When Skempton paused for breath, O’Mara made a pretense of sounding shocked and said, “And is that what our respected chief administrator has been doing for the past twelve years?”
“Shameful, isn’t it?” said the colonel, laughing for the first time. The process smoothed away the worry lines in his face and relaxed his mouth so that for a moment he looked younger than O’Mara had ever seen him since he had taken over the administration of the hospital. He went on, “There are moments of drama when I have to earn my salary, when saying and doing nothing isn’t enough. But the point I’m making is that, regardless of their size, shape, species, or rank, listening will be the most important part of your job. Mostly you’ll just have to listen and make appropriate noises while they talk out and solve their own problems and go away happy until the next time.”
Suddenly O’Mara found himself laughing, too, although he could not remember how long it had been since he had done that. He said dryly, “That sounds very like what I do in Other-Species Psychology.”
“Maybe that,” said Skempton, “is why they gave you my job in the first place.”
Irritated with himself, O’Mara allowed his features to fall back into their usual unfriendly configuration. He said, “Are you trying to compliment me again? There’s no reason to waste time on pleasantries when you’re leaving the place and can’t hope to benefit from them. Have you anything else to tell me about the job? Or have you any more helpful advice to give me?”
Skempton’s smile faded and his tone became businesslike as he said, “No more advice, only information. The first applicant for your job arrives in three days’ time. It is Dr. Cerdal, a Cemmeccan, physiological classification DBKR, and the first member of its species to come to Sector General. It was asked to donate a mind recording for the Educator tape program, so it thinks it’s good. So do the Federation medical and psychiatric examiners who put it on their short list. So far it has been the only suitable candidate. What you think and the action you take will, of course, be up to you.”
O’Mara nodded. The colonel turned and keyed his console before going on, “Whatever you may finally decide, you should know that the position of Administrator of Sector Twelve General Hospital is the most sought-after post in the field of multi-species medicine. The would-be candidates are important enough to exert political as well as medical influence, which is why the Federation’s medical examiners are winnowing out the hopeless hopefuls from the few who might stand a chance, so that you can assess and/or train the applicants without being swayed by external influences – if, that is, it’s possible to influence you with anything or anybody.
The data on Cerdal’s qualifications, experience, and behavior before the examiners will be copied to you for later study. Maintenance has Cerdal’s quarters ready for it, nothing lavish even though it is an important being on its home world, and we’ll leave the rest to you. Sorry for dropping you in at the deep end…”
“This place,” said O’Mara, “is one perpetual deep end. It always has been.”
The colonel’s smile returned briefly as he continued, “By the time Dr. Cerdal arrives, I shall be on my way to Nidia and a future of being an ever more high-ranking military bookkeeper on a world where the only deep ends will be sand bunkers and water traps.”
Gruffly, O’Mara said, “I wish the fleet commander joy of them.”
Skempton inclined his head and glanced at his watch. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t see you as a golfer, O’Mara. What does our feared and respected chief psychologist do with himself when he isn’t being feared and respected?”
O’Mara just shook his head.
“We all wonder about that, you know,” Skempton said, “and some of the ideas put forward are unusual and colorful and, well, weird enough to arouse your professional concern. Where do you take your leaves, dammit, and what do you do there? This is probably my last chance to find out.”
O’Mara shook his head again.
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