The compleat collected s.., p.722
The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 722
One of them, its stubborn retention of dying skin material which would normally have been discarded and replaced with new growth, brought Lonvellin to Sector General. Another was allowing the then Senior Physician Conway to trick it into leaving its host and revealing itself as a separate entity. At this stage in its continuing evolutionary development the virus creature was sapient but not very bright.
After it was reclaimed by Lonvellin, it traveled to Etla, where it had a narrow escape from the nuclear detonation that killed its host. That incident came close to killing the creature as well, but instead resulted in a structural mutation which later enabled it to enter and adapt to a radiation-eating Telfi host.
It saved the Hewlitt child's life twice, after the poisoning and potentially lethal fall from a tree and following the flyer crash, but it was still making mistakes, such as halting the blood circulation by arresting the heart so as to give it more time to negate the effect of any fast-acting foreign medication introduced, which eventually resulted in the adult Hewlitt being sent to Sector General. It was learning, however, and becoming increasingly aware of the host's mind and feelings as well as its own. The process began with Lonvellin, but the incident with the mutilated cat was more important than was realized because it was the first time that the virus had been influenced by psychological factors, specifically the emotional pressure of a child's grief for a dying pet, into changing hosts.
"The transfer was temporary," Hewlitt went on, "because it was not in the creature's interests to move from a long-lived host to a small and shorter-lived one. By then it was being driven by curiosity and the urge to experiment as well as by its need to survive into the indefinite future, but for a long time there were only Earth-humans like myself available and it had not yet fully understood the workings of my body. By the time I arrived here it was becoming intensely curious, more aware of its surroundings and hungry for the new experiences that were available in a place that is filled with very interesting and long-lived potential hosts. When it felt my sorrow and sympathy for Patient Morredeth and I accidentally touched, or perhaps was subtly influenced by it to place a bare hand on, the wound where the destroyed, it transferred to its first Kelgian. Later it moved to the Padre and then to Cherxic and, in turn, to each of the surviving members of the Telfi ship gestalt, where the latest and most significant but not, it believes, the final adaptation occurred. From the telepathic and technically highly specialized members of the ship gestalt it learned how to communicate mind-to-mind with its subsequent hosts, and to understand and control at the particle level the radiation on which the Telfi live. The covert and Telfi-guided experiments with the hospital's power system were part of its learning process.
"Now it has everything it needs to survive into the indefinite future," Hewlitt went on. "Individual Telfi will die, many with less frequency now that it is moving among them, but the gestalts replace or increase their membership and will continue to amass information and experience. It has found the perfect host species. With the willing cooperation and the radiation-absorption mechanism of the Telfi as its launching point, it will grow in size and intelligence and power, and it will continue to evolve until it is able to populate the stars or, a risk which it fully accepts, kill itself in the attempt.
"The hospital will not be troubled with the virus creature again."
In his earpiece there was a long, hissing silence that was broken by a voice that was so quiet and distorted with emotion that it could have belonged to anyone.
"So it intends to infect and populate the stars," it said. "I don't doubt that it means what it says, because we already know that it is impossible to lie with the mind. That could lead to the breakdown of the Federation, perhaps the end of free and unprotected other-species contact, perhaps of all intelligent life because of an uncontrollable, interspecies contagion sweeping the member worlds, if we don't act at once. We're sorry, Hewlitt, but that action must include isolating Lioren, Morredeth, the Telfi ship's crew, yourself, and even your childhood pet from all future contact for the rest of your lives."
"No!" said Hewlitt angrily. "Why don't you people listen to me, or believe me when you do listen? Padre, will you explain it to them, please?"
While the voice from O'Mara's office had been speaking, the Padre had closed the Telfi caskets and returned its attention to Hewlitt. He had the feeling that Lioren's emotional distress had eased or was at least under control again.
"I couldn't explain it any better myself," said the Padre. "Carry on, but be quick. Our covered litters and, dear me, an armed escort are arriving."
Hewlitt took a deep breath and chose words that were short and simple. He said, "O'Mara, all of you are wrong, twice. None of the virus creature's hosts are infected, or contagious, nor have we been implanted with its seed or embryo. It doesn't work like that. The creature is an intelligent, organized collection of viruses, a single and very selfish individual who will not willingly allow parts of itself to be detached and thereby reduce the capability and intelligence of the whole. My problems during and after puberty were caused by the fact that, while it could understand the need of a host to eliminate body wastes, the expulsion of healthy living material like seminal fluid was totally foreign to it because, at that time, it could not conceive of the possibility of any entity wanting to propagate its kind rather than surviving for itself alone. It still has difficulty accepting the idea of countless billions of us sacrificing ourselves so that our various species will survive.
"On Etla, on Earth, and in the hospital," he went on, "there was absolutely no risk of secondary infection. Perhaps in the future, if its plans work out, it may be able to divide itself, but that time is a very long way off and even then we would be in no danger from it. For now the virus can occupy only one entity at a time, and it does not leave its host with a disease but with a level of physical, lifelong health that is immediately obvious as a kind of organic artist's signature to all of its former hosts.
"It does this out of gratitude," Hewlitt went on, "for the knowledge and experience provided by the host. It considers itself a tenant who is obliged to pay rent."
The litters, their canopies open and ready, were accompanied by two massive Hudlar medics and eight armed Monitor Corpsmen who were large by Earth-human standards. The men's expressions showed a mixture of embarrassment and determination. Hewlitt spoke quickly.
"Believe me," he said, "neither the Federation nor its citizens have anything to fear from the virus creature. It is no longer interested in the extremely short-lived natives of any planet. Even though the project will take many of our lifetimes to complete, its ambition is to populate the stars one at a time and beginning with the Telfi's parent sun, which, in astronomical terms, is growing old and sick. While there is always the chance that it will obliterate itself in the attempt, it considers the risk well worth taking. To inhabit a sun that can be inhabited and given intelligence, stability, and control of all its internal processes is the virus creature's ultimate goal.
"An intelligent star," he ended, "would be the most long-lived entity there could ever be."
This time it was Diagnostician Conway, Prilicla, and Thornnastor who were doing most of the talking while the litter personnel and escort waited for them to decide what they were going to do. For several minutes it seemed that the Padre and himself had been forgotten as they debated the possibility of retracing Lonvellin's travels before its arrival in Sector General with a view to finding the virus creature's planet of origin and other, perhaps nonsapient members of its species who could be studied and, hopefully, helped to proliferate. If it was offered, the assistance of former virus-creature hosts would be invaluable. All necessary precautions would be taken and there would be many problems to overcome, but if they were successful they could foresee a distant future when the citizens of the Galactic Federation would carry only one virus and be otherwise completely disease-free. All that would be left for the medical profession would be the treatment of accident and surgical emergencies. It was the chief psychologist who had the last, impatient words.
O'Mara said, "Doctors, enough. Your future hypothetical problems will not be solved in the next few minutes. Padre Lioren, Hewlitt, relax. We have decided that it is safe to allow Morredeth to land on Kelgia and the Telfi crew to return home with their new friend. The armed escort is dismissed but you two will board the litters and proceed with minimum delay, not to the isolation chamber in Pathology but to this office for an immediate and detailed debriefing ..."
Hewlitt made a small, untranslatable sound which only the Padre heard. In a loud, reassuring whisper Lioren said, "Don't distress yourself, friend. The major's office has its own food dispenser, and if we aren't allowed to eat then we won't talk."
"... and a Hudlar-guided litter will get you here sooner than traveling on foot," O'Mara went on. "Is there anything else you need to tell me before then?"
Hewlitt was not sure whether the words were the result of fatigue, malnutrition, or sheer relief. He laughed and said, "Only that I have a psychological problem. I seem to have become an ex-hypochondriac with absolutely nothing wrong with me who wants to stay in hospital. I don't want to go back to minding Earth sheep."
The End
Mind Changer
Sector General 11
TOR Books – 1998
Chapter One
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 eighty-four 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 view ports 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 Vbsan began to sound loud. Inside its protective chlorine envelope, Lachlichi twitched disgustingly but silently, and the highly refrigerated sphere containing Diagnostician Semlic radiated a super cooled 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 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 non-medical 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 Service-indoctrinated, 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?"
