The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 735
Neenil made a soft, sympathetic twittering sound, then said, "Have you loved someone in the past but the love was not returned?"
"No" saidO'Mara.
"Are your feelings for someone of the present," Neenil persisted, "but you have not spoken of them so that the entity concerned doesn't as yet know what you feel?"
"Yes," he said.
"O'Mara," said Neenil, "you must speak to this female. Whether the answer is good or bad for you, you must speak your mind to her. If the answer is bad, well, among my species unrequited love is a serious condition but it is rarely fatal ..."
"Now who's making a joke?" said Creesik.
"I'm being serious." Neenil went on, "Speak of what is in your mind, O'Mara. Then, at least, you will know what this person feels about you and be able to allow your emotional life, perhaps both of your emotional lives, to go on from there."
"This person" said O'Mara, "doesn't even know I exist and, and lives halfway across the galaxy."
He shook his head in self-irritation. This was getting way out of control. The things he was saying he had never believed that he would ever tell to another soul, and most certainly not to Craythorne, who would probably fire him on the spot. But here he was talking about it, admittedly in the most general terms and without mentioning names or details, to a pair of enamored Eurils. He had to end this quickly and get away from here.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This was to be a social visit. I came to talk to you, but not about something that I've never spoken of to any other person. As a psychologist, I can't understand why I'm talking to you about it now. Perhaps I'm feeling envious over what you two have and I haven't ..."
Neenil and Creesik were twittering again. It had a sympathetic sound. Their heads were cocked sideways and they were looking at each other.
He looked at Creesik and went on, "... but no matter, I called at an inconvenient time and I'll go now. There is no reason for you to leave."
"You show great sensitivity, and delicacy, O'Mara," said Creesik, "but there is a reason to leave. If I stayed, neither of us would be able to finish our study assignments."
It hopped toward the door. As he turned to follow, Neenil spoke again.
"This is not right, O'Mara" it said. "You must search for and find this being, and speak your mind to it. Promise me."
O'Mara left without replying because he could not promise the impossible and he wanted to avoid hurting the other's feelings with a negative reply. Neenil was coming across as a particularly nice and currently very happy person who in its present emotional state wished everyone else to be as happy as it was. Sadly, silently, and enviously he wished it and its partner joy.
He thought about the Euril conversation off and on during the next four days when the major and he were kept too busy sorting out minor other-species problems to do anything but nod at each other in passing. Once, when he was alone in the department, he did some serious thanking about them. The hospital grapevine, a fast-reacting plant with its nerve and speech centers in the dining hall, had not given the smallest twitch or whisper of gossip about him and his mysterious unrequited love, so obviously the Euril couple weren't the kind of people who gossiped. He hadn't seen them again but his liking for them was increasing.
Providing Creesik remained in Sector General as well, he thought Neenil would make a good therapist. He would bear that in mind in case his chief ever mentioned needing another assistant As if on cue, Craythorne hurried through the department and waved him toward the inner office.
"Sit down and relax, Lieutenant," he said, smiling. "You aren't in any trouble, so far as I know. We've a lot of things to talk about but none of them are urgent." He looked at O'Mara for a moment. "Unless that expression you're wearing means that you have a more urgent problem to discuss?"
"This isn't urgent, either, sir," he replied. "But it's something you might want to think about."
"Go on, Lieutenant."
"There is no necessity at this stage to mention individuals and species," said O'Mara carefully, "but while I was talking to some of the people on Level One-Eleven it became apparent that pairing-off was taking place. Normally there would be nothing to interest the department in that, but in the situation here ..."
"In the situation on One-Eleven," said Craythorne dryly, "the trainees will be glad that some of the others are going to bed without making sleeping noises. Sorry, O'Mara, my jokes are never funny. Seriously, are you worried about an impending population explosion?"
"No, sir," said O'Mara, "not immediately. But the trainees who qualify for permanent staff positions here, and who become what the Kelgians call life-mates, will want to have families. We would be in serious trouble with their home-planet authorities, not to mention the Federation Primary Rule, for infringing their rights. When the hospital is up and running for a few years, it's something we'll have to think about."
The major nodded. "You're right. It won't happen tomorrow, I sincerely hope. You have a word with Mannen about it. He likes talking to you, he says, because you don't take as long as I do to get to the point. Tell him that, if and when, to tell us which other-species obstetricians we need to approach for mind tapes." He laughed quietly and went on, "After all, the hospital's first patient was an infant Hudlar, as you very well know. Was there anything else you wanted to say?"
"No, sir."
"Good," said Craythorne. "Now we can discuss a less long-term problem. Six months from now the real exotics will begin to arrive: SNLUs, TLTUs, VTXMs, people like that. Building accommodation for them will be a Maintenance problem, naturally, and they'll be calling in same-species environmental engineers, and the Telfi ward will become part of the main power reactor. How exactly we're going to treat the emotional difficulties of beings who breathe high-pressure superheated steam, or methane crystalline life-forms who live close to absolute zero, or gestalt entities who absorb hard radiation, I'm unable to say right now, but we'll do our best. It will mean us putting in a lot of time on the library computer and, of course, getting more departmental help."
Craythorne paused. O'Mara remained silent.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant," the major went on. "The help in question is Earth-human, a retired Monitor Corps officer who volunteered himself for the position. He's totally unlike you because he's old, frail, and gentle, I'm told, except during philosophical arguments. He'll be arriving two weeks from now."
"I'll be looking forward to meeting him then," said O'Mara with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
Craythorne shook his head. "You won't be meeting him then, because, Lieutenant, you won't be here."
O'Mara stared hard at the major not speaking. He had thought that he was improving, losing some of the rough edges to his manner when dealing with people, but apparently he was still guilty of wearing his heavy boots and an old, frail, gentle ex-Monitor Corps officer was replacing him. Craythorne returned his stare without dropping his eyes, plainly reading the bitter disappointment on O'Mara's face; then he shook his head again.
"Don't jump to conclusions, Lieutenant," he said. "You've worked very hard during these past two years with the department, but you're beginning to show signs of stress. I don't know what, precisely, is troubling your mind, and I know you would never admit to any weakness much less tell your superior officer if there was anything bothering you, but something most definitely is. This is the best opportunity you'll have for a while to get away from this place, so I want you to relax, rest, or at least do something strenuously different for a while, and sort things out for yourself. You have a lot of leave owing. Take it."
O'Mara had not realized that he was holding his breath until it came out in a long sigh of relief. He said, "Thank you, sir. But I've no family or planet-side friends. There's nowhere I want to go and nothing else I want to do."
The major frowned. "Lieutenant," he said, "that answer falls into the grey area between a chronic lack of imagination and manic dedication to duty. As a psychologist I am prescribing a six-week change of scene, and as your superior officer I am making it an order. Go anywhere you like, but go."
O'Mara spent the rest of the day tidying up clerical loose ends, speaking to the transport officer about the availability of outgoing flights, and trying to make up his mind where he wanted to go. But he kept thinking back to Neenil and the Euril's last, concerned words to him.
"You must search for and find this being" it had said. "Speak your mind to it."
Chapter Seventeen
HE HAD KNOWN, although he had never really expected to make use of the knowledge, that since he was a Monitor Corps officer on space service no commercial vessel (provided it had a species-suitable berth free and it was going in the right direction) could refuse to take him as a passenger. There was no restriction regarding destinations or the number of ship transfers he could make, but if he wanted to go fast and fax it was best to stick to the busy commercial routes serving the long-established star-traveling cultures of Traltha, Orligia, Kelgia, and Earth. He was free to visit a more out-of-the-way planet or colony world if he wished, but that could mean spending a large proportion of his leave waiting for a suitable connection.
The Monitor Corps supply vessel Trosshannon plied the three-cornered route between Nidia, Melf, and Sector General. As the initial letter of its name implied, it had been built on the heavy-gravity world of Traltha, where they built starships that were renowned throughout the Federation for their structural strength and dependability. It was said that on Traltha even the earthmoving machinery was put together by watchmakers. Trosshannon listed accommodation with environmental support for five physiological classifications: Tralthan FGLIs, Melfan ELNTs, Hudlar FROBs, Kelgian DBLFs, and DBDGs like or unlike himself who were expected to use the same cabin type even though it was a tight squeeze for Orligians and the furniture was on the large size for Nidians, who considered themselves tall if they made it to more than a meter.
He met the eight-man, Earth-human crew, who were all Monitor Corps personnel, only at mealtimes. They were friendly enough but they made it clear that they were very busy and, other than at meals, they preferred him not to get underfoot. O'Mara spent most of that four-day trip in his quarters, which was exactly what he wanted to do. But Craythorne had been right about him being tired. He was surprised at how much of the time he spent sleeping.
O'Mara was feeling more relaxed than he had been for a long time when Trosshannon dropped into the Retlin transport complex on the outskirts of Nidia's planetary capital whose name it bore. It was the largest space, air, and surface communication facility in the Federation as well as, from the point of view of the local families with young children who thronged the public viewing area, its most popular other-species zoo. As the moving walkway took him through the disembarking tunnel toward the main concourse, it felt strange to be the focus of so many curious eyes and excited, barking conversations and realize that to the many hundreds of tiny, red-furred beings staring at him he was just another strange extraterrestrial visitor.
Even though he was carrying all his belongings in a backpack so that there was no necessity for him to go through baggage claim, and Retlin was also reputed to be the most well-organized and well-appointed transport terminal on all of the civilized worlds, it was still easy for a strange visitor regardless of its species to get lost. An enormous, hairy Orligian wearing a weapons harness suggesting that it might be a security guard gave him directions.
The information facility comprised a long line of screened cubicles, each one bearing a stylized diagram representing the various star-traveling races that made up the Galactic Federation, sized and furnished to suit the physical requirements of the user. He found one bearing the Earth-human symbol, and went inside to find a viewscreen displaying a plan view of the complex interior covering the facing wall, with a winking blue location light showing his present position and another that could be moved to the area where he wanted to go, and flashing guidelines to help him get there. Except for the comfortable, Earth-human chair—in Sector General people were not encouraged to sit and browse—it was similar to the information screens used on every level of the hospital.
He was able to find the Monitor Corps' Personnel-in-Transit office without difficulty. Its wall decorations ran heavily to pictures of service vessels ranging from tiny couriers through long-range survey cruisers up to the mighty Emperor-class capital ships. With a single exception, its six reception desk consoles were being manned by people who weren't men, but he chose that one because the others were busy. As he approached the empty position, a graying NCO wearing full uniform so clean and crisp that it reminded him of Craythorne on a ceremonial occasion looked up. The other's eyes rested briefly on O'Mara's coveralls and his beret tightly folded under the right shoulder strap, which meant that neither of them had to waste time saluting; then he gave a friendly nod.
"Sir?" he said.
O'Mara gave his name and service ID code and said, "I arrived within the past hour on Trosshannon and would like a berth on anything you have going to Traltha, Melf, Kelgia, or Earth. The destination isn't important but the stopover time is. I don't want to spend too much of my leave on Nidia."
"Nidian low ceilings give me trouble, too," the other said, smiling, "but if you need to stay here for a while, there's always the Earth-human officers' quarters on the base. They're very comfortable."
"Thank you," said O'Mara, returning the smile and looking pointedly at the other's impeccable uniform, "but on Nidia Base I wouldn't feel that I was on leave. Have you anything going anywhere soon?"
"I know what you mean," said the NCO. "Give me a moment to check, sir."
On the base, O'Mara thought as the other began tapping keys, the uniform dress regulations would be less relaxed, and there would be a lot more saluting and fellow officers displaying too much friendly curiosity about his background. He was technically an officer but nobody, himself included, had ever considered him to be a gentleman. There could be trouble if their curiosity became too persistent. O'Mara thought that he would rather squeeze himself into a room in one of the local Nidian hotels.
"You're in luck, sir," said the other suddenly, and hesitated. "Well, you might be in luck. How about Kreskhallar, Melfan registry, a medium-sized passenger vessel with a mixed-species crew and with accommodation for warm-blooded oxygen-breathers, leaving from Dock Thirty-Seven just three and a half hours from now. It operates a continuous, round-trip, cut-price sightseeing tour of the big five—Melf, Earth, Traltha, Kelgia, Nidia, and back to Melf. Currently the passengers are mostly Kelgian on some kind of star-traveling literary convention, it says here, with other-species passengers joining and leaving at their home planets. The luxury rating isn't high, sir, only two stars, and with all those DBLFs ..."
"Thank you," O'Mara broke in, "I'll take it"
The NCO looked concerned. He said, "Sir, if you're not used to them, Kelgians can be a bit hard to take even one at a time. Before I book you in, are you sure about this?"
O'Mara nodded. "Go ahead, Sergeant," he said, "I'm used to working with Kelgians."
"You are?" said the other, giving him another close but unobtrusive visual examination as he tapped keys. Plainly his curiosity got the better of him because he went on, "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what ship?"
"No ship," he said. "Sector General."
"Oh," said the sergeant, looking impressed. He was still sitting at his console but somehow he gave the impression that he was standing at attention as he added, "Enjoy your leave, sir."
As he had no idea what the food would be like on a two-star passenger vessel, or how long it would be before they served it, O'Mara decided to play safe by refueling in one of the complex's multi-species restaurants. The place reminded him of the hospital's main dining hall, but with the addition of wall murals showing Nidian land- and seascapes, and loud background music whose planet of origin he did not recognize but which was terrible. It had a discordant, urgent beat that, he decided, was intended to make the diners eat faster to escape from it Out of sheer contrariness he ate slowly, blocking the music from his mind while he tried to think about what he could do with himself over the next six weeks, until it was time to board.
It was Kreskhallar's passenger liaison officer, Larragh-Yal, an obviously overworked or perhaps just overwrought Nidian, who welcomed him aboard, wished him a pleasant voyage, and gave him directions to his cabin in a voice which, even through the translator, suggested that its mind was on other things. Probably, he thought wryly, the shipload of Kelgians. He was given a locator that would tell him how to get to the dining and recreation rooms, the observation deck, and the other passenger services, and asked if he had any special requirements.
"Only peace and quiet," said O'Mara. "I'll be staying in my cabin most of the time."
"With this bunch of furry sword-and-sorcery fanatics we have on board," it said, sounding relieved that he might turn out to be one of that rare breed, a minimum-maintenance passenger, "I don't blame you, Lieutenant. But if you should need anything, the locator card will find me. I, ah, expect you already know that the Monitor Corps will reimburse our company for your travel fare, basic cabin accommodation, food, and a moderate quantity of liquid refreshment. Anything else you will have to pay for yourself."
O'Mara nodded. "There will be nothing else."
"I don't want to sound mean, Lieutenant," the other went on, "nor do I have to stick too closely to the regulations in your case. After all, you're the only Monitor Corps officer on the ship. Your presence would raise the morale of our security people as well as having a steadying influence on some of the passengers."
"Larragh-Yal," said O'Mara firmly, "I'm on leave."
"Of course, sir," said the other. "But a sheathed weapon is still a deterrent."
His cabin was about half the size of his quarters at the hospital, but comfortable if one only wanted to sleep rather than stay there most of the time. There were a viewscreen and a menu of multi-species entertainment tapes that looked old and tired even by Sector General standards, but the amenities did not include a food dispenser. If he wanted to eat alone he would have to order cabin service. The extra cost didn't worry him, but the type of person he had once been did not feel happy with the idea of another intelligent entity becoming his servant for however short a time, nor did he know how an officer was expected to behave in that situation. He would feel awkward and embarrassed by the whole business.
