but I think it was more than fond memories,” Hewlitt went on, “because I had almost forgotten about that cat until I was admitted to the hospital and Lieutenant Braithwaite started questioning me about my childhood. It was as if there was a bond between us, a feeling almost of pride in some kind of shared experience that seemed to go beyond the child-and-his-pet relationship. The feeling is tenuous, very difficult to describe, and, well, it is probably due to all this talk about intelligent virus invasions. This time my imagination may really be running away with me. I should not have mentioned it.”
“But you did mention it,” said O’Mara, “even though doing so has caused you to feel embarrassed and even ridiculous. Or are you hoping that I, or one of the other fine, incisive, clinical minds here assembled, will decide whether or not it was worth mentioning?”
The fine, clinical minds in the room joined Hewlitt in remaining silent. He returned the other’s stare, wondering if O’Mara’s lids had been glued permanently in the open position.
“Very well,” the psychologist went on. “Think carefully about what you have just said and follow it through. The word ‘impossible’ has been used too loosely here, so I shall resist the temptation to use it again. Are you suggesting, however reluctantly, that this strange, tenuous, indescribable feeling that you had for your onetime pet, and which you believe it reciprocated, was a legacy that may have been left by your common viral invader? And are you also suggesting that the ex-hosts of the virus might share this peculiar, insubstantial feeling of a shared experience and be able to recognize each other? Presumably I am right because your face is becoming very red, but I would like verbal corroboration.”
“Yes, dammit,” said Hewlitt. “To both questions.
O’Mara nodded and said, “Which means that you could act as some kind of virus witch-finder with the ability to track down our quarry through its previous and, presumably, its present hosts. Naturally, we are grateful for any help you can give us but, well, apart from the instant recognition and the vague feelings you say you shared with the cat who, regrettably, is unable to offer corroboration, have you any other evidence, observations, or vague, indescribable feelings to support your contention?”
He looked away from O’Mara, feeling that the heat of his embarrassment must be warming the whole room.
“Friend O’Mara,” said Prilicla. “At the time the incident occurred I was aware of the feelings of the cat and friend Hewlitt. They were as described.”
“And as I suggested, little friend,” said O’Mara, “they were vague, indescribable, subjective, and probably useless.” He turned to his communicator, which was already live, and went on, “Has the Padre returned? Good, send it in.” To Hewlitt he said, “We have medical matters to discuss which do not require your presence. I feel sure that I have embarrassed you more than enough for one day. Thank you for your assistance. Padre Lioren will escort you to the dining hall.”
In the instant that the Tarlan entered the room it stopped dead, all four of its eyes directed at Hewlitt’s reddening face. He stared back at it, wanting to speak but knowing that he was going to be ridiculed again.
“Mr. Hewlitt,” said O’Mara in a voice whose sarcastic tone had been replaced by one of sympathy and concern. “You have many years’ experience of having your words disbelieved by the medical and psychiatric fraternity, so I hoped that your feelings would not be seriously wounded by my own incredulity. In the circumstances your reaction seems abnormal. Please, what is it that you are not wanting to tell me?”
“The vague feeling of recognition I was trying to describe,” said Hewlitt, raising a hand to point at Lioren, “is coming from the Padre.”
“I can confirm that,” said Prilicla.
For the first time since he had entered the office, Hewlitt saw the chief psychologist blink.
CHAPTER 25
“Padre,” said O’Mara, swiveling his chair to look up at the Tarlan standing in the doorway, “have you been hiding something from us?”
Lioren bent one eye in the psychologist’s direction and kept the other three trained on Hewlitt as it said, “Not intentionally. This is as much of a surprise to me as it is you. Your instructions were that the psychology staff in the outer office listen in to this meeting for later discussion. I returned early from the AUGL ward and overheard Patient Hewlitt’s description of his feelings about the cat. I–I need a moment to think.”
“Take it,” said O’Mara. “But Padre, organize your thoughts, try not to edit them.
“Very well,” said Lioren. It did not appear to be offended by the other’s remark unless turning one of its eyes toward the ceiling was a derogatory gesture on Tarla. After a short pause it went on. “In the course of my duties I am aware of many subtle and often indescribable feelings that I have for my charges, both patients and staff, and of similar feelings they have toward me. Even though we Tarlans find physical contact between strangers distasteful, very often I find it necessary when the laying on of hands or a simple handclasp is required to convey feelings that are too difficult for either of the persons concerned to articulate. Until Hewlitt described the bond that it felt existed between its pet and itself, and I realized that a similar feeling existed between the two of us and another former patient, Morredeth, I had not considered the matter of any importance. Now it has become very important because it seems that I became a host to the virus creature. I also know how and when the transfer must have taken place.
“At the time I was not aware of anything unusual about the incident,” the Padre went on. “The damage to a young Kelgian’s fur is a particular tragedy, since it is both an unsightly deformity which precludes mating and a severe impairment of its primary channel of communication. From the time Patient Morredeth learned that the condition was permanent it was in urgent need of nonmaterial support. In common with the majority of civilized worlds, Kelgia has several religious beliefs the precepts of which are familiar to me, but Morredeth subscribed to none of them. All that I could offer it during my daily visits was sympathy and conversation and, well, gossip about other patients and staff members in an attempt to take its mind off its own troubles. The attempt was unsuccessful and the patient remained in a condition of deep, emotional distress until, on the visit following its physical encounter with Patient Hewlitt, there was a total remission of symptoms.”
Lioren paused and for a moment the tall, angular body concealed by the narrow cone of its cloak trembled, apparently at the recollection, then grew still.
“In spite of being the hospital padre,” it said, “I have difficulty accepting an event, no matter how inexplicable it may seem, as miraculous. But not knowing then of the existence of this intelligent virus creature, I was almost convinced otherwise. Morredeth’s behavior following its cure was abnormal in that it was almost insane with delight and relief. I had already touched, or rather stroked, the area of damaged fur in an attempt at giving nonverbal reassurance. But it insisted that I share its joy by feeling for myself the mobility of the regenerated fur with one of my medial hands. That was when it must have happened.
“The fur was indeed highly mobile,” Lioren continued, “so much so that long tufts of it wrapped around and became entangled in my digits. For a moment my hand was held tightly against the skin, and I was afraid to pull it free in case I uprooted strands of the newly grown fur. I was aware of my palm being wet but was unsure whether the perspiration was the patient’s or my own, and at the time I had no idea that the sudden presence of moisture was associated with the creature’s mechanism of transfer. Shortly afterward I removed my hand from the fur without difficulty, congratulated Patient Morredeth on its cure, then left to visit other patients.”