James White - SG 11 - Mind Changer

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Mind Changer by
James White
1968
scanned by lzmini May 2003
CHAPTER 1
Far out on the galactic rim, where star systems were sparse and the darkness close to
absolute, Sector Twelve General Hospital hung in space. Too vast by far to be considered a space
station, too small to be called a metal moon, in its three hundred and eightyfour levels were
reproduced the environments of all the intelligent species known to the Galactic Federation, a
biological spectrum ranging from the ultra-frigid methane life-forms through the more normal
oxygen- and chlorine-breathing types up to the exotic beings who lived by the direct conversion of
hard radiation. Its thousands of viewports were constantly ablaze with lighting in the dazzling
variety and intensity necessary for the visual sensors of its extraterrestrial patients and staff,
so that to approaching ships the great hospital resembled a gigantic Christmas tree.
The most brilliant feature of all was the flashing pattern of warning beacons outlining
the perimeter of the fusion reactors. But for the next few hours the real source of power within
the vast establishment would lie behind a group of three yellow, lighted panels of moderate
intensity on Level Thirty-Nine—although, O’Mara thought cynically, the people wielding that power
would have been the first to make token denials of that fact.
But today he was receiving some very confusing signals from the beings who were standing,
sitting, hanging, or otherwise reclining at ease around the big table. Something unusual had
happened or was about to happen, or Skempton would not have been able to ensure this full
attendance. By the nature of things within this medical madhouse that meant a surprise, almost
certainly an unpleasant surprise, for someone here. As he stared slowly at the others in turn, he
knew that the DBDGs present, as well as the few ETs who had learned how to read Earth-human facial
expressions, were aware of his irritation.
With the exception of the hospital’s administrator, Colonel Skempton, and himself, they
were the hospital’s medical elite, diagnosticians all and the heads of their respective
departments. This was the first monthly Meeting of Diagnosticians that he could recall where all
staff members had turned up and were staring at the colonel in silence instead of complaining
loudly to each other about having better things to do elsewhere.
Definitely, O’Mara thought, the surprise was going to be an unpleasant one.
Around the big table the silence deepened until the quiet bubbling sound from the
environmental protection vehicle of the water-breathing Diagnostician Vosan began to sound loud.
Inside its protective chlorine envelope, Lachlichi twitched disgustingly but silently, and the
highly refrigerated sphere containing Diagnostician Semlic radiated a supercooled silence, while
the tentacles of Diagnostician Camuth, the Creppelian octopoid, made impatient, slapping noises
against the floor. The others were warm-blooded oxygen-breathers who did not need to wear
environmental protection, or even clothing apart from their badges of medical rank, with the
exception of the three Earth-humans present. Diagnostician Conway had on his surgical white
coveralls, while Colonel Skempton and himself wore their dark green Monitor Corps uniforms. It was
the colonel who finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.
As he knew it would, the Kelgian diagnostician, Yursedth, reacted at once. Its mobile,
silvery fur rippled into angry eddies as it said loudly, “That noise illustrates the basic design
flaw in your Earth-human physiology, Colonel, that of having the functions of respiration and
speech served by the same air passage. Surely you can exercise some voluntary control over the
process when you prepare to speak, and refrain from making that disgusting sound.”
The concepts of politeness, diplomacy, or otherwise hiding the truth were totally alien to
Kelgians because, to another member of their species, the movements of their highly mobile fur
expressed exactly what they were thinking and feeling from second to second, so that trying to
vocalize a different message would have been a stupid waste of their time. Skempton ignored the
outburst, as did everyone else in the room, and spoke.
“Before we get down to the routine business,” he said, and added with a small, dry laugh,
“if anything about this medical menagerie can be described as routine, I have two important
announcements to make. They are the results of discussions and decisions taken at the highest
level, that of the Federation’s Medical Council and the subcommittee tasked with the supply,
maintenance, and administration of Sector General. These decisions are irreversible, not subject
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to debate or amendment and, naturally, they will not please everyone.
He had the precise, colorless voice of a bookkeeper, O’Mara thought dryly, although over
the years the excellence of his bookkeeping had earned him the highest nonmedical position in the
hospital. As Skempton paused for a moment to look slowly around the table, his expression remained
emotionless and his gaze lingered on O’Mara for perhaps an additional millisecond. But O’Mara was
too good a psychologist to be blind and deaf to the other’s body language.
The decisions, whatever they were, had certainly pleased Colonel Skempton.
“My first announcement,” the colonel resumed, “is that I shall be relinquishing my
position as the hospital’s administrator and will shortly be leaving Sector General. This was not
my decision, but as a serving Monitor Corps officer I have to go when and where I’m told. I am
being appointed to a similar, but I think a much easier job, in the multi-species Monitor Corps
base at Retlin on Nidia, with the substantive rank of fleet commander. I am not unhappy about this
move because, large and well-appointed as our recreation level is, it is too small to include a
proper golf course. So I look forward to relearning the game after twenty years’ lack of practice
. . .“ He looked at O’Mara for a moment before ending,
and playing it on real grass under a real sky.”
O’Mara was the only other person in the hospital who knew about, and had helped the other
to fight, his continuing war against claustrophobia and its related neuroses—a common enough
problem among the hospital staff, especially with newly arrived trainees. In Skempton’s case the
war had gone well, although it had never been truly won.
Without changing his expression, he gave the colonel a nod of sympathy, understanding, and
congratulation that was too brief for the others to see.
“Isn’t that the game where Earth-humans knock a small ball into a slightly larger hole
with a stick?” said Yursedth with a disapproving ruffle of its fur. “Our children play a game like
that; the adults have more important things to do. But your promotion and anticipated juvenile
pleasures, Colonel, are both well deserved.”
Coming from a Kelgian, it was a highly complimentary speech. Everyone else around the
table made the untranslatable sounds that were the extraterrestrial equivalents of murmurs of
agreement.
The colonel dipped his head briefly in acknowledgment, then went on, “Before naming my
successor, who has already been chosen, I must first inform you about two important changes in the
job specification. Henceforth the position of hospital administrator will no longer be filled by a
serving officer of the Monitor Corps but by a senior member of the medical staff. The reason the
Federation’s Medical Council gives for this is ...
Chairs, benches, and support frames creaked as their occupants changed position suddenly
to stare at Thornnastor, the diagnostician-in-charge of Pathology and the acknowledged senior
member of the medical hierarchy. Thornnastor, who did not use furniture because its species did
everything including sleeping on their six elephantine feet, used its four extensible eyes to
stare back at all of them simultaneously.
It stamped two of its feet for emphasis, and when the loose equipment about the room had
stopped rattling, it said, “Don’t look at me. With respect, Colonel, I’m a pathologist, not a
glorified supplies clerk. If I have been considered for the position, I respectfully decline it.”
Skempton ignored the interruption and continued, ..... is that someone with medical
experience and a detailed understanding of the medical needs of the hospital—rather than a
Serviceindoctrinated, glorified supplies clerk, even one with my lengthy experience in the
job—will eventually occupy the position. The new appointee will have to satisfy the Federation’s
Medical Council, but more importantly our own medical staff, regarding his, her, or its fitness
for the post..
Inside its ultra-refrigerated protective sphere, the tiny, crystalline entity that was
Diagnostician Semlic spoke in a voice like the amplified but ineffably sweet chiming of colliding
snowflakes. From their translator packs came the words “Who the hell is it?”
“The first of the new-style hospital administrators" Skempton replied, looking directly at
O’Mara with an expression that was sympathetic rather than congratulatory, “will be our chief
psychologist.”
For a moment surprise left O’Mara incapable of speech, a condition so rare that he could
not remember the last time it had happened, but he did not allow his feelings to show in either
his expression or his voice.
“I’m not qualifled" he said firmly.
Before the colonel could reply, Ergandhir, the Melfan diagnostician, raised one of its
thin, exoskeletal limbs and began clicking the pincers loudly together for attention.
“I agree" it said. “Major O’Mara is not qualified. Shortly after joining the hospital I
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was surprised to discover that it had no formal medical training or qualifications, but that it
was virtually running the place, and that in real terms its authority, with respect, Colonel,
exceeded your own. But you have just stated that the appointee must be medically qualified, so you
appear to be contradicting yourself. Are you waiving that requirement in O’Mara’s case? If for
some reason you are already changing the rules".
It had been an even longer time, O’Mara thought with angry embarrassment, since anyone had
so much as dared mention his lack of medical training to his face, much less publicly and in such
distinguished company. He thought about using a few pungent and appropriate words that would lift
the skin off Ergandhir’s back, even though as a Melfan that area was covered only by a bony
carapace. But the other was still talking.
Its time served in Sector General exceeds that of everyone in this room" Erghandir was
saying, “because it joined Sector General before the final assembly of the structure was complete.
Since then, as head of the Department of Other-Species Psychology, it has held the place together
by showing the inhabitants of this medical madhouse how to live and work together as a unit. Its
experience in this respect is unequaled. But I have an orderly mind, Colonel. I would like to know
why you make rules one moment and break them the next—although, needless to say, I have no problem
with your choice of administrator.~~
Around the table there were more untranslatable noises signifying approval. Yursedth said,
“It has never been a requirement that the administrator be popular:’
Their reaction gave O’Mara a warm feeling of surprise and pleasure, which he did not allow
to show in his face because that would have been a totally uncharacteristic reaction from the most
disliked person in the hospital, but he decided that the nonexistent skin on Ergandhir’s back was
safe. He nodded toward the Kelgian, then looked steadily at Skempton.
“Yursedth is correct,” he said. “But I repeat, Colonel, I am still not qualified. My
experience in procuring medical and maintenance supplies is nil. In this area the job is far
beyond my level of competence.” In a very disrespectful voice he added, “I, too, will respectfully
decline.~~
“You will not decline,” said the other firmly, “because the alternative would mean you
leaving Sector General at once. Besides, my department is efficient and my staff are very good,
good enough to make me feel redundant most of the time, and they will take care of all the routine
matters involving procurement and transportation of supplies, with or without supervision. You
must be left free to do the more important and urgent work—which, we believe, you are uniquely
qualified to do.”
“Which is?” said O’Mara.
Skempton stared back at him but appeared to be ducking the question. Obviously there was
something he was finding it difficult to say, something which O’Mara might not like to hear.
The colonel went on. “I’ve no intention of breaking all the new rules on the first day. As
I have already said, this is to be a civil appointment. You will therefore have to resign your
rank of major in the Monitor Corps. This should be no hardship since it was originally given to
you for purely administrative reasons and Corps discipline never has meant anything to you,
especially . . .“ He smiled faintly.”. . . in the matter of obeying the orders of senior officers.
You will, of course, retain your position as head of MultiSpecies Psychology because henceforth
the positions of administrator and chief psychologist are to be merged into one. But as a civilian
administrator you will not have to accept orders from any other person within the hospital, which
is simply regularizing the unofficial situation as it is now, and obey only the one general
directive of the Federation’s Medical Council.. "
“Which is?” O’Mara broke in again, this time making no attempt to conceal his impatience.
If there was anything he disliked, it was having to repeat a simple question.
The other hesitated, forced a smile, then said, “The good news is that your appointment
will be temporary. It will last only for as long as it takes for you to select, evaluate, and
fully train your successor.
For a moment there were so many excited, other-species voices speaking at once that his
translator was making the derisive beeping sound that signaled input overload. O’Mara did not
speak until everyone was quiet again.
“And the bad news?” he said.
Skempton looked very uncomfortable, but his voice was steady as he replied, “You have
given exemplary service to this hospital for a very long time, Major, or I should say, ex-Major
O’Mara. I fully agree with the majority of the Medical Council who say that, in the early years
especially, it could not have functioned without you. But choosing and grooming your successor to
a level of excellence that is as close as possible to your own may well be the most important and
professionally challenging project you will ever undertake. And when you have completed it to your
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own satisfaction.
The colonel paused. When he went on, his expression, O’Mara thought, showed an odd mixture
of reluctance, sympathy, and deep anxiety, as if he was experiencing both sorrow and the
expectation of an imminent emotional eruption.
“Well, Administrator O’Mara" he ended awkwardly, “I have already said that you have served
this hospital for a very long time. As soon as you have completed this assignment, you will be
required to leave and take your long-overdue retirement.”
CHAPTER 2
O ‘Mara remained silent for the rest of the meeting and left for his quarters before any
of those who had waited behind could congratulate or commiserate with him on his promotion and
forced retirement, but he knew that his bad manners would be considered entirely in character.
Although he had shown no outwerd reaction to his sudden elevation and limited future in Sector
General, the news had shaken him badly. A certainty that had supported his entire professional
life was to be taken away from him and, as soon as possible, he needed to settle down for a
lengthy period of reappraisal. As the hospital’s administrator his authority was such that he
could absent himself for as long as he thought necessary for him to come to terms with a major
problem that was both professional and emotional, but as the chief psychologist he could not spare
the time right now.
He remained in his rooms only long enough to remove the insignia of rank from his uniform.
As he did so he realized for the first time that, apart from a few sleepsuits, he did not have
anything to wear that was not Monitor Corps issue.
On the way to his office he scarcely noticed the pre-lunch crowd of multi-species medical
and maintenance staff thronging the corridors leading to the dining hall. The heavyweight
Tralthans and Hudlars and the species driving environmental protection vehicles, and the Melfans,
whose wide-spreading, bony limbs could cause painful bruising of the shins, he avoided as a matter
of long habit, and the smaller life-forms he ignored because they avoided him. Even the species
who said that they couldn’t tell one Earthhuman from another knew the green-clad being with the
grey head fur as the chief psychologist. He did not speak to any of them, and they knew better
than to speak to him unless an emotional emergency of some kind was involved.
Padre Lioren and Cha Thrat were still at lunch, so Braithwaite was alone in the outer
office.
“I heard about your appointment a few minutes ago" said the lieutenant. He stood up
quickly behind his console and smiled, but he knew better than to try to shake hands.
“Congratulations, sir.”
O’Mara wasn’t surprised. The hospital grapevine was an extremely rapid, if not always
accurate, channel of communication. He scowled.
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant" he said. “I won’t allow my new eminence to change me in any way.
And you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore. As a civilian it is a courtesy I no longer expect.”
Braithwaite’s eyes flickered toward the undecorated collar and empty shoulder tabs on
O’Mara’s tunic; then they returned to his face.
Still smiling, he said, “Force of habit. Besides, I have been known to extend that same
courtesy to members of the civilian staff, if they deserve it. But, well, how do you feel about
it, sir?”
Braithwaite’s tone sounded concerned as well as curious, O’Mara noted, so perhaps his
customary dour lack of expression had slipped a little. He ignored the question but contrived to
answer it anyway.
“If my aging and no doubt untrustworthy memory serves me correctly,” he said sourly,
“Cresk-Sar has a half-hour appointment with me in twenty-five minutes. Use the time to refuel in
the dining hall. As soon as the senior physician leaves, I want to see all three of you together
to discuss in detail my feelings about this situation and how it will affect the department.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant, sit down and finish those psych file updates.”
As usual, Gurronsevas had ensured that his lunch would be the most enjoyable period of the
day. The chief dietician and former renowned multi-species chef de cuisine had caused an awful lot
of trouble during its first few weeks at Sector General, and had come very close to being pitched
out on its large, Tralthan ear, so it was continually trying to return the favor it thought it
owed him for saving it from that fate. It was a good time to think unpleasant thoughts and allow
the pleasure of the meal to dilute them.
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Occasionally he had thought about his age and the dreadful inevitability of his having to
retire someday from Sector General, the world he had helped build and the only life he had known
since his early twenties. He had been an immensely strong young man then, and over the years his
fitness checks had been optimum, until recently. Now old Thornnastor, who must be nearly as
advanced in years as he was if one allowed for the lengthier Tralthan life span, and young Conway
were forever hinting that he should take it easier, slow down and reduce his workload. By accident
Gurronsevas had let slip the fact that it had been necessary to modify several of its sauces to
disguise the taste of the supportive medication that was now being included daily in O’Mara’s food
intake. He was returning the dishes, all empty if not quite licked clean, to the insulated serving
tray when the attention signal on his console beeped at him.
“Yes?” he said.
“Senior Physician Cresk-Sar is here, sir,” said Cha Thrat in its deep, Sommaradvan voice.
“Are you ready for it?”
“Yes,” he said again.
Cresk-Sar opened the door and waddled quickly into the room like a hyperactive teddy bear.
It was barely a meter tall, with tiny eyes that were almost hidden by tightly curled facial fur
that was tinged around its mouth and ears with grey, as was the longer body hair that poked out in
untidy tufts between the straps of its equipment harness. Aging is happening to all of us, O’Mara
thought sadly. The Nidian senior tutor was the most frequent visitor to his office but,
thankfully, it brought with it only the problems of its students.
O’Mara keyed his board for the latest trainee psych reports and pointed at the edge of a
recliner that had been designed for a Melfan but that should be comfortable enough for a short
meeting. If it wasn’t, then Cresk-Sar could always take the option of making it shorter.
“Your latest batch of trainees seems to be a pretty average bunch,” he said, turning aside
from his screen. “There is the usual incidence of anxiety neuroses regarding underperformance
during• the coming examinations, professional inadequacy when faced with treating their first
other-species patients, and, of course, their conviction that never ever will they learn to fully
understand the thought processes of their medical-colleagues-to-be. They are right, of course, but
that doesn’t stop you or any of the other seniors from doing your jobs. And yes, there is one of
them, a Tralthan, for God’s sake, who is reporting dreams indicative of the fear-well-controlled,
I admit-associated with possible sexual molestation and penetration by one or more of its other-
species colleagues. What could a six-legged, tentacled elephant possibly fear from a bunch of
Kelgians, Melfans, Nidians, and one Earth-human female, all of whom are less than one-quarter of
its body mass?”
Cresk-Sar made a barking sound that did not translate, its Nidian equivalent of laughter.
“As we know, sir, large muscles do not preclude emotional sensitivity.”
O’Mara knew that very well, but it was a sensitivity he had tried to hide over the years.
Irritated at having an old wound opened, he said sharply, “I don’t anticipate any serious
emotional problems developing among this lot, Senior Physician. Or are you about to tell me I’m
wrong?”
“Yes,” said Cresk-Sar, fidgeting on the edge of the Melfan rediner. “I mean, not exactly.
It’s ... The problem is minei”
For a long moment O’Mara stared at the other in silence. The thick, overall covering of
fur made reading its expression impossible, except for the tiny, dark eyes and the body language,
which were signaling tension and distress. He softened his tone to an extent that those who
thought they knew him would not have believed possible.
“Take your time, Cresk-Sar.”
But the other did not want to take its time, because its staccato, Nidian speech poured
out like the barking of an agitated dog. “It’s Crang-Suvi’ it said, “and me. She is the only other
Nidian in the class. She’s very young, with dark-red fur and a voice and personality that, that .
. . Dammit, she’s a Nidian male’s wishfulfillment dream. But she seems to be basically insecure
for reasons which you know about and probably understand far better than I do....”
While the other was talking, O’Mara had called up CrangSuvi’s psych file, and he did
understand. Even though Cresk-Sar was repeating much of what was showing on the screen, he
listened patiently without interrupting.
..... She is a Graduate of Excellence from Sanator Five~’ the senior tutor went on, “which
is Nidia’s foremost teaching hospital. Any hospital on a dozen planets, or the Corps’ medical
service, would be glad to have her but, like everyone else in her class, she has always had her
mind set on making it as a Sector General graduate and applying for a staff position here. She is
intelligent, able, caring, unusually beautiful, shows no marked signs of xenophobia, and is used
to getting what she wants. Personally, I’ve no doubt at all that Crang-Suvi will make it, but I
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can’t tell her so because that would be unfair to the other trainees. But she isn’t so sure and,
within a week of her arrival, she indicated that she would like to increase her chances by
providing sexual favors to her senior tutor. She says that the age differential is unimportant,
and she refuses to take no for an answer. ...
O’Mara held up his hand. “Has sexual contact taken place between you?”
“No" said Cresk-Sar.
“Why not?” said O’Mara.
The other hesitated for a moment, during which O’Mara thought that at least the matter
involved two beings of the same species; otherwise, if word of the affair had got out, it would
have become really messy and a matter for someone’s resignation. In the circumstances they both
knew that the hospital’s long-serving and most highly experienced tutor would not normally have
been the one to resign-unless, of course, the situation had reached the stage of emotional
involvement where they both felt it necessary to leave together. That would be bad, he thought,
for Cresk-Sar, CrangSuvi, and Sector General, but otherwise gifted and intelligent people did
stupid things at times.
“Take your time" he said again.
Cresk-Sar made a loud, self-irritated sound that did not translate; then it answered his
original question.
“There are four reasons why not,” it said miserably. “She is less than one-third of my
age. She gives no promise of a permanent or even a lengthy relationship. I would be taking an
unfair and selfish advantage of what would be a very pleasant situation, which would not influence
the result of her finals one bit, although the psychological effect on her classmates, who would
have difficulty believing that she was not being given an unfair advantage, would not be good.
And, well, there is Surgeon-Lieutenant Warnagh-Lut, who would not like it. Do you know about
Warnagh-Lut?”
“Not officially" said O’Mara dryly. His department took official cognizance of an event or
activity only when it was highlighted in orange or red on the relevant psych file.
The other went on, “She-Warnagh-Lut, that is-is closer to me in age and temperamentally
much more suitable. But as a serving medical officer, even though her department is responsible
for looking after the Corps maintenance personnel at the hospital, she could be sent anywhere in
the galaxy at short notice. Had this not been so, we would have proclaimed our life-mate status
long since. But now Crang-Suvi has, well, disturbed things. You understand?”
O’Mara nodded. He said, “You, and your continued mental well-being, are more valuable to
this establishment than any trainee, no matter how gifted. It can be returned to its home world
immediately, with or without an explanation. Right?”
“No!” said Cresk-Sar vehemently. “That isn’t necessary. Besides, it would be a terrible
waste of future medical talent. I just want Crang-Suvi off my back, or whatever. I’ve tried to do
it, but she just ignores me and, well, it’s very difficult to ignore her. Could you just make her
understand the situation and, well, talk to her like a stern father? In my trainee days, I seem to
remember you doing that to me more than once.
Feeling relieved, O’Mara nodded again. He approved of people with problems who provided
their own solutions.
“I can do that for you, of course~’ he replied. “But initially I think Cha Thrat should
approach your little disturbance before the chief psychologist has to take official notice of this
particular misdemeanor, which would mean an official reprimand going on its training record. Cha
Thrat is also female, and thankfully the only Sommaradvan in the hospital, so it will be more
sympathetic. The department will handle it.”
Deliberately he had followed the hospital practice of referring to Crang-Suvi and Cha
Thrat as “it” because, to a member of any other species, the difference was considered unimportant
unless there were clinical reasons for specifying another being’s sex. In many cases the visual
differences were hard to detect, and much trouble and emotional distress had been caused in the
early days by other-species members of the staff being mistakenly identified in company. So he
called everyone who was not an Earth-human man or woman “it” regardless of sex, while the other-
species staff did likewise where Earth-human males and females were involved. Besides, he thought
dryly, it was much handier when the other species concerned had more than one sex.
But now that the other’s problem was being solved it was time, O’Mara thought, that he
stepped back into character. There was no sense in giving the impression that he was going soft.
In a brisk, dismissive voice he said, “Is there anything or anyone else bothering you,
Doctor?”
“No, sir,” the other replied, slipping from the high edge of the Melfan recliner onto the
floor and turning to leave. “But I would like to congratulate you on your new appointment. It is
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welldeserved.”
O’Mara inclined his head; then on impulse he said, “In my new capacity as administrator I
can see to it that the Monitor Corps allows your Warnagh-Lut to remain in Sector General
indefinitely, if that is what you both wish.” He smiled sourly and added, “After all, there is no
point in me having ultimate power if I don’t occasionally abuse it.”
Cresk-Sar gave an untranslatable bark of thanks and waddled hurriedly out of the office as
if it had good and urgent news to tell someone. O’Mara sighed in self-irritation. Watch it, he
told himself, you are definitely going soft. Then he keyed the attention signal to the outer
office and held it down until Braithwaite replied.
“In here, all of you. Now.”
CHAPTER 3
They trooped in single file into the big inner office in reverse order of seniority~ The
Tarlan ex-surgeon-captain and present Padre Lioren was first, followed by the Sommaradvan former
warrior-surgeon Cha Thrat, with O’Mara’s principal assistant, Braithwaite, bringing up the rear.
O’Mara waved a hand loosely toward the furniture.
“This will take time~’ he said. “Find a place to sit.”
Braithwaite was lucky in that there was one Earth-human chair; the others had to settle
for the best they could find, because the Sommaradvan and Tarlan cultures had yet to be discovered
when the room had been furnished. No doubt Maintenance, who argued that anything that was not an
emergency had to be considered low priority, would get around to remedying the discrepancy one of
these years.
While O’Mara pretended to stare down at his large, bluntfingered hands on the desk before
him, he watched them through lowered brows as they settled themselves comfortably or uncomfortably
and stopped fidgeting. He was thinking that one didn’t have to have a history of insanity to work
in Other-Species Psychology, but that precondition conferred certain advantages, even where their
chief was concerned. Every member of his staff was flawed in some respect, but today he was
regarding them all clinically and dispassionately from a completely new viewpoint.
Braithwaite looked relaxed, self-assured, and incredibly neat. Even when he was leaning
back onto his shoulder blades in an armchair, his uniform gave the impression that he was about to
undergo a fleet commander’s inspection. Cha Thrat was a physiological classification DCNF whose
large, cone-shaped body possessed four stubby legs, four medial arms, and another four arms at
shoulder level that were thinner with hands terminating in finer, more sensitive digits.
Physically, Lioren resembled Cha Thrat except that its body, legs, and arms were longer and less
muscular, but the resemblance was no closer than that between a giraffe and a horse.
O’Mara raised his head. “I want to discuss briefly my promotion to administrator" he said,
“and its effect on the future work of this department, the change of emphasis in certain of your
duties that will become necessary, and what I expect from all of you as a result. Feel free to
interrupt if you are quite sure you have something of value to say. But I shall begin by talking,
in order of length of service and experience, about you.”
He waited until a second bout of fidgeting had abated, then went on, “I know that you have
all broken the rules by sneaking a look at one another’s confidential psych files, so what I say
should not cause embarrassment. If it does, tough. Braithwaite first.”
Without changing his position in the deep armchair, the lieutenant somehow gave the
impression that he had come to attention.
“You" he went on briskly, “deal well with the office staff and routine and you are good
with people regardless of species. When sympathy is needed you are sympathetic, firm when the
being concerned isn’t doing enough to help solve his, her, or its problem, and you never, ever
lose your temper. To your present superior you are respectful without being subservient, and you
gently but firmly resist any attempt at bullying. As my principal assistant you’re close to ideal.
Intelligent, efficient, adaptable, dedicated, uncomplaining, and completely lacking in ambition.
In spite of completing your medical training here, you refused to take the Corps exams for surgeon-
lieutenant. You have found your niche in Other-Species Psychology and you don’t want to go
anywhere or do anything else. When you were offered a major promotion off-hospital you turned it
down.
“But enough of the compliments, Lieutenant,” he went on. “On and under the surface your
personality is so well adjusted that it is almost frightening. Your only defect is that in one
respect you are a total and abject coward. You want to be and you are a trusted and resourceful
file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D...ector%20General%2011%20-%20Mind%20Changer.txt (7 of 124) [2/1/2004 3:05:30 AM]
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file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/James%20White%20-%20Sector%20General%2011%20-%20Mind%20Changer.txtMindChangerbyJamesWhite1968scannedbylzminiMay2003CHAPTER1Faroutonthegalacticrim,wherestarsystemsweresparseand hedarknessclosetoabsolute,SectorTwelveGeneralHospitalhunginspace.Toova...

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