James White - Mind Changer

“I realize that I sound ungrateful? the captain went on, “but in addition to the possibility of you talking about this matter to your friend at the wrong time and perhaps being overheard, your continued presence on this ship would be a constant reminder and an embarrassment to my medical officer and myself. A few minutes ago we received a signal from passenger Kledenth’s family inviting you to stay with them whenever you are on Kelgia. They say that they owe both of you an obligation beyond discharge. You just have time to pack your personal belongings and leave before Kreskhallar takes off. O’Mara, I do not want to see or speak to you again.”

O’Mara felt Joan’s grip tighten on his arm again, and he spoke quickly to head off her impending eruption. He looked steadily at the two officers and said, “You are being ungrateful, but no matter. My leave is nearing its end and I plan to do a little traveling on Kelgia for a few days before returning to Sector General. I will not see or talk to you again, either, which will be a considerable negative pleasure. I’ll leave you, now.

Joan’s farewell at the mouth of the boarding tube was warm and sad but not tearful. She didn’t offer to stay with him during his final few days on Kelgia, because she had to resume her own life when the ship put in to Earth. But her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist and she didn’t seem able to let go. Neither did she seem able to stop talking.

… I don’t know what I expected on this voyage,” she was saying, “except to meet a lot of extraterrestrials and talk about their legends and, if I was really lucky, meet somebody interesting of my own species. Well, I did all those things, and more that I wouldn’t have believed possible for me. It feels as if we created a legend of our very own. I’ll never forget this. Or you.”

Two Nidian crew members were waiting nearby, impatient to remove the boarding tube. He detached her arms gently and said, “Nor I you. But I have to go.”

Reluctantly she stood back and looked up into his face. Her expression very serious, she said, “You are a strange person, O’Mara, a big, strong, ugly, caring, and, and a very gentle man that I would like to know better. There will be other leaves, and you know where I live. Or maybe Kledenth’s people will let us meet halfway on Kelgia.”

She stood on her toes and kissed him briefly but with feeling, and added, “As I remember it, I’m good at meeting you halfway.”

On his return to Sector General he reported at once to the department. Major Craythorne looked up and smiled as Q’Mara entered the chief psychologist’s office. He regarded O’Mara’s face intently for a moment.

“You look well,” he said, “relaxed and rested. How did you spend your leave?”

“I traveled a lot” O’Mara replied seriously, “did some sightseeing, visited with a friend, had a whirlwind shipboard romance. You know, the usual kind of thing.”

Craythorne raised his eyebrows, then laughed quietly.

“And you seem to have found a sense of humor too” he said. “For the next job I have for you, you’ll need it.”

Over the next twelve years O’Mara settled into the abnormal routine that was considered normal for a member of the Other-Species Psychology Department. The early operational problems of the hospital had been solved; the medical and maintenance staff, regardless of species, had learned and accepted each other’s alien ways and were living together in often noisy accord. He was allowed to work with little or no supervision because, as Craythorne was fond of telling him, it was better for the major’s peace of mind to simply point him at a problem and take his report on its final resolution without having to worry himself sick about the unorthodox things O’Mara did in between. In that time he took many periods of leave as soon as they became due, traveling to wherever the available transport took him but always ending up on the same destination planet. His chief didn’t ask how he spent his leaves because, from the observed beneficial psychological results, Craythorne thought he knew. But on his return from his most recent one, O’Mara thought Craythorne looked almost ill at ease, which was strange behavior indeed for the major.

“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Craythorne said in the manner of one who is working around to a subject gradually. “During your absence the department managed to function without you but, needless to say, I’m very glad to have you back.”

“Sir,” said O’Mara, “are you trying to find a gentle way of telling me some bad news?”

“Remind me never to play poker with you, Lieutenant,” said Craythorne with a smile that looked disquietingly sympathetic. “The news is good and bad, depending on our points of view. I’m leaving the hospital.”

O’Mara didn’t speak and he tried not to think until he had enough information to know what to think about.

“In many ways I’m reluctant to go,” Craythorne went on, “but in the Corps one goes where one is told. Besides, it will mean a significant promotion for me in that it involves my taking complete responsibility for the psychological assessment of other-species recruits from the whole of Sector Ten. I could be a full fleet commander, administrative of course, in three years?

“Congratulations,” said O’Mara, meaning it but waiting for the bad news.

“Thank you,” said Craythorne. After a moment he went on, “We both know that the work of the department cannot be done effectively by Padre Carmody and yourself, so a new Earth-human psychologist called Braithwaite will be joining the staff. I’ve seen his psych file and had no hesitation about giving him the position. Admittedly he is a little green where other-species therapy is concerned, his personality is pleasant if a little serious, he is intelligent, adaptable, enthusiastic about the job, and, like myself…” He smiled. . very well-mannered and impeccable regarding his uniform. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable with him and will soon be able to show him the ropes and settle him in very quickly?

“I understand,” said O’Mara stiffly.

The major smiled again and said, “What exactly do you think you understand?”

“I understand that I am to wet-nurse a keen young career officer until he is in a position to give me and everyone else orders in such a way that he sounds as if he knows what he’s talking about. Sir?

‘And you wouldn’t feel comfortable,” said Craythorne, “in the role of a stern but kindly father figure? Frankly, O’Mara, neither would I, but that is what you’ll have to do. But that isn’t all I want you to do.”

“First,” Craythorne went on, “a staff of three psychologists-and I’m including the padre because in many respects he is a more effective hands-on psychologist than either of us-are barely enough to operate this department. But that is all we’re allowed right now and that is why, in addition to dealing with the work piled on your desk in the outer office, you and the padre must bring the new man up to speed as quickly as possible. Before I leave, I’d also like you to learn to wear your uniform, if not with pride, then at least as if you hadn’t thrown it on as an afterthought. And while you’re doing that, I’d like you to lose that habit of speaking with almost Kelgian honesty in your conversations with members of the senior medical staff, because I won’t be here to apologize for you or act as a diplomatic buffer. So, just to keep me from worrying myself sick about you when I’m in far-off Sector Ten, will you do that?”

“I’ll try, sir,” said O’Mara in a voice totally lacking in selfcertainty.

“Good,” said Craythorne. “Until I leave, in three days’ time, I’ll be too busy tying up administrative loose ends and saying good-bye to our colleagues and, at times, past patients to spend much time helping you in the department.” He grinned suddenly. “Meanwhile I want you to move your paperwork in here and start using my desk. The sooner people get used to the idea that you are the new chief psychologist the better. Your mouth is open.”