The only reason I had been selected was that I happened to be the liaison between fled and the rest of us. Well, okay, that should have made it easy; at least there were no facts or figures to memorize, nothing to prepare, and when I was summoned before those awful klieg lights everything went quite smoothly at first. I was just beginning to enjoy the experience when, out of nowhere, Prissy asked me about “life out there,” as if I were an expert on extraterrestrial intelligence. All I could do was relate what I had gleaned from our alien visitors: there were myriad life forms permeating the galaxy, and presumably all galaxies throughout the universe, but there were probably very few humans among them.
“Why is that, doctor?”
“Well, according to prot, and fled, too, humans tend to destroy themselves wherever they arise.”
“Do you have something against human beings, doctor?”
“No, of course not. As a matter of fact, I’m one myself.” When not even a smile ensued, I went on. “They were just reporting their observations and suggesting that we ought to take better care of our planet.”
“Well, are you saying that we should stop making cars and trucks until we solve all our social and political problems?”
I didn’t like the direction this thing was going. Nevertheless, I tried to remain calm and cool. “Not at all. But prot might have agreed with that.”
“What about fled?”
“You’ll be interviewing her soon. Why don’t you ask her?” Trying to lighten things up a bit, I added, “I haven’t made a car or truck in years!”
I thought rather smugly that I had done rather well up to that point. But Prissy suddenly took another tack. “We’ve heard from an anonymous source that our special guest might be pregnant. How did that happen, doctor?”
Though a bit annoyed by this unforeseen line of questioning, I still tried to keep it light. “In the usual way, I imagine.”
“And who is the father—another chimp?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t think she knows, either. And she’s not a chimp!”
“You mean she sleeps around?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Dr. Brewer, we have reason to suspect that the father of fled’s child is a human being. Maybe even one of your patients. What can you tell us about that?”
Ordinarily I would have declined to answer such a leading question. But her know-it-all attitude somehow made me want to defend the accused. “Whoever he is,” I retorted, “he must be quite a man.” I regretted it as soon as I had said it.
“A lot of our viewers are going to be quite upset to think that someone half human and half ape is going to come out of this visit. What is your considered opinion on that, doctor?”
As calmly as I could, I reminded our host that fled wasn’t an ape, but an orf.
“Well, that’s what she’d like us to believe, isn’t it? How do we know she even came from outer space? Some people think she’s nothing more than a talking chimp. Maybe she ran away from the circus.”
“They’re entitled to their opinion.”
“You don’t care whether humans start breeding with apes, doctor?”
“I didn’t say that, either!”
“How about humans and gorillas? Does that sound appealing to you?”
A final attempt to stay calm. “Most gorillas wouldn’t appeal to me, no.”
“Would human-pig liaisons be next? Human-skunk? Human—”
For a second, it occurred to me that she must be joking. Then I realized she was panting and, quite possibly, insane. “Not anytime soon,” I responded quite evenly, hoping to calm her down and maybe prevent a stroke.
At that point a peal of laughter erupted from some of the patients milling about the lounge. I don’t know what triggered it, but it must have interrupted her train of thought. When it died down Prissy was smiling brightly and the feverish look in her eyes was gone. She jumped up and shook my hand. “Good cover for the fled segments,” she assured me. “Thank you very much, doctor.”
I still wasn’t certain whether or not to suggest she get help. Or, indeed, whether all television hosts might not be hovering on the edge of sanity.
* * *
Hoping to get away from the cameras for a while I had lunch in Ward Two. I had forgotten they were set up in the dining room as well, watching, presumably, for abnormal behavior of any kind, or maybe a food fight or the like. But at least no one was interviewing the patients while they toyed with their food.
Though she was supposed to take her meals in the Villers wing, Phyllis hovered around the tables, helping herself to whatever she wanted from the plates of those who didn’t care whether they ate anything or not. She never took a seat, though, afraid that someone else would drop down on her (being invisible has its drawbacks). The cameras watched as she tried to pilfer something from Rocky’s plate, and he went into a rage. Not at her, of course—perhaps he really can’t see her—but at his absent brother, who used to do the same when they were children. An orderly quickly intervened, and decorum was restored.
I sat across from Cassandra, who had managed to stay focused on the present for a while, perhaps because the television cameras were everywhere and her natural desire to make a good impression had gotten the better of her. It occurred to me that this might be a possible therapeutic approach to take with patients like her: if she had something to occupy her time more intensely in the present, she might not want, or need, to spend so much of it contemplating the future. Such a thought might have fascinated me at one time, and I would have pursued it enthusiastically. But now, at the very end of my career, what could I do but mention the idea to my colleagues and trust that they would look into the possibilities.
Since she was merely eating, and quietly at that, no one was taping our end of the table, as far as I knew. Not wanting to pass up an opportunity, I asked her, “Is there anything you can tell me about fled and the patients that I don’t know?”
“That would take a lot more time than we’ve got,” she said in all seriousness. I thought I saw Barney smile a little, but, if so, it certainly wasn’t a laugh.
“Do you know when fled’s leaving?”
“Yes, I do.”
“When?”
“June twenty-second.”
I already suspected the approximate date and this confirmed it. “And do you know who she’s taking with her?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A hundred thousand people.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“A large contingent will be from the hospital.”
I sat up straighter. “A contingent? Do you know how many?”
“All of us who want to go.”
“All? Well, do you know how many want to go?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“All of us.”
“I see. And that includes you?”
Matter-of-factly, without even a smile, as if it were a trip to the next floor, she answered, “Yes. It was Howard who convinced her to take us all.”
I heard one of the TV people say, “Who’s Howard?”
Cassie was beginning to look a little agitated. “I’m finished here, Dr. Brewer. May I go?”