The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 729
"More likely," said Craythorne with feeling, "another interstellar war. But you have another solution, sir?"
"Or perhaps, Major," said Davantry, pointing at the opened crate, "I have more horror stories for you. They involve, or will involve, cross-species memory transfer."
Craythorne leaned forward in his chair, looking excited. "There's been a lot about it in the literature recently," he said. "Very interesting stuff, sir. It would be the ideal solution, but I thought the procedure was still experimental. Has the technique been perfected?"
"Not quite," Davantry replied with a small smile. "We were hoping that would be done at Sector General."
"Oh," said Craythorne. O'Mara said the same but under his breath. Davantry smiled again, and divided his attention between them as he spoke.
"This hospital," he said in a very serious voice, "will be equipped to treat every known form of intelligent life. But we have just proved beyond doubt that no single individual can hold in his, her, or its brain even a fraction of the vast amount of physiological data necessary for this purpose. Surgical dexterity is a matter of ability and training but, we have discovered, the complete knowledge of an other-species patient's physiology and metabolism can only be furnished by means of a complete memory transfer of the mind of a leading medical authority in the relevant field of the patient's own species into the brain of the physician-in-charge, who can belong to any other species provided it has hands and eyes and has the required surgical training. With the help of what, because the original name is polysyllabic and cumbersome, we are calling an Educator tape, any medically trained being can treat any patient regardless of species."
"The Educator-tape application system," he went on with a nod toward the opened container, "can impress a mind recording on the recipient's brain within a few minutes, and be erased just as easily when the indicated treatment for the patient has been completed. The equipment and procedure has been thoroughly tested and the user is completely safe in that there is no physical trauma. But there is another problem."
"Why am I not surprised?" said O'Mara. He thought he had been speaking under his breath, but Craythorne looked at him warningly while Councilor Davantry pretended not to hear and continued speaking.
"It is this," he went on. "The tapes do not impart only physiological knowledge; the entire memory, personal and professional experience, and personality of the entity who donated the tape are transferred as well, and we know that all too often the top specialists in the medical or any other field can be aggressive, self-opinionated, and generally obnoxious people, because that is how most of them rose to eminence. Geniuses are rarely charming people. So in effect the tape's would-be recipient must subject himself voluntarily to a drastic but temporary form of schizophrenia because another personality, an authoritive, forceful, and completely alien personality, is apparently sharing his mind. If the recipient's mind is not also strong-willed and well integrated, especially if the tape is in place for several days, it will feel as if the donor mind is fighting for and perhaps threatening to gain control over it."
Davantry looked steadily at Craythorne and O'Mara for a moment, raised his hands slightly, then let them fall again onto his lap.
"With the tape donor's complete personality," he went on, "are included all its pet peeves, bad habits, and major or minor phobias. For the long-term recipient, the different food preferences can be a difficulty and, during periods of sleep, alien dreams, nightmares, and particularly other-species sexual fantasies can be a real problem, although none of the previous subjects suffered lasting mental damage. But before your department administers a mind-transfer tape all this must be explained to the would-be recipient, especially to the first volunteer."
There was a long silence. O'Mara stared at Craythorne, who stared back at him for a moment before looking back to Davantry. The major's expression remained calm, composed, and quietly attentive, but when he spoke his face had lightened a shade.
"Since my department will be responsible for conducting these mind transfers," he said calmly, "it follows that I should have firsthand knowledge of the psychological problems involved so that, logically, I should be the first volunteer."
Davantry shook his head firmly. "If you insist, you may be the second volunteer, Major," he said, "or preferably the twenty-second. I will need to demonstrate the mind-transfer procedure to you, and to have your training and experience available in your own stable and unaltered mind in case something goes wrong with the subject. I'm just a glorified meditech, not a trained psychologist."
"A subordinate," he added, looking at O'Mara, "or even someone from outside your department is preferable. But he, she, or it must be a volunteer."
"With the earlier subjects," said O'Mara, looking right back, "what were the short- and long-term effects?"
"Short-term," Councilor Davantry replied, "there was a marked lack of physical coordination, vertigo, and pronounced mental confusion. Usually the first two diminish or disappear within a few minutes. The third can reduce or increase over the space of a few hours or days, depending on the subject's mental flexibility and strength of will. That's why I want a trained therapist standing by, in case the subject panics or suffers other emotional problems, so that the mind tape can be erased without delay."
O'Mara's mouth was already opening but Craythorne broke in sharply before he could respond.
"Think about it for a moment, Lieutenant O'Mara," he said. "You don't have to do this."
"I know that, sir," said O'Mara, "but I will anyway."
Later O'Mara was to wonder why he spoke as he did, at once and without any trace of hesitation. He had always liked trying to understand other people's minds on an amateur basis, and now he had the chance to look at an extraterrestrial's mind from the inside. Or maybe it was his new rank and position, with its responsibilities as well as privileges, that had gone to his head. More likely he was just being stupid.
It was too late for him to retract while Councilor Davantry was showing the major how to adjust the open-mesh lightweight helmet and connections to the contours of an Earth-human cranium and calibrate the associated items of equipment that were now winking, clicking, and humming on top of Craythorne's desk. He was surprised by the gentleness of Davantr's touch and astonished when this medical god placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Good luck, Lieutenant," he said. "Major, switch on."
His view of the office and occupants was blotted out by a sudden flash of light which faded quickly to be replaced with a flickering sensation, as if the scene were an unfamiliar image on a faulty viewscreen, before it settled into stillness.
"How do you feel, Lieutenant O'Mara?" said Davantry. "Confused? Frightened? Both?"
"Yes. No," he snapped. "Not both. I, I know a lot of stuff I've no business knowing, mostly medical information, and a lot of people, extraterrestrials, I definitely don't know. You look ridiculous standing there. Flat, less three-dimensional. And you haven't any fur to tell me what you are feeling and thinking."
Davantry nodded and smiled. "I'm thinking that you are doing very well," he said. "Stand up and walk around your chair a few times, then try to walk to the office door and back."
As soon as he stood up the room tilted alarmingly. He had to grab the ridiculous piece of furniture he had been sitting on to keep his balance and later while he was walking awkwardly around it. Then he steadied himself, tried not to look down at a floor that was much too far away, and moved toward the door.
He barely made it, because he was suddenly falling forward and had to put out his hands to the door surface to steady himself, but he still couldn't stop himself from dropping painfully onto his knees. Then he climbed awkwardly to his feet, straightened up, and turned so that his back was propped securely against the door before he looked back at the suddenly distant chair and the two Earth-humans.
The one called Craythorne was watching him, the two semicircles of facial fur above its eyes drawn down in what some alien group of memories deep within his mind identified as a frown of concern. The other one nodded, showed its teeth briefly in what the same area of memory suggested was a smile of reassurance, and spoke.
"Very good, Lieutenant," it said. "Now walk back again."
"Don't be stupid," said O'Mara angrily. "I've only got two bloody feet!"
"I know," said the other gently, "but try anyway."
O'Mara used words that he did not remember knowing, steadied himself, and walked carefully into the middle of the room. He had gone only a few paces when he felt himself swaying to one side. Instinctively he raised and extended sideways his two thick, ungainly, Earth-human arms. For some reason this enabled him to maintain his balance until he reached the chair. He dropped onto it and used more words that he hadn't known he knew.
The older Earth-human reached forward and flipped a switch on the side of O'Mara's helmet. Without it changing appearance in any way, the office and the people in it were suddenly familiar again.
"That's enough for now, Lieutenant," said Davantry briskly. "Your mind tape has been erased. But you'll want to discuss the experience with the major before you run more tests. Remember to extend the exposure time gradually until you are comfortable with your mind partner and are quite sure of which one of you is boss ..."
To Craythorne he went on, "A good initial session, Major, and from now on you'll be teaching yourselves. I have to return to my ship now; a councilor's work is never done. Contact me only if you run into a serious problem."
He was moving toward the door when the major said quickly, "Sir, my apologies. I hope you weren't offended by the lieutenant's disrespectful language and—"
Councilor Davantry raised a hand without turning. "Don't worry about it, Major. Lieutenant O'Mara wasn't quite himself. He was disrespectful, outspoken, and abusive because he had a Kelgian senior physician riding his mind, and Kelgians always behave that way."
When the door had closed behind him, Craythorne laughed softly.
"I suppose that was not the right time," he said, "to tell him that Lieutenant O'Mara always behaves that way, too."
Chapter Ten
THEN AS well as now there had been problems with Educator tapes, O'Mara thought dourly, except that with the passage of time the problems were more familiar and much more numerous, and now it was he rather than Craythorne who had the rank and ultimate responsibility for solving them—even when, as now, he was able to dump some of them onto his chief assistant. In that respect at least, nothing had changed.
"Braithwaite," said O'Mara sourly, "how the blazes do you always manage to look so neat? The only creases in your uniform are where they're supposed to be, the vertical ones in your pants. Is it Monitor Corps conditioning, something in your DNA, or have you, sold your soul to some sartorial devil?"
The lieutenant knew a rhetorical question when he heard one and replied with a polite smile.
"All right," said O'Mara. "Diagnostician Yursedth. What happened?"
Braithwaite smiled again and said, "Initially there was a frank exchange of views. It said that, considering its position within the hospital, it deserved the attention of the chief psychologist. I told it that was so, normally, but as the new administrator you had more urgent matters to attend to and were being forced to delegate. It became personally uncomplimentary, toward both of us, and some of the phrases from the Tralthan component of its mind were particularly ... inventive. But after a few minutes letting off steam, it agreed to talk to a substandard psychiatrist, me."
"And," said O'Mara.
"Currently it carries four Educator tapes," said the lieutenant, "Tralthan, Melfan, Dwerlan, and Earth-human. I checked the donors' psych profiles and none of them seemed as if they would be particularly hard to live with, especially for a strong-willed Kelgian like Yursedth who has years of experience with mind transfers. Its own psych file shows nothing suspect in its past. As for the troublesome dreams, which are causing mental distress of nightmare proportions during sleep and continual worry for hours subsequent to waking, I can find no cause for them. The same applies to the bouts of peripheral neuropathy, which are almost certainly associated with the main problem because they so closely resemble the nightmares. If there is a culprit tape, as you called it, I couldn't identify it. This is a strange one, sir, because there is no obvious reason why the subject's problem should exist."
O'Mara nodded. "You didn't expect me to hand you an easy one, Lieutenant," he said. "What are you doing about this nonexistent problem?"
"The subject is becoming increasingly distressed," said Braithwaite, "and I don't want to waste time duplicating someone else's work, especially yours. Yursedth wouldn't tell me, at the time it was still annoyed because it wasn't being treated by you, whether you had already initiated any kind of therapy. Have you?"
O'Mara shook his head. "I barely glanced through Yursedth's file to check on its current workload," he said, "which was about normal for a diagnostician of its seniority. The original question stands, Lieutenant: what are you going to do?"
Braithwaite was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I already checked for stress due to overwork and found nothing unusual. I'm going to get it to talk about its dreams and psychosomatic episodes again, and listen even more carefully this time. If nothing else occurs to me, I'll suggest erasing the Melfan tape. If any of the Educator tapes are causing the trouble it is likely, well, slightly more likely, to be that one. As you know, sir, while the Melfans have very precise and accurate muscle control and positional sense, but the exoskeletal structures covering their limbs and digits have no sense of touch. It is probably a forlorn hope, but that might equate with Yursedth's waking loss of sensation in its limbs and other areas of its body and its persistent nightmares. One of them, the one that seems to trouble it most, is about it being in a hospital OR on Melf and unable to operate because of an unexplained, creeping paralysis. I would then erase the Melfan tape and, before impressing another, observe and question the subject closely for a few days or weeks, to see whether or not the troublesome symptoms were still present or receding. I would do the same with the other tapes in turn and, if that didn't work, I'd erase all of them and observe the effects. If any."
O'Mara sat back in his chair and kept his face expressionless. Everyone on the staff knew that Yursedth had teaching duties as well as ongoing surgical commitments using its own medical experience as well as that of its four other-species mind partners. Time, as well as considerable personal mental disruption, was required to acclimatize mentally after the erasure of long-term tapes, which was why junior medics were not allowed to retain them for more than a few hours after use. Much more time and considerable emotional hassle would be needed for Yursedth's mind, which subjectively would feel suddenly empty, to accommodate the alien knowledge and feelings of four new mind partners. But Braithwaite knew all this.
Deliberately, O'Mara decided to give a noncommittal, unhelpful answer. He said, "I can only imagine what Yursedth will say about that."
"I didn't have to imagine," said Braithwaite feelingly. "It told me what it thought in detail when I told it what I intended to do, purely as a last resort. I hoped that would concentrate, well, scare its mind to the extent of producing a reaction that would furnish a clue to the basic problem. It didn't. Apart from the verbal abuse it said that it would ask for a second opinion. Yours."
"And you said?" O'Mara prompted.
"That you had given me sole responsibility for its case and that if you did speak to it, that was the first thing you would say," the lieutenant replied, then hesitated. "I don't know what the second thing would be."
"The same as the first," said O'Mara carefully. "I expect you to talk to me about the case and report progress, if any. If you consider it necessary you may discuss it with your colleagues in the outer office, but not to the extent that you would be dividing the responsibility for treatment. I am not going to advise or second-guess you with Yursedth. So don't worry, Lieutenant, this psychological hot, medium-roasted, or cold mashed potato is all yours."
"But I am worrying, sir," said Braithwaite, "mostly about my proposed line of treatment. I was ashamed of even suggesting it. Just wiping all four mind partners is, is crude, like amputating a leg on the off chance of curing a sprained ankle. I want to try something a little more sophisticated, and I'm not asking for advice ..."
"Good," said O'Mara, "because you wouldn't get it."
"... but I would appreciate your technical supervision," Braithwaite went on, "during a tape impression of Yursedth's suspect Melfan mind partner into another subject. Instead of working from subjective verbal data secondhand, I'd like to have a close look around that Melfan donor's mind myself from the inside—"
"No!"
Braithwaite looked surprised. "I know we don't usually do it, sir," he said, "and that technically it's against the rules, but I believe this to be a special problem which I might not be able to solve in any other way without wasting several days or weeks of Yursedth's teaching and operating time as well as subjecting it to a lot of emotional hassle. With respect, sir, it was you who made the rules and, from what I've heard, broke them all before they could be made official."
That was then, O'Mara remembered, during the early years before Craythorne and the newly promoted and eager Lieutenant O'Mara knew what they were doing. He had insisted on doing more while knowing much less than the major and he still carried the mental scars, many of them willingly, to prove it. We lived, as the old Chinese curse phrased it, in interesting times. He shook his head.
"No," he repeated in a conversational tone, "because the staff in this department are expected to be more or less sane. Failing that, they are expected at very least to know exactly who and what they are at all times and in all circumstances. To function effectively a therapist in this place must retain his, her, or its mental objectivity. That cannot be done if you assimilate and go probing into a donor mind that may be psychologically suspect because the experience, no matter how hard you tried to be objective, is intensely and dangerously subjective. A form of insidious psychological merging takes place, and traces of the emotional involvement with the donor entity remain even after the tape has been erased. You know the rule and, if you've temporarily forgotten it, I'm reminding you now. If you go exploring in alien mental territory, Lieutenant, you might bring back mental mud on your boots. So your mind, such as it is, must remain exclusively your own."
