She held up one small, well-formed hand and said, “No, don’t elevate your blood pressure, we aren’t going to do that. At least, not until we have found an explanation for your strange early case history and the more recent regeneration of Morredeth’s damaged fur, which may or may not be related. We are hoping to find the relationship, if there is one, on Etla. That is where the initial strange occurrences took place, and where your help, advice, and memories of those early episodes will be much appreciated during the investigation.
“So the answer to your third question,” she ended, smiling, “is that we don’t know what to do with you.”
“I’d be pleased to help,” Hewlitt said, “but my childhood memories might not be accurate enough for your purpose. Have you thought of that?”
“According to the Psychology Department,” she replied, “your memory is like everything else about you, well-nigh perfect. Now, Patient Hewlitt, will you please go to sleep and let me work.”
“I’ll try,” he said. “What are you doing?”
She sighed again and said, “Among other things I am comparing a series of enlarged scanner visuals of DBDG and otherspecies brains, including your own, in the hope of finding a structural variation or abnormality that might explain how you were able to do some of the things you have done, if it was you and not another as yet unidentified agency that was responsible. I don’t really expect to find evidence of a faculty that enables its possessor to perform miracles, but I have to try. Now go to sleep.”
A few minutes later she went on, “Are you sure you have told us everything? Were there any incidents, so minor or trivial that you didn’t think they were worth mentioning, like the episode with your teeth, for example, while you were a child or adult? How about contacts with people who were ill, either at home or in your working environment? For some reason the case notes make no mention of your profession or occupation. Did you have any contacts with animals, other than your kitten, that might have been ill or recently recovered from an illness, or were there any other…”
“Do you mean my sheep?” said Hewlitt.
“I might mean your sheep,” said Murchison. “Tell me about it.”
“Them,” he corrected.
“You’re a shepherd?” she said. “I didn’t think they had shepherds these days. Go on.”
“I’m not and they do,” he said. “Sheepherding is a rare, specialized, and very well paid job, especially when they work for me. I inherited the family business from my grandparents, because my father was the only son and he preferred a career in the space service. When he died in the flyer crash, well, I was the last Hewlitt. The case notes didn’t mention my job because nearly everyone on Earth knew who I was and what I did.
“I run Hewlitt the Tailor.”
“And I have the feeling that I should be impressed,” said Murchison. “Sorry, but I wasn’t born on Earth.”
“Neither were ninety-odd percent of the Federation citizens,” he said, “so I’m not offended. It is a small but very exclusive company that can charge the Earth and moon for its services, which is to provide handcrafted, custom-built garments made from the original, handwoven or spun tweeds and fine worsted materials. In these days of cheap, synthesized clothing there are people who are willing and wealthy enough to pay our prices, or even to try bribing their way onto our waiting list. But in spite of the fearsome prices we charge, the profit margin isn’t excessive. We have to maintain herds of sheep and other wool-bearing animals, who are classified as protected species. They still need to be shorn periodically, which is how we get the raw material for our weaving mill, but the high level and cost of health care our animals are given you wouldn’t believe.
“My job requires periodic inspection visits to our herds,” he went on, “which includes feeling the quality of wool on a few of the animals before shearing. But they are never, ever allowed to take sick or catch any infectious diseases. So I’m sorry. This information isn’t very useful to you, is it?”