance? Especially for driving that big cleaning vehicle?”

  “Yes,” said the Kelgian, “and yes.

  “Good,” said O’Mara. “On your next cleanup shift, which is six hours from now, I want to drive it. I’ll need your advice about maneuvering the brute between the table spaces, but this is what I plan to do…

  As he went on speaking, Lennenth’s fur moved so violently that its coveralls looked as if they had been stuffed with maddened weasels. Its fur was still twitching uncontrollably when he stopped talking and the other found its voice.

  “They’ll kick us both off the hospital for this!” it said. “O’Mara, I think you need therapy.”

  “I don’t think they’ll kick us off the hospital,” said O’Mara, “and certainly not both of us. We’ll work out the details later, but you will be temporarily detached from your dining-area duties and sent to do something in a public area that will keep you busy for a couple of hours, so you will not be directly involved. I’ll put the order in writing, but you are not to show it to anyone unless the idea goes sour and they try to blame you.

  “After all,” he added, smiling, “a mere technician, even a newly promoted technician first class, cannot disobey the direct order of a lieutenant.”

  During the ensuing six hours before the dastardly deed was done, O’Mara tried to sleep or at least rest, in vain. Instead, he used the time to write his report and recommendations to Craythorne in advance of the event. He tried to make it as neat, clear, and concise as he could, because the major had a tidy mind and, as well, it might well be the last report he would ever write in Sector General.

  But when he placed the report on the major’s desk next morning, Craythorne barely glanced at the title page before pushing it aside. It was the first time he had seen the other angry as Craythorne said grimly, “Thank you, O’Mara, but I haven’t time to read it now. Something more urgent and serious has come up. Someone has trashed the dining area, uprooted most of the furniture by tearing it off its floor attachments. A big cleaning and repair vehicle was used and it wasn’t an accident. This looks as if it was deliberately planned vandalism by a person or persons unknown while the technician in charge was absent. The damage can be repaired easily enough, but I want you to go down there and find out what the hell happened and why.”

  “I know what happened, and why,” said O’Mara. “It’s i
n my report, sir.”

  Craythorne blinked slowly; then, without taking his eyes off O’Mara, he reached sideways and pulled the report in front of him again. He said, “Then obviously I have time to read it now. Sit down, Lieutenant.”

  There were five pages and the major didn’t speak until he had finished reading the last one. Then he placed his elbows on the desk, cupped his forehead in both hands for a moment, then looked up and said, “O’Mara, when you mentioned knocking people’s heads together to make them see sense, I thought you were joking.”

  “Sir, I’m not knocking heads together,” O’Mara protested, “just forcing them close enough to talk, which they will have to do if they eat together. The damage in the dining area was precisely calculated so that there will not be enough physiologically suitable furniture for any given species to dine without having to make use of other-species tables, chairs, or whatever. They’ll probably argue or quarrel at first, have nasty things to say about each others’ eating habits, but they will talk and get to understand and make allowances for each other instead of isolating themselves into tight and potentially hostile same-species groups. Senior Tutor Mannen is restructuring his lectures so that, in their off-duty periods, they will be forced together to talk shop if they want optimum exam results.

  “As well,” O’Mara went on excitedly, “he is helping fund hushfield installations for some of the sleeping quarters that will need them although, if my idea works out and they really begin to understand and accept each other, eating habits, sleeping noises, warts and all, we may not need many of them. But what we do need is enough time to allow the process to work.”

  “Which is why,” Craythorne said, tapping the report, “you want the table repairs to be delayed for as long as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” said O’Mara quickly. “But I need your help there. I don’t have the rank to tell Maintenance to slow down, but you have. Regarding the trainees, what I thought we might do is introduce a little professional competitiveness into the process. The Educator tapes are about to be introduced, initially to senior staff members, although the trainees will be keen to try them, too. Maybe we, through Dr. Mannen, could suggest that the impression of an other-species mind tape is a landmark event, a high professional compliment, and that trainees who do not make an effort to fully understand the thought processes and behavior of their colleagues might not be considered suitable for the impression of otherspecies mind partners.

  “In the meantime,” he continued, “we could plant the idea that anyone who is averse to using physically unsuitable table furniture and talking to other-species friends and colleagues is, well, something of a sissy. Or the ET equivalent.”

  Craythorne nodded. “And you also want to rearrange the staff duty schedules, and particularly their mealtimes, so that there are never enough empty same-species tables to go round. We might even make that situation permanent as part of the other-species social acclimatization process. Maintenance would have a lot of complaints, but Maintenance always has a lot of complaints. It will be inconvenient at first but soon the constant shortage of tables will be accepted as a continuing fact of hospital life.”

  He tapped the report again. “I like this, O’Mara. Your recommendations will be put into effect at once. Well done.”

  O’Mara nodded. He was so pleased and relieved that no words would come.

  Craythorne went on, “You handled this situation so well, bi~tt in such a direct, unorthodox fashion, that at the moment I’m reluctant to give you another problem to solve. But one thing surprises me.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes,” said the other. “You have never struck me, Lieutenant, as the type of person to whom anyone would want to do a favor.”

  As he was leaving the office, Craythorne added, “Ignore the last remark, O’Mara, I’m still trying to be nasty.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Craythorne’s reluctance to give him another assignment lasted for all of three days. The major was busy smoothing the administrational wrinkles out of the nonrepairable dining-area project, so they were rarely in the department at the same time. It came as no surprise that the latest job came in the form of the cover-page summary of a trainee psych file and a note in Craythorne’s terrible handwriting. He read the file first.

  Subject: THORNNASTOR. Physiological classification FGLI; species Tralthan; age, 87 Earth standard years with a normal life-expectancy of 150 years; graduate with honors University of Howth Medical School on Traltha; served 12 years as medical consultant on multi-species space construction projects in the Ballildon, Corso, and Lentallet systems; no close family or nonfamily emotional ties; accepted for advanced multi-species surgical training Sector General; first trainee to undergo an other-species Educator tape impression with no reported aftereffects, and permission has been given to retain the tape until its current medical project is completed, following successful completion of which it will be offered a position on the permanent staff at senior-physician level; previous clinical studies and ward work exemplary, but a marked deterioration has been noted over the past three weeks; psychological investigation requested by Senior Tutor Mannen before finalizing its promotion. Present living quarters Level 111, Room 18.

  The note said, “Maybe it’s just homesick, or at 87 is having a midlife crisis. Talk to it, find out what if anything is going wrong in ts mind, but leave the hobnailed boots in your quarters.”

  Plainly, O’Mara thought, Craythorne was still trying hard to be nasty.

  Unless it was on the recreation deck or socializing somewhere, Thornnastor’s duty schedule placed it in its quarters an hour before it was due to retire for the night. As he left the elevator on OneEleven and found the right door number, he wondered if it was one of the snorers. He heard and felt the deck vibration as it approached and opened its door.

  “My name is O’Mara,” he said, trying not to feel intimidated by a highly intelligent six-legged elephant who might or might not be emotionally disturbed, “from the Other-Species Psychology Department. If it’s convenient, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I know of you, O’Mara” said Thornnastor. “Come in. The inconvenience will be all yours if you have no prior experience of my species’ lack of furniture. I suggest that you sit on the edge of the sleeping pit.”

  Thornnastor’s accommodation was a large, empty cube rendered small by the size of the occupant. The walls were covered by pictures of home-world scenery and images too strange for O’Mara to even guess at what they might be, and a few trailing pieces of strong-smelling, decorative vegetation that partly concealed the door to the bathroom. A thick, semicircular shelf carrying a lighted viewscreen, a recorder, and lecture tapes was the only piece of furniture that projected from the walls. The deep, rectangular, Tralthan-sized sleeping recess in the center of the floor was entered by a sloping ramp. O’Mara moved down the ramp until the edge of the floor was level with the back of his knees, half turned, and sat down. He pressed his palms briefly into the thick, soft material that covered the floor.

  “Thank you,” he said, trying to find something complimentary to say. “This is very comfortable.”

  “My species does not require a high level of physical comfortP said Thornnastor. “The padding is there to deaden the sound of my footfalls so as not to inconvenience my neighbors with sound pollution. ‘While I welcome a legitimate interruption in my studies…” It pointed a tentacle at the lighted viewscreen. “. . I would prefer it not to be a waste of time?

  The mind tape it was carrying had been donated by a Kelgian, O’Mara thought, and it was obvious that the host’s behavior was being influenced by the donor, so a polite, roundabout approach would also be redundant.

  “I’ve no intention of wasting your time or mine,” he said. “Senior Tutor Mannen has asked me to talk about the recent deterioration in your work which, because it has previously been of such a high standard, is causing us concern. The continuing decline became apparent a few days after you were impressed with a Kelgia
n DBLF mind tape, so we suspect a psychological component to your problem. Would you care to comment?”

  Thornnastor turned one of its eyes in the direction of the viewscreen, followed by a tentacle tip, which switched it off; then all four of its eyes curled down to look at O’Mara. A few moments passed without a reply.

  “If you are taking time to make a considered and accurate answer,” said O’Mara, “I can wait. But if you are unwilling to speak, why not?”

  The Tralthan made a muted, foghorn sound that did not translate and otherwise remained silent. O’Mara sighed.

  “There have been complaints of noise in this area during rest periods,” he went on. “The matter is being dealt with. But sleep deprivation can seriously affect the ability to concentrate. Is that the problem?”

  “N&’ said Thornnastor.

  “Is the behavior or a lack of understanding of your colleagues or the teaching staff affecting you?” he continued. “Has anything they have done or said made you feel insecure? Are you having an emotional or perhaps a sexual involvement with someone?”

  “No” the Tralthan repeated.

  “Then has it something to do with the mind tape?” he persisted.

  The other remained silent.

  I should have studied dentistry, he thought. This is like pulling teeth.

  “Plainly there is a problem with your Educator tape” said O’Mara patiently, “which it is my job to help you solve. But we can’t solve it unless I know what it is. I have the feeling that you would like to talk about it. Please do so.”

  Thornnastor made another untranslatable sound so deep that it seemed to vibrate his bones. Then it said, “This is stupid, ridiculous. There’s no reason why I should feel this way.”

  “Whether or not it is stupid or ridiculous” said O’Mara, “is a purely subjective judgment on your part and as such has questionable value, as is the apparent lack of reason for your present feelings. Take as much time as you need to describe those feelings.”