"You don't know what's going on in the minds of Dr. Slycke and the other psychiatrists here, or what their long-range concerns may be. I'm suggesting that Garth's best interests and the interests of the Defense Intelligence Agency may begin to diverge, if they haven't already. After all, what's Garth doing in this secret clinic in the first place?"
Carling tugged absently at his ponytail, then nodded. "Now I see what you're getting at. But the doctors here are good, Mongo."
"I'm not questioning their medical skills, Tommy; just their loyalties. Their paychecks come from the D.I.A."
"Like me," Carling said with a thin smile.
"Like you."
"Yet, you're willing to have this conversation with me?"
"Obviously. Can you see me trying to have it with Slycke?"
"I thought this Mr. Lippitt, the big poohbah who authorized Garth's admittance here and gave you the Z-13 pass, was a personal friend of yours and your brother's."
"He is, and I'm not questioning his motives in placing Garth here; indeed, I'm grateful to him. But we were all dealing with an emergency then; now, things are different."
"How are things different?"
"For one thing, obviously, Garth isn't catatonic any longer. Now, Garth has gone through any number of changes as a result of being poisoned with that shit; what worries me is that certain D.I.A. personnel might consider it imperative, for security reasons, to keep Garth here for close observation, even if it might be better, for medical reasons, to send him home. Those same personnel would consider it more important to observe the long-range effects of NPPD poisoning than to get Garth's head working right; they're going to be thinking about national security implications, and how they can use what they're learning from Garth."
Tommy Carling laughed good-naturedly. "What national security implications?"
"For one thing, we're talking very serious behavior modification. Want to quiet some dissidents, calm down some political prisoners-or maybe pacify an entire population, for that matter? Sprinkle a little NPPD on their cereal every morning. I'm not being facetious."
"I can see that," Carling said evenly.
"Also, you have what you're looking at down there on the swings."
"An empath fixated on alleviating human suffering? You think our intelligence services, or anyone else's, would be interested in that? We should all be so fortunate."
"I'm talking about imprinting. What you see isn't necessarily what you would have gotten in different circumstances."
"You're losing me again, Mongo."
"Garth was thrown into a profound depression as a result of NPPD poisoning; Slycke thinks it literally erased all sorts of emotional valences and connections to things in the past. He came out of it when I stimulated him with music which had very strong emotional associations to human suffering, and the need to do something about it. So Garth winds up thinking about nothing but alleviating human suffering. Now, what would have happened if I'd imprinted Garth in some other way?"
"Yes," Carling replied quietly. "Your point is well taken."
"The NPPD wiped out, or repressed, a major part of his personality, and I unwittingly helped to give him a new one. I hate to think of what would be happening with Garth now if I'd imprinted him with something deeply associated with rage, or hatred. Now, I'm not saying anything to you that hasn't already occurred to the strategic types of personnel I mentioned earlier. I absolutely guarantee you that a lot of wheels are turning in the heads of people who don't give a shit about Garth as a person, and I don't want Garth to get crushed in the gears. I don't want him used, and I have to do what I think is in his best interests."
It was certainly true that I didn't want Garth to be used as a guinea pig-firsthand by the D.I.A., or secondhand by the K.G.B. But it was also true that Garth was simply talking too much, about things he shouldn't be talking about at all, and that was information I couldn't share with Tommy Carling, or anyone else. It was certainly a convenient irony that Charles Slycke and the rest of the staff at the clinic should dismiss Garth's stories about Orville Madison and the Valhalla Project as the fantastic delusions of a madman, but the fact that Garth wasn't believed when he told the simple truth about things which obviously still troubled him very deeply could only complicate his therapy.
If Garth's little tales got out-which they certainly would if the K.G.B. had ears in the clinic and they decided to do some serious digging for facts-and if he was believed, Mr. Lippitt, Veil, and I could end up in prison for a very long time, and the administration of Kevin Shannon would fall.
A third horn on the head of my curious, and increasingly ugly, dilemma.
"You seem to know a lot about intelligence work, Mongo," Carling said in a neutral tone.
"I know a lot about the kinds of people in whose heads those wheels are turning; they relate best to scenarios, not people."
"But, in the end, you still have Mr. Lippitt to protect Garth's interests."
"Mr. Lippitt might not agree that the agency's interests and Garth's aren't the same. Besides, he's only one man; he's a powerful man, but there are a lot of powerful men in the intelligence community. He's in Washington, not here, and he could die-or be dismissed-tomorrow."
"Assuming these so-called strategic types are thinking what you say they're thinking-"
"They are."
"Then there would still be problems, even if you did take Garth out of here. The interest of these people wouldn't stop just because he wasn't here; if anything, they'd just get very nervous. How would you protect Garth from that. . continuing interest?"
"I'd just take him home and lock the door," I said, only half joking.
Carling sighed, lit a third cigarette. "Some of your points are good, Mongo, but I still think the doctors here are doctors first, and agency employees second. They would resist pressure from those strategic types. Maybe you're being just a bit paranoid."
"That could be, and if so there's no harm done by talking to you. I have to deal with scenarios, too."
Tommy Carling was silent for some time, and together we watched Garth talking with the old man and woman down by the swings. I wondered what they were talking about.
Carling finished his cigarette, tossed it away. "Mongo?"
"What?"
"I'm supposed to report on anything we discuss. It's a rule covering all conversations with visitors."
"That doesn't surprise me," I said evenly, still watching Garth. He had said something to make the old woman laugh. "I understand that this is a D.I.A. clinic, not the Mayo. I'm glad I talked with you, because it's helped me to clarify a lot of my thoughts and focus my thinking. I don't care what you tell Dr. Slycke, or anyone else. I told you; I won't be giving them any new ideas, and it may be just as well that they know what I'm thinking."
"I don't think I'll report this conversation."
"Do what you think you have to do, Tommy. In the meantime, I'd like to ask for your personal and professional opinion on something."
"Which is?"
"Should I discuss any of this with Garth? In particular, should I discuss with him the possibility of his going home?"
"You're Garth's brother, Mongo; even more germane to this situation, you have a Z-13 badge. You can talk about anything you want, with anyone you want, any time you want."
"That doesn't answer my question, does it?"
"Mongo, I'm truly flattered that you should ask for my advice on something which is so important to you-but I can't give it to you. It's clearly a medical question about something that could have a large bearing on Garth's state of mind, and I wouldn't feel right about advising you. I can't take the responsibility. That's a question you'll have to take up with Dr. Slycke-if you care to."
"All right. I understand."