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  Val decided it was time to change the subject. “Do you think the delegation is well disposed toward us so far?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pym said. “The key was our offer of reparations. They saw we were serious then. No hurt so deep a little money can’t cure it, eh?”

  It was clear he was boasting for Shankar’s benefit, needling her. Val wondered what the Gammadians made of Pym.

  “Now,” he said, “all we have to do is make sure nothing interferes with their good impression. We paid too much to throw it away.” There was a hardness in his voice that made Val look at his eyes, and she saw in them a ruthlessness that made her blood run cold.

  Barely half an hour of uncomfortable conversation had passed when Magister Surin, the mentationist, showed up at the door. No one introduced him; apparently they all were acquainted. Val noticed the smoothness and assurance in Surin’s manner, as if this were an audience he was at home with.

  The mentationist sat down on the couch by the coffee table, and with a few deft movements activated a hidden control console in the table surface. A 3-D display vitrine rose from it. Surin dimmed the lights, then called up a colored diagram. It was roughly spherical, but formed from a myriad of branching lines radiating from the center.

  “This is a graph of the brain function scan we just performed on Tedla,” he said.

  “That was fast work,” Val said.

  “The scan doesn’t take long,” Surin said, as if to an amateur; “interpreting it does.” He then called up a second diagram. It was similar, but less complex. “This is the scan that was done when Tedla first arrived on Capella Two twelve years ago, which Mr. Pym has kindly made available to us.”

  Pym acknowledged the credit with an “it was nothing” gesture. Val wanted to gag.

  “For comparison,” Surin said, “here is the benchmark ‘normal’ Capellan scan.” The third diagram was very different from the first two—much more concentric and symmetrical. “Of course, we don’t have a benchmark Gammadian scan,” Surin said.

  “What about our visitors? Could we get one from them?” Val asked.

  Surin looked at her in disbelief, as if she truly hadn’t gotten the point. She felt herself turning red. Of course—she had been thinking as if the point were to cure Tedla, not to hide its condition from the delegation.

  “I am not an expert at this,” Shankar said. “What can you tell from these scans?”

  Surin said, “Well, obviously the subject’s mental development has been very uneven. You can see how overdeveloped the chart is on this side, and how little has taken place in the obverse quadrant. That in itself leads to unbalance. Of course, there is no way for us to add complexity where it’s lacking—only life experience and learning can do that. But we can reduce complexity in the sector where it’s gotten out of control. That ought to help.”

  “Good,” Pym said, as if it were all settled. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Alarmed, Val said, “What are we talking about, besides branches on a diagram? What do these ‘overdeveloped sectors’ represent?”

  “Hard to say, without more research,” Surin said. “In Capellans, alterations in this right anterior sector can affect abstract thought, language, certain memories. Without a Gammadian scan, we’d be working in the dark, more or less. The safest thing would be to bring the chart back into line with what it was twelve years ago.”

  “How would you do that?”

  “The basic options in brain alteration are always electrical, chemical, and biological. Biological is most reliable, but takes the longest.”

  “We don’t have much time,” Pym said.

  Val pressed on, “What effect would brain alterations have on the patient?”

  The mentationist glanced at her as if she were a traitor to question him in front of the capitalists—as if playing the game right meant presenting a united front. “Tedla would become closer to the person it was when it arrived here.”

  “Would it lose memories? Skills?”

  “Both. Mental alteration always affects memory and personality. It will also flatten affect—a desirable result in this case, from what I can see.”

  “Yes, yes. We can trust you specialists to work things out,” Pym said.

  Shankar seemed less willing to cut off discussion. “We would have difficulty supporting any solution that jeopardized our investment,” she said.

  “Unfortunately,” Surin said, “it’s quite possible that your investment has jeopardized itself. Comparing the two charts, it’s clear that Tedla’s education has resulted in an unstable pattern of mental development, the upshot being self-destruction. I don’t know how to get around that.”

  It was quite a sweeping diagnosis, Val thought, on the basis of half an hour’s observation. Almost as if it had been decided in advance.

  “Have you consulted Tedla about this?” she said. “Surely the main question is what Tedla wants.”

  They all looked at her coldly. Bolduc was the one who answered. “Do you think Tedla is in a state of mind to make a rational decision?”

  Val had to restrain herself from sarcasm. “I think so,” she said. She looked at Gossup, wondering why he was so silent. He was watching her intently. She suddenly wondered if he had set her up to fight this battle for him. Why?

  Surin said, “Personally, I think it’s inhumane not to act promptly. The subject is clearly suffering.”

  “We’re not talking about a subject” Val said. “We’re talking about a human being.” She could feel herself losing objectivity. She had to pull back, or she wouldn’t be credible. Emotion was never credible. Altering her voice, she said, “As a xenologist, I feel that Tedla’s memories constitute a resource we shouldn’t squander. Tedla is a potentially valuable informant. It has a unique viewpoint.”

  “Not in its present state of mind,” Surin said. “We’re dealing with a very sick human being who deserves the best treatment we can give.”

  “We need Tedla’s information and advice about Gammadis,” Val argued.

  Surin shot back, “We also need a functioning neuter to present to the delegation.”

  Finally, they had gotten to the bottom line.

  At last Magister Gossup spoke up. “How long would you need to make these alterations, Magister Surin?”

  The young man said promptly, “If we go the electro route, I can have the patient functioning well enough to present a normal aspect to the world in three days. A true cure takes longer, of course.”

  “Then we have some time,” Gossup said. “We can keep the delegation otherwise occupied for at least a week. Perhaps the thing to do is to allow Magister Endrada to conduct some interviews, and preserve the most valuable of Tedla’s memories, if that’s possible. We can reevaluate in five days.”

  No one seemed terribly satisfied with this, but no one contradicted it, either. The perfect compromise, Val thought. How useful to have a Vind diplomat in the room. And yet, she could not shake the feeling that Gossup would never have had a chance to solve the disagreement if he hadn’t set it up in the first place.

  After some strained cordialities, Bolduc and Surin left, discussing technical details. Gossup rose; Val realized that was her signal, and stood to take her leave.

  “I know we can trust you to make this work,” Pym said pointedly, shaking both Gossup’s and Val’s hands. When Shankar’s eyes met Val’s there was a conspiratorial congratulation in them.

  “I need oxygen,” Val said when she and Gossup escaped from the room.

  Without a shadow of expression, Gossup said, “Valerie, I need to point out that in this situation, tact is absolutely vital.”

  “I’m sorry, Magister,” Val said contritely.

  “Surin is very good,” Gossup said. “I have no doubt he can effect a cure.”

  “He’s damned eager to tamper with Tedla’s memories,” Val said. “You’d think Tedla knew something the delegation shouldn’t find out.”

  Gossup stopped walking and stood stock still. “That
is a rather ugly accusation, Valerie. I wouldn’t make it lightly, if I were you.”

  “I didn’t mean anything, Magister,” she said. “I was just talking.”

  “Please don’t ‘just talk’ in this situation.”

  They had come to the elevator, and as Gossup pushed the button, Val said, “I’d like to see Tedla before I leave.”

  “Yes, that’s where we’re going.”

  They descended to the seventh floor. Here, the corridors were bright, antiseptic, and very quiet. From time to time staff ghosted past, but most functions seemed to be on automatic. Magister Gossup, silent in his soft-soled shoes, led the way to a desk where a security officer sat, surrounded by monitors. Gossup instructed the man to add Val to the list of authorized visitors. Impassively the man took her thumb scan and picture, then handed her a slate to sign. “This is a nondisclosure agreement,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment, but it looked like a standard patient confidentiality form, so she signed. The security man took it back and noticed her name. “Endrada,” he said. “I’ve got something else here for you.” He punched a code into a small safe and took out a plain envelope, handing it to Val. It had a magnetically coded card in it.

  “It will get you into the relevant WAC files,” Gossup explained.

  “Thank you,” Val said. The security man was holding out another slate for her to sign. This nondisclosure agreement was six pages long and full of whereases, so she just signed without reading. Then she followed Gossup down the corridor to a nondescript set of doors she took at first for another elevator. He pressed the button with his thumb and keyed in a code.

  When the doors opened, Val was startled to realize it was a wayport. Gossup gestured her in.

  She stepped in

  and out again into a windowless, anonymous corridor that could have been in the same building, or a thousand miles away. There was absolutely no way of telling. When Gossup stepped into the corridor beside her, he said, “The port is the only way in and out, and it’s programmed only to admit certain people.”

  “Why all the security?” Val said.

  “The networks would love this story,” Gossup said. “We don’t want the delegation to hear about it that way.”

  They passed another desk where a guard sat watching a bank of monitors, all blank but one. Gossup ushered her into an observation room that reminded her of the one in the clinic where she had first seen Tedla. When Gossup hit the switch and the window into the next room turned transparent, it was as if she had stepped back in time. “My god!” she said.

  Tedla was huddled in a chair, just as it had been at the clinic. The clothes she had chosen were gone; it was dressed in a brief hospital smock. The look of desperate agitation was back.

  “What have they done?” she said. “Tedla was much better than this when I brought it in. They’ve traumatized it somehow.”

  Gossup was looking into the next room with a curious expression of regret. “Its mental state is very fragile, Valerie. What seemed like improvement to you must have been tenuous. We need to make it stronger.”

  She knew he was right, but couldn’t help her anger. “It seems so inhumane, this way. Locking it up like a prisoner, erasing its personality.”

  “I wish there were another way,” he said. “I wish we had all the time in the world. We don’t.” His voice was softer and more sympathetic than she had ever heard it. A revelation struck her: this was where Magister Gossup’s emotional life lay—with his aliens, his research subjects. He felt a bond to them he never felt to his own kind.

  Gossup became aware of Val watching him, and his expression turned neutral again. “Would you like to speak to it?”

  “Yes,” Val said.

  He ushered her into the hallway and to an adjoining door. When she paused for him to unlock it, he said, “Go ahead, it’s a sensitive knob. It will open for anyone but Tedla.” He turned back to the observation room.

  When she entered, Tedla turned listlessly to see who it was; then, recognizing her, it sprang up with a desperate look of hope. “Val! Can we go home now?”

  “What happened? Where are your clothes?” Val said.

  Tedla looked down self-consciously. “They took them away.” In a low, intense voice it said, “Please get me out of here. They’re running tests, scanning me a thousand ways. They gave me two injections and wouldn’t tell me what they were. They took samples of everything—tissue, blood, urine, stool. I can’t stand this. Please take me home.”

  It was breathing very fast, and its fists were clenched tight. “Shhh,” Val said, and put a hand on its arm; it flinched away as if her touch burned. “Calm down, Tedla,” she said.

  The neuter put its hands over its face, struggling visibly to regain control. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” it said. “It just reminds me too much—I’ll tell you when we get home.”

  “Sit down,” Val said, and pulled up a chair. Tedla crouched edgily in the chair, watching her intently. “Has anyone explained to you what’s going on?” she said.

  Tedla shook its head.

  Val tried to make her voice very calm. “Well, to begin with, they want you to stay here for a while.”

  “No!” Tedla pleaded.

  “They want to make you better, Tedla, and there’s no way to do that without tests and observation.” She drew a long breath, aware that her words were being overheard. “The problem is, we don’t know what’s normal for you. The mentationist you met wants to do a procedure that could help you very fast, but the price is, you might lose some memories. You would become much more like you were when you first arrived.”

  She had expected a panicky response, but there was none. Tedla simply sat watching her, very quiet.

  “Do you understand?” Val probed.

  “Yes,” it said.

  “You need to think about it. The treatments will change you. How old were you when you came here?”

  “Seventeen,” it said.

  “And you’re what now?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “That’s a lot of years to lose.” Val knew she would fight fiercely if anyone were offering to do it to her. But she was not the suicidal one.

  Tedla said, “They just erase parts of my life?”

  “It’s one side effect.”

  “Which parts?” it said.

  “The painful ones, hopefully.”

  Tedla closed its eyes, as if to look inside. “That’s everything,” it said softly.

  Val felt a terrible misgiving. For a moment she tried to stay properly detached, but it was useless. She had to throw caution away. “If you don’t want this, Tedla, all you have to do is say so. We’re still under UIC law here; I don’t think they can treat you against your will without taking you to court, and they’re not going to do that. So if you feel strongly, you can demand to leave. You’ve got to stand up for yourself; I can’t do it for you.”

  Softly, it said, “They are distinguished magisters, aren’t they, the ones who want to cure me? They must know what’s best for me.”

  “Oh, please!” Val said. “You’re nearly a magister yourself. You know it doesn’t confer any godlike wisdom.”

  “That’s not true!” Tedla clutched the chair arm tight. “I’m not even close to being a magister. Ask anyone; I wasn’t making it at C4D. I couldn’t have graduated. I’ve got to trust people with more learning.”

  Val would have liked to repeat Shankar’s glowing description of Tedla’s record, but the neuter gave her no chance. “They’re right,” it said. “I’ve become something that’s not natural, something I was never meant to be. You Capellans have taken me and stuffed all this useless complexity into my brain. I’m not authentic any more. Before coming here, I couldn’t have described myself or my home to you, I was too much a part of it. You’ve made me step outside it all, so I can look back and observe it. Now I can analyze anything—I can’t stop analyzing—but I can’t be anything. I’m not Gammadian, I’m not even a bland any more. I can’t eve
r be unself-conscious again, unless you take that away.”

  Appalled, Val said, “Tedla, stop. Listen to yourself. You want us to take away your self-awareness?”

  “Yes!” it said earnestly.

  “You think that will make you content?”

  “That’s what blands are like!” Tedla said. “They’re complacent, placid creatures, like cattle. They can endure the most horrible privations, degradations, things you can’t imagine, and still they’re happy. Nothing can shake them. That’s how I was meant to be. That’s how I was, once. If you can just turn back time, and take away this self-awareness, then I won’t feel this way. Or at least I won’t know it.” It looked at her with eager anxiety. “How soon can they do it?”

  “Five days,” she said heavily.

  “Can’t they do it now, today, so I can go home?”

  “No! You need to think about this, Tedla. The change will be permanent.”

  “You shouldn’t let me think about it.” There was a haunted look in its eyes. “I’ll just have time to get scared. You shouldn’t have told me.”

  A thousand alarms were going off in Val’s mind. She forced herself to say calmly, “This is entirely your decision, Tedla. I just want to say one thing. I value you just the way you are, self-awareness and all.”

  Tedla looked at her in frozen agitation. “You think I’m wrong?”

  If she said yes, she knew Tedla would simply surrender to her judgment. For a moment she was tempted—but only for a moment. “I think you’re the only one who can tell if you’re right or wrong. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

  Tedla looked as if her words were distilled essence of treachery. “I’m not supposed to have to make decisions,” it said. “Only humans are supposed to make decisions.”

  “Then I’ve got bad news for you, kiddo,” Val said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re as human as they come.”

  Tedla closed its eyes and leaned back with an expression of utter misery on its face. Val sat waiting, but the neuter said no more. At last she rose.

  “Where are you going?” Tedla’s eyes snapped open.

  “To get your clothes,” Val said.