circumstances, and then only with its permission. But somehow you have learned
its name and are using it as lightly and thoughtlessly as you would Cresk-Sar’s
or Hredlichii’s, or my name. Cha Thrat, you must never—”
“It told me its name,” Cha Thrat broke in. “We exchanged names while we were
discussing my observations regarding the inadequacy of its treatment.”
“You discussed…” O’Mara said incredulously. It made an untranslatable noise
and went on. “Tell me what exactly you said to it.”
Cha Thrat hesitated. The AUGL had left its dark corner and was moving toward
them again, but slowly. It stopped halfway down the ward and hung with its fins
and tail still and the ribbon tentacles spread like an undulating, circular fan
around it, watching and probably listening to every word they said.
“On second thought, don’t tell me,” O’Mara said angrily. “I’ll tell you what I
know about the patient first, then you can try to reduce my level of ignorance.
That way we will avoid repetition and save time. I don’t know how much time it
will give us to talk without anotherinterruption. Not a lot, I suspect, so I’ll
have to speak quickly…”
Patient AUGL-One Sixteen was a long-stay patient whose time in Sector General
exceeded that of many of the medical staff. The clinical picture had been and
still remained obscure. Several of the hospital’s top Diagnosticians had
examined it, finding signs of strain in certain areas of the patient’s body
plating that partly explained its discomfort—a being who was largely
exoskeletal, lazy, and something of a glutton could only put on weight from the
inside. The generally agreed diagnosis was hypochondria and the condition
incurable.
The Chalder had become seriously ill only when there was talk of sending it
home, and so the hospital had acquired a permanent patient. It did not mind.
Visiting as well as hospital medics and psychologists had given it a going over,
and continued to do so, as did the interns and nurses of all the life-forms
represented on the staff. It had been probed, pried into, and unmercifully
pounded by trainees of varying degrees of gentleness, and it loved every minute
of it. The hospital’s teaching staff were happy with the arrangement and so was
the Chalder.
“Nobody mentions going home to it anymore,” O’Mara ended. “Did you?”
“Yes,” Cha Thrat said.
O’Mara made another untranslatable noise and she went on quickly. “This explains
why the nurses ignored it when other patients needed treatment, and supports my
own diagnosis of an unspecified ruler’s disease that—”
“Listen, don’t speak!” the Earth-human said sharply. The patient seemed to be
drifting closer. “My depart-mep^has tried to get to the root causes of One
Sixteen’s hypochondria, but I was not required to solve its problem so it
remained unsolved. This sounds like an excuse,and it is. But you must understand
that Sector General is not and can never be a psychiatric hospital. Can you
imagine a place like this where a large proportion of the multispecies patients,
the mere sight of which gives sane people nightmares, are physically fit and
mentally disturbed? Can you imagine the problems of other-species treatment and
restraint? It is difficult enough to be responsible for the mental well-being of
the staff without adding disturbed patients, even a harmlessly disturbed patient
like One Sixteen, to my load. When a medically ill patient displays signs of
mental instability it is kept under close observation, restrained if necessary,
and returned to its own people for the appropriate treatment as soon as it is
physically well enough to be discharged.”
“I understand,” Cha Thrat said. “The explanation excuses you.”
The Earth-human grew pinker in the face, then said, “Listen carefully, Cha
Thrat, this is important. The Chalders are one of the few intelligent species
whose personal names are used only between mates, members of the immediate
family, or very special friends. Yet you, an other-species stranger, have been
told, and have spoken aloud, One Sixteen’s personal name. Have you done this in
ignorance? Do you realize that this exchange of names means that anything you
may have said to it, or any future action you may have promised, is as binding
as the most solemn promise given before the highest imaginable physical or