Major Poffis took a closer look at Garvin.
Garvin paused, groping around for some way to give a more conventional ending to this opening gambit.
Poffis glanced at the captain. “Is this a patient?”
“No, sir. This is the Earth psychologist from Mental Institution 16.”
Garvin cleared his throat, and said gently but firmly, “We find it more appropriate to designate it ‘Rolling Hills Rest and—’ ”
Poffis looked him over coldly. “What the devil’s the matter with them out there?”
Garvin looked blank. “What?”
Poffis said shortly, “Why don’t they get their thumb out of their mouth and give us some action? I sent half-a-dozen cases of combat nerves in six months ago, and so far we’ve gotten just one back. The boy was worthless. What the devil do you do to your patients?”
He turned to Captain Moklin. “I notice this fellow has a chunk out of his jacket. Has he been administering treatment in my absence?”
“Not actually, sir. He just walked over and tried to reason with the patient, that’s all.”
Poffis looked mollified. “That shouldn’t do much harm.” He glanced at the cell. “Now, then, this fellow hasn’t been in combat yet, has he?”
“No, sir. He isn’t out of training yet.”
“You’re sure we’ve got the right records? This isn’t a damned administrative bungle like that last mess?”
“No, sir,” said Moklin grimly. “I checked that myself, sir. This is the right man, all right.”
“What’s the recommendation?”
“Court recommended death. Patient’s commanding officer pleaded for leniency.”
The patient laughed out loud, as if witnessing a peculiarly silly scene in a play.
Major Poffis looked the patient over appraisingly, then glanced at Moklin. “On what grounds did his commanding officer plead for leniency?”
“He thought the fellow could be made into a good soldier, sir. With the proper treatment.”
Poffis scowled. “Yes, there’s that again. What’s on the sheet, Moklin. How many of these cases have we got for today?”
Moklin looked apologetic. “Three more for this morning, sir. Now, about this prisoner—”
Poffis stared at him. “And this afternoon?”
“Sir?”
“How many this afternoon?”
“We’ve got—that is—” Moklin swallowed. “Sir, there are six of them.”
Poffis’s brows came together.
“That’s too many. Put some of them over till tomorrow.”
“Well, sir, tomorrow—”
Poffis snarled, “It takes time to get a cure started. I’ll handle three this morning, and three this afternoon. From there, it’s routine. But I’m taking six new ones a day and that’s that.”
“Sir, at that rate, they’ll pile up from here all the way back to Training, and the colonel will—”
Poffis’s eyes glinted.
“I know how many new patients I can handle in a day, Moklin. If the colonel wants me to take on eight a day, ten a day, twelve a day, then I am going to end up on the other side of these bars, and the colonel can see how that works out. Let them pile up. That’s better than sending back fake cures. There’s a cause to this mess somewhere. The sooner that dawns on them, the quicker they’ll slap the clokal detonak on this whole region, and burn out the pus. Now let’s have the keys to the cell so I can get started.”
Moklin dazedly handed over the keys to the cell.
II
Garvin, stupefied, was grappling with the idea that the Centrans thought six new patients a day, with routine follow-up treatment, was about right. If Garvin got six patients really cured in a year, it was cause for celebration. Baffled, he took a fresh look at the patient Poffis was ready to treat.
The patient had watched with interest the exchange between Poffis and Moklin, but now stiffened as he saw Poffis come toward the cell. He threateningly approached the bars, bared his teeth and suddenly reached out through the bars to take a grab at Poffis’s uniform.
Garvin watched intently, wondering what Poffis could possibly do now.
Poffis instantly seized the out-stretched hand, whirled and yanked downward.
The patient screamed and slammed against the bars.
Poffis promptly kicked him back against the opposite wall, then unlocked the cell door, went in, banged the door shut and tossed the keys to Moklin. The patient shook his hand dazedly, felt his shoulder, glared, let out a roar of rage and sprang across the cell at Poffis.
Poffis whirled, shot out a leg, tripped the patient, and sent him smashing head-first into the far corner of the cell.
The patient lay on his face for about fifteen seconds, then sat up dazedly, stared at Poffis and sucked in a deep breath. His voice came out loud and ringing.
“I got a right to go to a rest home! I’m crazy! I’m a patient! I’m sick! You can’t touch me! I got a right to go to a rest home!”
Poffis said angrily, “If I knew where that idea came from, I could get this work-load down to normal. All right, Moklin. Read the charge.”
Captain Moklin unfolded a long sheet of paper and read in a clear sober voice:
“Prisoner committed following acts, which have been proved by careful and thorough inquiry. He:
“1) Threatened to beat up his own mess-mates, and then took their food from them by force.
“2) Threatened his squad-leader with a knife, when reprimanded.
“3) While off-duty, struck an elderly man who happened to step in his way, thus bringing disgrace on the armed forces.
“4) On being charged, as above, laughed in the face of his commanding officer, Lieutenant Boggis, and referred to Lieutenant Boggis as a ‘molk.’
“5) Struck Lieutenant Boggis on the face with his open hand.
“6) Threatened Lieutenant Boggis that if Lieutenant Boggis defended himself, he (the prisoner) would state under oath that Lieutenant Boggis struck first.
“7) Resisted the guards summoned to the scene.
“8) While under detention, announced to everyone within hearing that he would receive a medical discharge and be home living on a pension while those who did their duty would be eaten up by Mikerils for their pains. Prisoner taunted all the law-abiding soldiers within hearing that they would soon be at the front defending him.
“9) By voice and act, abused everyone in authority who came near him during detention.
“10) Refused to cooperate with properly designated authorities in curbing his undisciplined actions. This refusal was compounded by disrespect and insult and reflects no detectable principle or ideal, but merely an undisciplined, willful, ill-governed nature, which is urgently in need of correction.”
Captain Moklin lowered the paper. “That’s it, sir.”
“I see,” said Poffis. “Well, well. Here we have a full-blown case of it.” He studied the patient, who got to his feet, looking apprehensive and defiant.
“Now, then,” said Poffis, “the first thing to realize is that how you got here doesn’t matter. This is the trap right next to the drain. Either we cure you, or they shoot you. And we aren’t given much time to cure you.”
“I’m sick!” cried the prisoner. “I want to go to a rest—”
“Luckily,” said Poffis, “we’ve got just the way to cure you. We’ve developed it over several thousands of years. There are only two things you need to know about this cure: It’s quick. And it hurts.”
The prisoner opened his mouth, and shut it again. Poffis was moving right along like a planet in its orbit, and showed no sign of stopping for anything.
“There’s one reliable way,” said Poffis, “that Nature teaches what’s right and what’s wrong. When you do right, you get rewarded. When you do wrong, you get hurt. Our method is the same, but more condensed.”
“Look,” said the patient exasperatedly, one hand outstretched, “I’m not responsible. You can’t blame me for—”
“The basic idea of the cure is very simple,” said Poffis briskly. “It is based on the observation of sages, that there is a real inner self, which is not subject to the phenomena of the physical world, and an outer self which is.”
A succession of expressions crossed the patient’s face, and ended with a look of defiant outrage. “To the Mikerils with all this stuff!” He followed that with a piece of profanity that took Garvin’s breath away, but that left Poffis and Moklin visibly untouched.
“The real inner self,” said Poffis, “is conscious of events, because it is ‘connected,’ by resonances and various nerve-tracts, with the outer physical self that exists in the physical world, and is a type of living protoplasmic machine, serving the inner spiritual self which is not physical.”
The patient shouted, “I’m crazy! I WANT TO GO TO A REST HOME!”
Poffis moved steadily along. “To properly treat the patient, it is necessary to distinguish between the true inner self of the patient, the outer physical self which is the medium through which the patient contacts and is contacted by the physical world, and the various traits, habits and emotions which manifest outwardly through the physical body, and inwardly by coloring the information passed to the brain and thence to the real self.”