James White - Mind Changer

Skempton’s smile faded and his tone became businesslike as he said, “No more advice, only information. The first applicant for your job arrives in three days’ time. It is Dr. Cerdal, a Cemmeccan, physiological classification DBKR, and the first member of its species to come to Sector General. It was asked to donate a mind recording for the Educator tape program, so it thinks it’s good. So do the Federation medical and psychiatric examiners who put it on their short list. So far it has been the only suitable candidate. What you think and the action you take will, of course, be up to you.”

O’Mara nodded. The colonel turned and keyed his console before going on, “Whatever you may finally decide, you should know that the position of Administrator of Sector Twelve General Hospital is the most sought-after post in the field of multi-species medicine. The would-be candidates are important enough to exert political as well as medical influence, which is why the Federation’s medical examiners are winnowing out the hopeless hopefuls from the few who might stand a chance, so that you can assess and/or train the applicants without being swayed by external influences-if, that is, it’s possible to influence you with anything or anybody.

“The data on Cerdal’s qualifications, experience, and behavior before the examiners will be copied to you for later study. Maintenance has Cerdal’s quarters ready for it, nothing lavish even though it is an important being on its home world, and we’ll leave the rest to you. Sorry for dropping you in at the deep end…

“This place” said O’Mara, “is one perpetual deep end. It always has been.”

The colonel’s smile returned briefly as he continued, “By the time Dr. Cerdal arrives, I shall be on my way to Nidia and a future of being an ever more high-ranking military bookkeeper on a world where the only deep ends will be sand bunkers and water traps.”

Gruffly, O’Mara said, “I wish the fleet commander joy of them.”

Skempton inclined his head and glanced at his watch. “Thank you” he said. “I don’t see you are a golfer, O’Mara. What does our feared and respected chief psychologist do with himself when he isn’t being feared and respected?”

O’Mara just shook his head.

“We all wonder about that, you knowP Skempton said, “and some of the ideas put forward are unusual and colorful and, well, weird enough to arouse your professional concern. Where do you take your leaves, dammit, and what do you do there? This is probably my last chance to find out.”

O’Mara shook his head again.

“Once I considered requesting a covert trace on you,” the other went on, glancing again at his wrist. “But you know me better than I know myself, O’Mara, so I couldn’t justify bringing in Monitor internal security just to satisfy my morbid curiosity regarding the possible misbehavior of a reticent colleague who…

“You’ve been looking at your watch,” O’Mara broke in. “If you’ve nothing else to tell me, I’ll stop wasting your time.”

“No, O’Mara,” said Skempton with a sudden, broad smile, “I’m wasting your time. I’m supposed to keep you talking here until some people arrive. Thornnastor, Conway, Murchison, Priicla, and any of the other diagnosticians or seniors who aren’t in OR. They’re bringing some special stuff that was brewed by Chief Dietician Gurronsevas, a concoction used widely on Orligia that has a blanket contraindication for all warm-blooded oxygen-breathers. You won’t be able to dodge them the way you did after this morning’s meeting, because they’ll be here any second now. In fact, that must be Thornnastor’s feet I hear in the corridor outside. This time I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.

“But don’t worry,” he went on, plainly enjoying O’Mara’s discomfort, “it shouldn’t last for more than two or three hours. It’s just an excuse for a party, but they also want to congratulate us properly on our new appointments, wish us well, and say nice things about my service here. They’ll be trying to say nice things about you, too.”

“I don’t envy them their job.”

If anything, O’Mara thought, Dr. Cerdal resembled a Kelgian, although the resemblance was not close. The Cemmeccan’s caterpillar-like body was shorter and more heavily built and, rather than multiple legs, there were ten wide, semicircular bands of padded muscle spaced along its underside for ambulation and its fur was long, immobile, and jet black rather than silver. The four arms that grew from just below its large, round head and stretched backward for nearly half the length of its body were black and looked thin because they were completely hairless. The body fur continued forward without thinning to cover its face, so that the only features visible were its large, black eyes, and when it opened its mouth, it displayed an oral cavity and teeth that were also deepest black. According to the library computer there had been sound, evolutionary reasons for the body coloration, but to O’Mara it seemed that Cerdal was absorbing all the ambient light in the office like an organic black hole.

Rather than use his big, new administrator’s office, O’Mara had decided to hold the initial interview in the Psychology Department. There were three reasons for this. A gratuitous display of his new, lavish workplace would have been a waste of time and a great unkindness if the candidate was unsuccessful; all the training records and psyche files that it would be using were in the old office; and anyway, it was possible that Cerdal would be equally uncomfortable in either office until Maintenance provided some Cemmeccan furniture.

O’Mara tried to imagine how his predecessor Craythorne would have handled this situation while at the same time remembering all the advice Thornnastor, Skempton, Prilicla, and even young Conway, who was going a touch grey at the temples these days, had given him on how an administrator should behave while interviewing a high-level candidate. He took a deep breath and worked the long-unused facial muscles to produce a pleasant expression even though the other might not be able to read it.

“I am Chief Psychologist and Administrator O’Mara.” he said briskly, and with a nod to his left and right continued, “and these are my assistants, Padre and former Surgeon-Captain Lioren of Tarla, and the Sommaradvan former warrior-surgeon Cha Thrat. My principal assistant, Lieutenant Braithwaite, is manning the outer office. He is monitoring this interview and may put in a relevant comment or question. The proceedings will be informal and you may speak freely or interrupt at any time.

“For the present that is all you need to know about us,” he ended, smiling, “but we need to know everything about you. Please speak.”

Dr. Cerdal lay with the forward half of its body supported on part of a Melfan cradle so as to bring its head level with those of the interviewers. For several seconds it kept its jet-black Cemmeccan eyes only on O’Mara before the first low, gurgling words of its native speech came through their translators.

“First an observation, and questions,” it said. “I am being interviewed for the most important post in this establishment, as was expected, by the present incumbent. But why am Ito be questioned by and in the presence of subordinates? I had assumed the position to be one carrying complete authority and full responsibility for decision making. Is this authority and responsibility to be diluted? Is the position of administrator in fact a committee? Or is it that the present incumbent requires some form of moral support?”

Cha Thrat made a sound that did not translate, Lioren turned all four of its eyes in Cerdal’s direction, and O’Mara pressed his lips tightly together to contain a verbal explosion. Perhaps, he thought angrily, the Cemmeccans were closer to the Kelgians than he had realized. This one appeared not, or maybe it was pretending not, to understand the concepts of diplomacy, tact, or even a simple show of respect for authority. It was the Padre, who was obviously having similar thoughts, who spoke first.