Final Diagnosis

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.

“Little friend,” he went on, “if you have no objections I would like you to carry out a simultaneous search, initially of the warmblooded, oxygen-breathing wards, main dining hall, and recreation level. You may well find the creature first. But whoever does find it, regardless of the host species, it must be physically isolated, re strained, and the necessary steps taken to prevent the virus from transferring to another host. You will then try to use you projective empathy to reassure the virus entity until we can devise a better method of communication. But on no account must you operate beyond your limits of physical endurance. We need you as a detector and communicator, not a casualty.”

“I am stronger than I look, friend O’Mara,” said Prilicla. “Well, a little stronger.”

The Earth-humans in the room laughed, including O’Mara, who went on, “There are two reasons why I want Hewlitt and the Padre to operate as a team. One is that I do not fully understand the vague and perhaps untrustworthy feeling of recognition that you have described as existing between former hosts, so that if you act together there would be less chance of both of you missing a contact. The second is that an ex-patient running loose inside the hospital, especially one who has a limited knowledge of its geography or experience of avoiding accidental damage by other life-forms, would very soon be readmitted as a casualty unless he had a, well, guardian angel in attendance. For this reason you have been transferred to accommodation closer to the Padre. Do either of you object to this arrangement?”

Hewlitt shook his head and watched while Lioren lowered two of its eyes in a gesture which probably meant the same thing.

“Good,” said O’Mara. “But you should think before agreeing so quickly to anything. I want both of you to spend every waking moment on this search. Since Prilicla is uncertain about its ability to isolate the virus from the other taped entities inhabiting their minds, your first step will be to eliminate the diagnosticians. There is a meeting in three hours’ time on Level Eighty-Three, Lioren knows where, and in view of the problem with the hospital’s powergeneration system, they will all attend. Wait outside the entrance, take a good look at them as they go in, and report your findings to me without delay. You will have many problems, Hewlitt, but the Padre will help you with them. Unless you two have anything else to contribute, this ends the nonmedical part of the discussion.”

“Wait,” said Hewlitt. “I’m worried about the power problem you mentioned. When Rhabwar was coming in we were told that the main reactor was…

“Worry if you must,” O’Mara broke in. “It is a technical problem to which we cannot begin to suggest a solution, and we have medical problems enough without us wasting our time trying.”

He nodded toward the door.

Fear was still his predominant emotion, Hewlitt thought as he traveled once again through the crowded, three-dimensional maze of hospital corridors on foot. He had not realized at the time how pleasant it had been to be riding in the security of a gravity litter driven by a Hudlar nurse so physically massive that everyone gave them the widest possible berth, and he knew that his present experience shouid have been even more terrifying. But the other-species confrontations, which could have resulted in physical and possibly life-threatening collisions, had not occurred because there was always a firm, medial Tarlan hand on his shoulder guiding him out of trouble. The reason he was so afraid but not paralyzed with fear was very difficult to understand.

He decided that his strange absence of terror must be due in part to Lioren, who kept talking about every walking, crawling, or wriggling nightmare they passed as if they were mutual acquaintances, and frequently in terms which, if the information was not already widely known as gossip, was stretching the rules of confidentiality to their elastic limits. A nightmare, he thought, should not have amusing stories told about it if it was to retain its full, terrifying effect. He wondered if he was at last beginning to see these creatures for what they were, and feeling an at times fearful curiosity about them instead of merely looking at them and wanting to react with his feet by running away.

Perhaps his uncharacteristic and continuing interest in the hospital’s extraterrestrials was a form of contagious curiosity and a legacy of the virus creature. He was about to mention the idea to the Padre when they turned into a long side corridor that, apart from themselves, was silent and empty.

“Staff accommodation,” Lioren explained. “It isn’t always as quiet as this, but right now the occupants are either on duty or asleep. This one is yours. I won’t go in because the place will be crowded enough with just you in it. But you should find it comfortable enough. Go in and look around.”

The room was a little larger in area but with a lower ceiling than his cabin on the ship that had brought him to Sector General. He was relieved to see that the overhead lighting was recessed, because his hair was brushing against the ceiling.

“The beds are much too short,” he protested. “My feet will hang over the end onto the floor.”

“Naturally,” said the Padre, bending forward so that it could move one eye and an arm into the room. “It belongs to two Nidians who are absent on a ship-rescue training course for the next few weeks. The beds are movable and can be joined end-to-end. Behind the brown door is a multispecies washroom similar to the one you used in Ward Seven. I hope the wall decorations are not distasteful to you. Both of the former occupants are male and obviously prefer Nidian female subjects to landscapes.”

Hewlitt looked at the pictures of red-furred teddy bears in what must have been provocative poses and tried not to laugh. He said, “I do not find them offensive.”

“Good,” said Lioren. “Over there is your control console. The seat is height-adjustable, the keys are large enough for Earth-human digits, and the display screen can be fine-tuned to your visual requirements. You can call up the usual entertainment, library, and training channels, and the yellow studs enclosed by the green rectangle control the menu display and selection instructions for the food dispenser. Are you as hungry as I am? Would you like to rest or go to the dining hall?”

“Yes,” said Hewlitt, “and I don’t know. Squeeze inside, I want to talk. Can I order something for us, and what would you suggest?”

Lioren hesitated, “By tomorrow your dispenser will have been reprogrammed to supply basic Earth meals,” it said. “The taste difference between Nidian and Earth-human food is practically indistinguishable, and equally revolting to a Tarlan. I would prefer to use the main dining hall and so, I feel sure, would you. There the own-species menu is more extensive so that you would have no trouble finding something you like.”

It was Hewlitt’s turn to hesitate. He said, “Will it be very crowded? Worse than the corridors, I mean? And how am I expected to, well, behave?”

“All of the warm-blooded oxygen-breathers on the staff dine there,” said the Padre, “although not, you will be pleased to hear, at the same time. Everyone will be sitting, kneeling, or standing around tables and eating, not trying to avoid colliding with each other. Besides, if we can find an empty table close to the entrance- and there should be no problem there, because it is not a popular area-we will be able to work while we eat.”

“Work?” said Hewlitt, feeling stupid. Too much was happening to him in too short a time. “How?”

“By exercising our newly acquired talent for detection,” said the Padre, “and scanning the staff members as they arrive or leave for evidence of past occupation by the virus. Even if the results are negative, it will be an effective method of eliminating a large number of staff members from the search so that we can concentrate more of our available time on the patients and on-duty ward staff. The present host must be found, quickly. A virus entity like that loose in a multispecies hospital doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“But why?” asked Hewlitt. “So far as I can see the creature has done no harm to anyone, the reverse in fact. The hospital is in the business of healing people and so is the virus creature. Why is everybody so worried about it? I wanted to ask O’Mara about that earlier but he didn’t give me the chance. And on Rhabwar they avoided the question.”

Lioren backed into the corridor and waited until Hewlitt had closed the room door behind him before it said, “Regrettably, I must do the same.”

“But why, dammit?” Hewlitt said angrily. “I’m not a patient anymore. You don’t have to keep medical secrets from me.”

“Because we don’t have the answer for you,” Lioren replied. “Your mind will be easier if we do not burden it with the unnecessary weight of our own fears and uncertainties.”

“Personally,” said Hewlitt, “I prefer uneasiness to ignorance.”

“Personally,” said Lioren, “I prefer to expect the worst while hoping for the best, which means that I am never disappointed when a result is less than a total disaster or, as may well be the case here, our concern is unfounded. We must avoid frightening ourselves unnecessarily. And the answer to your earlier question is that there aren’t any.

“Any what?” said Hewlitt.

“Table manners,” said the Padre. “Nobody will care about your method of ingestion, nor will they mind if you deliberately avoid looking at a table companion to whom you are talking in order to avoid seeing the disgusting messes some of us push into our mouths.

“And now, Patient Hewlitt,” it ended, “we have work to do as well as food to eat.