… And if you’re still wondering what happened,” O’Mara was saying in withering tones, “you allowed-through inexperience, I admit- the Telfi personality contained in the tape to temporarily overcome your own. Its need for hard radiation, intense heat and light and above all the mental fusion necessary to a group-mind entity, became your needs- transferred into their nearest human equivalents, of course. For a while you were experiencing life as a single Telfi being, and an individual Telfi- cut off from all mental contact with the others of its group-is an unhappy beastie indeed.”
O’Mara had cooled somewhat as his explanation proceeded. His voice was almost impersonal as he went on, “You’re suffering from little more than a bad case of sunburn. Your back will be tender for a while and later it will itch. Serves you right. Now go away. I don’t want to see you again until hour nine the day after tomorrow. Keep that hour free. That’s an order-we have to have a little talk, remember?”
Outside in the corridor Conway had a feeling of complete deflation coupled with an anger that threatened to burst out of all control-an intensely frustrating combination. In all his twenty-three years of life he
could not remember being subjected to such extreme mental discomfort. f He had been made to feel like a small boy-a bad, maladjusted small
boy. Conway had always been a very good, well-mannered boy. It hurt.
He had not noticed that his rescuer was still beside him until the other spoke.
“Don’t go worrying yourself about the Major,” the Monitor said sympathetically. “He’s really a nice man, and when you see him again you’ll find out for yourself. At the moment he’s tired and a bit touchy. You see, there are three companies just arrived and more coming. But they won’t be much use to us in their present state-they’re in a bad way with combat fatigue, most of ’em. Major O’Mara and his staff have to give them some psychological first aid before-”
“Combat fatigue,” said Conway in the most insulting tone of which he was capable. He was heartily sick of people he considered his intellectual and moral inferiors either ranting at him or sympathizing with him. “I suppose,” he added, “that means they’ve grown tired of killing people?”
He saw the Monitor’s young-old face stiffen and something that was both hurt and anger burn in his eyes. He stopped. He opened his mouth for an O’Mara-type blast of invective, then thought better of it. He said quietly, “For someone who has been here for two months you have, to put it mildly, a very unrealistic attitude toward the Monitor Corps. I can’t understand that. Have you been too busy to talk to people or something?”
“No,” replied Conway coldly, “but where I come from we do not discuss persons of your type, we prefer pleasanter topics.”
“I hope,” said the Monitor, “that all your friends-if you have friends, that is-indulge in backslapping.” He turned and marched off.
Conway winced in spite of himself at the thought of anything heavier than a feather hitting his scorched and tender back. But he was thinking of the other’s earlier words, too. So his attitude toward Monitors was unrealistic? Did they want him, then, to condone violence and murder and befriend those who were responsible for it? And he had also mentioned the arrival of several companies of Monitors. Why? What for? Anxiety began to eat at the edges of his hitherto solid block of self-confidence. There was something here that he was missing, something important.
When he had first arrived at Sector General the being who had given
Conway his original instructions and assignments had added a little pep talk. It had said that Dr. Conway had passed a great many tests to come here and that they welcomed him and hoped he would be happy enough in his work to stay. The period of trial was now over, and henceforth nobody would be trying to catch him out, but if for any reason-friction with his own or any other species, or the appearance of some xenological psychosis-he became so distressed that he could no longer stay, then with great reluctance he would be allowed to leave.