have something useful here. Can you describe this shared curiosity and its degree of intensity, and, assuming that the virus was principally interested in other life-forms as potential hosts, were you aware of this more selfish purpose behind your feeling of curiosity? For example, did you form the impression that the virus entity was able to move to another host of its own volition? And are you completely sure the transfer was dependent on your emotional state, as was the case with your cat and Morredeth? Try to recall your feelings, all of them, and take time to think about your answer.
“I don’t need time to think about it,” Hewlitt protested. “On the two occasions that the virus moved out of me I was feeling deep sympathy, so I cannot be absolutely sure if those feelings were necessary for the transfer. Where the cat was concerned, I held on to it all night, but the contact with Morredeth was over in a minute, maybe a little more. I remember wanting to pull my hands away because the stuff smeared over the wound and dressings felt unpleasant, but at first I couldn’t move my hands. When I did pull them away, I remember that my palms and fingers felt strange, there was a hot, tingling sensation in them that disappeared after a few seconds. It was probably subjective. I didn’t mention it before because at the time nobody was believing anything I said and it was probably unimportant anyway.
“And do you remember anything else that is probably unimportant?” said O’Mara.
Hewlitt took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sarcasm for Prilicla’s sake rather than the major’s, then said, “If we assume that physical contact is required for the creature to transfer to a new host, and it was continually interested in the possibility of making such a move, what about my interest in Leethveeschi and that doctor who drove into the ward in a pressurized tank? I am very sure that I wanted no physical contact with either of them, especially the charge nurse, so the curiosity could not have been mine. Does that mean the creature wastes its time on feelings that are impossible for it to fulfill, or is it capable of transferring itself to any living being regardless of species?”
O’Mara gave a short, irritated sigh. He said, “There was always the chance that you would add to the problem rather than help provide the solution. If you are right and our friend is not confined to transferring into warm-blooded oxygen-breathing hosts, that will seriously complicate our search.” He looked at the medics in turn. “Is such a radical, cross-species transfer possible?”
Diagnostician Conway was the first to speak. He said, “As close to impossible as makes no difference.
“Until Patient Hewlitt arrived among us,” said O’Mara with the sarcastic edge returning to his voice, “we thought it impossible for a microorganism that had evolved on one world to survive in a life-form from another.”
Conway did not take offense. He said, “That is why I said close to impossible, sir. However, there are major differences in the metabolism and life processes of a chlorine-breathing host, and the biochemical adaptation needed would be, again, close to impossible…”
“And who would want to live inside an Illensan anyway?” said Naydrad.
“As for more exotic life-forms like the TLTUs, SNLUs, or VTXMs,” he went on, ignoring the interruption and glancing toward Hewlitt to show that the explanation was for his benefit, “I would say with more confidence that they are completely unsuitable as hosts. The first breathes high-pressure, superheated steam in an environment which, in the old days, was used to sterilize infected surgical instruments. SNLUs are methane life-forms with a complex mineral and liquid crystalline structure which decomposes at temperatures in excess of eighteen degrees above absolute zero. As for the VTXMs, the Telfi are another hot life-form, not because of an elevated body temperature but because they need to absorb high levels of hard radiation to support their life processes.
“It follows that these three life-forms can be eliminated as potential hosts,” the diagnostician ended, “because a virus would be unable to survive in any of them.”
Before O’Mara could reply, Prilicla made an unsteady landing on top of an unoccupied piece of furniture. Its trembling was minor and of the kind, Hewlitt had discovered, indicating that it was nerving itself to the major effort of saying something disagreeable.
“It is possible that you are wrong, friend Conway,” it said. “And I, too, may be contributing to the problem rather than its solution because we cannot exclude the Telfi as possible hosts. Our virus was able to survive when its escape vehicle was in close proximity to the nuclear detonation that destroyed Lonvellin’s ship. The outer casing of the creature’s pod was partially melted and superficially damaged by flying wreckage, but it had also absorbed sufficient radiation for strong traces to be present after twenty-five years. At the time it took the young Hewlitt as a host, it had been occupying that pod and absorbing significantly higher, although diminishing, levels of radioactivity during the five years following the original contamination.”
“Oh,” said the diagnostician.
O’Mara actually smiled, although it was clear that his face muscles were unused to that form of exercise. He said, “Does anyone else want to make a fool of itself? Hewlitt, you are wanting to say something.”
For a moment Hewlitt wondered if the chief psychologist had an empathic faculty like Prilicla, then decided that it was probably the result of training, observation, and long experience. He shook his head and said, “It probably isn’t important.”
“If it isn’t,” said O’Mara, “I’ll be the first to let you know. Spit it out.”
Hewlitt was silent for a moment, wondering how such a thoroughly unsympathetic person had been able to survive and rise to a high position in a caring profession like psychiatry; then he said, “Something has been bothering me about the meeting with my cat on Etla. It was an ordinary, black-and-white cat, and big and fat instead of being the skinny near-kitten I remembered, but I recognized it. And even though I had changed physically, grown four or five times more massive and with marked differences in face and voice, it recognized and came toward me at once. You are probably thinking that I am being sentimental about a childhood pet…
“The thought had crossed my mind,” said O’Mara.
but I think it was more than fond memories,” Hewlitt went on, “because I had almost forgotten about that cat until I was admitted to the hospital and Lieutenant Braithwaite started questioning me about my childhood. It was as if there was a bond between us, a feeling almost of pride in some kind of shared experience that seemed to go beyond the child-and-his-pet relationship. The feeling is tenuous, very difficult to describe, and, well, it is probably due to all this talk about intelligent virus invasions. This time my imagination may really be running away with me. I should not have mentioned it.”
“But you did mention it,” said O’Mara, “even though doing so has caused you to feel embarrassed and even ridiculous. Or are you hoping that I, or one of the other fine, incisive, clinical minds here assembled, will decide whether or not it was worth mentioning?”
The fine, clinical minds in the room joined Hewlitt in remaining silent. He returned the other’s stare, wondering if O’Mara’s lids had been glued permanently in the open position.
“Very well,” the psychologist went on. “Think carefully about what you have just said and follow it through. The word ‘impossible’ has been used too loosely here, so I shall resist the temptation to use it again. Are you suggesting, however reluctantly, that this strange, tenuous, indescribable feeling that you had for your onetime pet, and which you believe it reciprocated, was a legacy that may have been left by your common viral invader? And are you also suggesting that the ex-hosts of the virus might share this peculiar, insubstantial feeling of a shared experience and be able to recognize each other? Presumably I am right because your face is becoming very red, but I would like verbal corroboration.”
“Yes, dammit,” said Hewlitt. “To both questions.
O’Mara nodded and said, “Which means that you could act as some kind of virus witch-finder with the ability to track down our quarry through its previous and, presumably, its present hosts. Naturally, we are grateful for any help you can give us but, well, apart from the instant recognition and the vague feelings you say you shared with the cat who, regrettably, is unable to offer corroboration, have you any other evidence, observations, or vague, indescribable feelings to support your contention?”
He looked away from O’Mara, feeling that the heat of his embarrassment must be warming the whole room.
“Friend O’Mara,” said Prilicla. “At the time the incident occurred I was aware of the feelings of the cat and friend Hewlitt. They were as described.”
“And as I suggested, little friend,” said O’Mara, “they were vague, indescribable, subjective, and probably useless.” He turned to his communicator, which was already live, and went on, “Has the Padre returned? Good, send it in.” To Hewlitt he said, “We have medical matters to discuss which do not require your presence. I feel sure that I have embarrassed you more than enough for one day. Thank you for your assistance. Padre Lioren will
