Final Diagnosis

CHAPTER 26

On Rhabwar he had watched Prilicla weave strands of Earth spaghetti, its favorite non-Cinrusskin dish, into lengths of slim, yellow cable that it had drawn into its tiny mouth while hovering above its platter; and Naydrad, who did not use its hands while eating but buried half of its narrow, conical head in the shredded, oily green stuff it preferred until the bowl was empty; and even the shape-changer, Danalta, who sat on top of or leaned against anything it wished to digest until only the desiccated, inedible remains were left. And earlier he had shared Ward Seven’s dining table with Bowab, Horrantor, and Morredeth. The result, he was pleased to discover, was that he was able to watch the Padre refueling without the slightest trace of abdominal discomfort.

Lioren ate using the fingers of two of its upper, manipulatory appendages, with the tiny hands encased in a pair of silvered, disposable gloves that had arrived, like Hewlitt’s knife and fork, in the utensils pack on its food dispenser tray. The Padre was precise and almost dainty in its movements as the food was lifted to its eating orifice, and the lumps of brown and yellow spongy material being consumed were too strange for Hewlitt to imagine what they might be or to feel repelled by them.

He hoped that the reverse also held true, because his synthesized steak was very good. There was no way of knowing; Lioren had not spoken since they had entered the dining hall.

“We’ve eaten,” said Hewlitt with a glance toward the nearby entrance, where a group of Kelgians intending to dine was dividing around the massive form of a Tralthan who was just leaving, “but so far we haven’t been working. Or did you feel something from somebody that I missed?”

“No,” Lioren replied, and resumed eating.

It sounded irritated and impatient. More than two hundred staff members had walked, slithered, wriggled, or lumbered past their table since they had begun the meal. Like himself, the other might have been beginning to wonder if their ability to detect former virus hosts was mostly imagination or self-delusion.

“Perhaps the feeling, immaterial bond, or whatever it is works only between Tarlans, Earth-humans, and cats who are already well acquainted with each other,” he said, when the silence lengthened, “and we don’t know any of these people well enough for the beforeand-after difference to register. Do you think we’re wasting our time here?”

“No,” said Lioren again. It took a moment to clear its plate, then went on, “The staff duty rosters are arranged so that the dining hail will not, in spite of what your eyes and ears are telling you, be overcrowded. But at any given time there is less than five percent of the warm-blooded oxygen-breathing staff using it. The Illensan chlorine-breathers, the Hudiars, the ultra-low-temperature methane life-forms, and the other exotic types have their own arrangements, as also have the patients. You are mistaking an early absence of results for failure.”

“I understand,” said Hewlitt. “You are telling me, tactfully, that I must be a more patient ex-patient and we should continue as we are doing.”

“No,” said Lioren once again. “We are not…

There was an interruption from the menu-selection unit, which was displaying a red, flashing screen while its speaker began repeating a translated message in a brisk, officious voice.

“Diners who have completed their meal should vacate the table without delay so as to free it for use by subsequent diners. Your time is up. Any unfinished professional or social conversations should be continued elsewhere. Diners who have completed…

“We are not allowed to stay here without eating,” Lioren went on, raising its voice. “The sound output will increase in volume the longer we delay our departure, and contacting Maintenance to disable the audio circuit would waste too much time. We could always change tables and order another meal, but speaking personally I no longer feel hungry enough to attempt that…”

“Nor I,” said Hewlitt.

“… so I suggest that we begin the calls on my suspect patients,” the Padre continued. “The first one is in your old ward. It was admitted after you left, and Charge Nurse Leethveeschi is expecting me. Unless you are one of those beings who become comatose after eating a large meal and need to sleep?”

This time it was Hewlitt’s turn to say no.

The recorded message ceased as soon as they rose from the table, which was immediately taken by two hairy Orligians wearing senior physicians’ insignia, but neither of them had the indefinable feel of having been former hosts of the virus.

As they were leaving, Prilicla flew in to hover gracefully inside the entrance. The empath spoke to them but did not ask how they had fared because it was already aware of their disappointment. They stood watching it for several minutes as it drifted across to the group of mixed-species diners around the nearest table, ostensibly to talk to friends but in reality to try to discover a mind or minds that contained two sources of emotional radiation instead of one. It was likely that the fragile little empath had friends at every table in the vast room. Remembering the Cinrusskin’s lack of stamina, Hewlitt wished it luck and hoped that it would find what it was looking for before it crash-landed from sheer fatigue.

Prilicla broke off its conversation to call out, “Thank you, friend Hewlitt.”

A few minutes later they were in one of the crowded main corridors, but only a part of Hewlitt’s mind was on collision avoidance.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “and worrying.”

Lioren’s reply did not translate.

“And wondering about this strange ability we have to recognize each other as past hosts,” he went on. “A few minutes ago, when I felt concern for Prilicla and wished it good luck without speaking, it responded to the feeling even though it was distant and its attention elsewhere. There was nothing strange in that, because the Cinrusskin empathic faculty is very sensitive even at that range. But what about our own ability? Is it, too, a low order of empathy that is enough to allow simple recognition and nothing more? And if so, how close do previous hosts have to be to recognize each other? Do they have to be in line of sight? Does a physical barrier have any effect? Would you mind helping me conduct an experiment?”

“I don’t know, six times,” the Padre replied, “and what kind of experiment?”

“But this is not an experiment,” Lioren protested when he finished explaining what he wanted, “it is a game for very young children! It would, however, provide useful data. 1ff agree to cooperate you must never reveal to another person that I, a mature adult who is qualified to wear the Blue Cloak, played this game with you.

“Ease your mind, Padre,” said Hewlitt. “At my age I wouldn’t want people to know I played hide-and-seek, either. I suppose you should be ‘it’ since you know where the best hiding places are…

The long corridor they were in ended with a T-junction that housed the complex of ramps, stairs, and lifts leading to upper and lower levels. Along each wall there were many doors, which opened into wards, storage compartments, equipment bays, and the maintenance tunnel network. The idea was that Hewlitt would turn his back for ten minutes so that Lioren would have time to conceal itself, either close by or a a distance along the corridor. The only rules were that the Padre would hide itself in an empty compartment rather than in a ward, which would have caused comment and risked disrupting the medical routine, and that he would seek out its hiding place by the use of the instinct, empathy, or whatever it was that he had inherited from the virus creature and not by looking behind doors.

After twenty minutes of standing before potential hiding places, ignoring the questions and critical comments of passersby while trying to feel for the presence of Lioren with his mind, he had exhausted all the potential hiding places without success. Disappointed, he used his communicator.

“I felt absolutely nothing,” he said. “Come out, wherever you are.

Lioren emerged from a door he had scanned a few minutes earlier and hurried toward him. It said, “Neither did I, even though I heard you pause outside my hiding place. The sound of Earthhuman footsteps is quite distinctive. But I felt the sense of recognition again, as soon as I saw you.

“Me, too,” said Hewlitt. “But why do we have to be able to see each other?”

The Padre made a quiet, gurgling sound that did not translate and said, “God, and possibly the virus creature, knows.”

Hewlitt puzzled over the question in silence all the way to his old ward. Apart from calling O’Mara to pass on the new information, the Padre refused further discussion of the subject. It was possible that a large part of Lioren’s mind was on the troubles of the patient it was about to visit.

“Patient Hewlitt,” said Leethveeschi the moment he entered the nurses’ station, “what are you doing here?”

He knew that the charge nurse was used to the Padre visiting its ward, but it did not sound pleased by the presence of a former patient and proven disruptive influence like himself. Hewlitt was still trying to find a suitable reply when Lioren answered for him. He noted that the Padre did not actually lie, but it was sparing in its use of the truth.

“With your permission, Charge Nurse,” Lioren said, “it will accompany me so that it may observe and talk to the patients and, if it is able, provide me with nonmedical support. I will insure that it does not talk to anyone who is currently undergoing treatment or is in an unfit condition to hold a conversation. Ex-Patient Hewlitt will not, I assure you, cause any more trouble.”

A section of Leethveeschi’s body twitched inside its chlorine envelope in what was probably a nonverbal gesture of assent. It said, “I think I understand. The experience with Patient Morredeth has caused it to decide, or perhaps strengthen a decision already made, to become a trainee priest-counselor. This is very laudable, exPatient Hewlitt, and you have a fine mentor.”

“My real reason for being here…“Hewlitt began.

“Would take too long to explain,” Leethveeschi broke in, “and right now I haven’t the time to listen to an other-species theological self-examination, interesting though it might be. You may talk to any of my patients who are able to talk back. But please, let us have no more miracles.”

“That is a promise,” he said as he followed the Padre into the ward.

They had already eliminated Leethveeschi and the other staff on duty in the nurses’ station from their list of former hosts, as well as the patient Lioren was visiting. It was a Melfan called Kennonalt whose support sling was surrounded with a worrying profusion of biosensor and life-support equipment. He did not find out what was wrong with it because, apart from exchanging names, Lioren had made it clear that the conversation with Kennonalt was to be private and that Hewlitt should spend the time checking the other patients until the Padre rejoined him.

His slow, zigzag progress down and from side to side of the ward was a trip through familiar territory, although he could not be sure of the familiarity of the patients because he still had difficulty telling one Tralthan, Kelgian, Melfan, or whatever from another. Most of them seemed glad of the chance to talk, a few appeared to be heavily sedated or were simply ignoring him, and one was undergoing treatment that could not be interrupted. But he was able to look at them, patients and medical attendants alike, closely and for more than enough time to eliminate them as former hosts. His last visit was to a Tralthan and a Duthan who were playing two-handed scremman at the ambulatory patients’ dining table. By the time he spoke they, too, had been eliminated.

“Horrantor? Bowab?” he said. “Are you well?”

“Ah, you must be Patient Hewlitt,” said the Tralthan. “My limb is mending, thank you, and Bowab is doing very well, both medically and in this accursed game. It is pleasant to see you again. Tell us about yourself. Were they able to find out what was wrong with you?”

“Yes,” he replied. Choosing his words with care, he went on, “I no longer have the complaint and feel very well indeed. But it was an unusual condition, they told me, and they asked if I would help them tie up a few medical loose ends by remaining for a while. It was difficult to refuse.”

“So now you’re a healthy lab specimen,” said Bowab in a worried voice. “It doesn’t sound like much of an improvement. Have they done anything nasty to you yet?”

Hewlitt laughed. “No, and it isn’t like that at all. I have my own quarters in the staff accommodation area, a small room that belonged to a couple of Nidians, and I’m free to wander all over the hospital so long as the Padre is with me to see that I don’t get lost or run over by somebody. All they want me to do is talk to people and answer questions.”

“You always were a strange patient,” said Bowab, “but your convalescence sounds even stranger.”

“To be serious for a moment,” said Horrantor. “If all you do is talk to people and answer questions, presumably they also talk to you, or talk among themselves in your presence. Perhaps by accident or in ignorance of your nonstaff status, do they ever tell you things that you are not supposed to know? If so, and if you are allowed to answer, would you answer one of our questions?”

This sounded like something more serious than a patient’s normal hunger for the latest hospital gossip, Hewlitt thought. It was a time for caution.

“If I can,” he said,

“Horrantor has a nasty, devious mind,” said Bowab, joining in again, “and an imagination to match. That is why it beats me so often at scremman. We overheard some of the nurses talking together. They stopped very quickly when they realized that we were listening. Probably it was only staff gossip, or maybe nothing but our complete misunderstanding of an incomplete conversation, or it was something more than gossip. It is really worrying us.”

“Everybody enjoys a good gossip,” he said, “but it isn’t supposed to worry you sick. What is your question?”

There was a moment’s silence while Bowab and Horrantor looked at each other. Then the Duthan said, “According to what the charge nurse told me about ten days ago, I should have been discharged by now for convalescence in a home-planet hospital. In Sector General they don’t believe in wasting either their time or their unique medical resources on patients who are no longer in need of them. But yesterday when I asked Leethveeschi why I was still here and if there was anything it wasn’t telling me, it said that there was no environmentally suitable transport available to take me home and that there were no medical problems for me to worry about.

“About the same time,” Bowab went on, “Senior Physician Medalont held a bedside lecture on Horrantor. It told the trainees that the patient was sufficiently recovered to be discharged without delay. That should have been within a few days, because the majority of the supply and transport vessels that come here, sometimes as often as four or five in a week, are crewed by warm-blooded oxygen-breathing species who are required by Federation law to provide accommodation for most of the other warm-blooded oxygen-breathers who need to travel. Traltha and Dutha, remember, are commercial hub worlds on the way to practically everywhere. But the reason Leethveeschi gave for Horrantor still being here was the same as mine, the nonavailability of environmentally suitable transport.”

“Don’t forget to tell it about the emergency drill,” said Horrantor.

“I won’t,” said Bowab. “The day before yesterday a twentystrong maintenance team descended on the ward to conduct what Leethveeschi said was an emergency evacuation drill. They detached the beds of the most seriously ill patients from their wall supports, fitted them with extra oxygen tanks and antigravity grids, and deployed the airtight canopies, after which they moved all of us out of the ward and along the corridor to the intersection that leads to Lock Five before bringing us all back again. Leethveeschi timed the operation and told the team that they would have to do better than that; then it apologized to us for the inconvenience and told us to return to our game and not to worry. But while the maintenance people were leaving-and complaining about the charge nurse’s personality defects and the unfairly high standard of performance expected by their superiors in a major evacuation drill, the like of which had not been practiced for about twenty years-we overheard a few odd scraps of conversation that worried us very much.

“Our question,” Bowab ended, “is what exactly are they hiding from us?”

“I don’t know,” said Hewlitt, and added under his breath, “exactly.”

That was the literal truth, but he was remembering his return in Rhabwar and the general signal from Reception for all ships to hold beyond the approach beacons unless carrying casualties in urgent need of attention. An unspecified technical problem that Maintenance was dealing with had been given as the reason, and in any case the signal had not applied to the special ambulance ship.

Hewlitt did not feel as reassuring as he sounded when he went on, “I haven’t heard any rumors about an evacuation, but I’ll listen and ask around. Have you considered the possibility that you misunderstood the incomplete conversations you overheard? All large, staff-intensive organizations carry out emergency drills from time to time. When someone realized that it had not been done in Sector General for twenty years, the hospital authorities must have decided that it had to be done sooner than yesterday and, naturally, it was the junior staff who suffered the inconvenience.

“It could be that Leethveeschi is right,” he added, mentally crossing his fingers, “and you have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s what we keep telling each other,” said Horrantor, “but after playing scremman together for so long, we have difficulty believing anything we say.”

“Speaking of which,” said Bowab, “would you like to join the game? One of us could buy you in as a short-term political consultant and watch for indications that you are going to change sides…

On the edge of his field of vision he could see the Padre approaching slowly down the ward, moving from side to side and looking at or exchanging a few words with the patients as Hewlitt had done earlier. He said, “Sorry, not this time. I’ll have to leave in a few minutes.”

When they were in the corridor again, he said, “From the patients and staff I felt nothing. You?”

“Nothing,” said Lioren.

“But I did hear an interesting rumor,” said Hewlitt. He went on to recount the observations and suspicions of Horrantor and Bowab and the wording of the signa] that had been received by Rhabwar. He knew that the Padre would not deliberately misinform him, and that if the other could not tell the truth it would ignore his questions. He ended, “Have you heard any rumors of an evacuation, and do you know what is going on?”

It was a few moments before Lioren replied, and then it said, “Next we go to the eighty-third level and the Meeting of Diagnosticians.”