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White, James – Sector General 11 – Mind Changer

Davantry looked steadily at Craythorne and O’Mara for a moment, raised his hands slightly, then let them fall again onto his lap.

“With the tape donor’s complete personality,” he went on, “are included all its pet peeves, bad habits, and major or minor phobias. For the long-term recipient, the different food preferences can be a difficulty and, during periods of sleep, alien dreams, nightmares, and particularly other-species sexual fantasies can be a real problem, although none of the previous subjects suffered lasting mental damage. But before your department administers a mind-transfer tape all this must be explained to the would-be recipient, especially to the first volunteer.”

There was a long silence. O’Mara stared at Craythorne, who stared back at him for a moment before looking back to Davantry. The major’s expression remained calm, composed, and quietly attentive, but when he spoke his face had lightened a shade.

“Since my department will be responsible for conducting these mind transfers,” he said calmly, “it follows that I should have firsthand knowledge of the psychological problems involved so that, logically, I should be the first volunteer.”

Davantry shook his head firmly. “If you insist, you may be the second volunteer, Major,” he said, “or preferably the twenty-second. I will need to demonstrate the mind-transfer procedure to you, and to have your training and experience available in your own stable and unaltered mind in case something goes wrong with the subject. I’m just a glorified meditech, not a trained psychologist.”

“A subordinate,” he added, looking at O’Mara, “or even someone from outside your department is preferable. But he, she, or it must be a volunteer.”

“With the earlier subjects,” said O’Mara, looking right back, “what were the short- and long-term effects?”

“Short-term,” Councilor Davantry replied, “there was a marked lack of physical coordination, vertigo, and pronounced mental confusion. Usually the first two diminish or disappear within a few minutes. The third can reduce or increase over the space of a few hours or days, depending on the subject’s mental flexibility and strength of will. That’s why I want a trained therapist standing by, in case the subject panics or suffers other emotional problems, so that the mind tape can be erased without delay.”

O’Mara’s mouth was already opening but Craythorne broke in sharply before he could respond.

“Think about it for a moment, Lieutenant O’Mara,” he said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know that, sir,” said O’Mara, “but I will anyway.”

Later O’Mara was to wonder why he spoke as he did, at once and without any trace of hesitation. He had always liked trying to understand other people’s minds on an amateur basis, and now he had the chance to look at an extraterrestrial’s mind from the inside. Or maybe it was his new rank and position, with its responsibilities as well as privileges, that had gone to his head. More likely he was just being stupid.

It was too late for him to retract while Councilor Davantry was showing the major how to adjust the open-mesh lightweight helmet and connections to the contours of an Earth-human cranium and calibrate the associated items of equipment that were now winking, clicking, and humming on top of Craythorne’s desk. He was surprised by the gentleness of Davantr’s touch and astonished when this medical god placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Good luck, Lieutenant,” he said. “Major, switch on.”

His view of the office and occupants was blotted out by a sudden flash of light which faded quickly to be replaced with a flickering sensation, as if the scene were an unfamiliar image on a faulty viewscreen, before it settled into stillness.

“How do you feel, Lieutenant O’Mara?” said Davantry. “Confused? Frightened? Both?”

“Yes. No,” he snapped. “Not both. I, I know a lot of stuff I’ve no business knowing, mostly medical information, and a lot of people, extraterrestrials, I definitely don’t know. You look ridiculous standing there. Flat, less three-dimensional. And you haven’t any fur to tell me what you are feeling and thinking.”

Davantry nodded and smiled. “I’m thinking that you are doing very well,” he said. “Stand up and walk around your chair a few times, then try to walk to the office door and back.”

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