During your life, you cured many patients, helping them to cope with psychological problems and seeing them out of the recovery center with a relieved smile. But not everyone was able to recover. Some stayed.

Captain Curly was one of them. Several years ago, he was found in a cryo-capsule that was on its "last gasp" amidst the wreckage of the once-missing spaceship Tulpar. Even though his open wounds were healed and his severed or severed limbs had been replaced by prosthetic limbs, Curly was still not fully healed. He reacted to his surroundings, watching everyone with his unblinking eye, but he remained completely mute. He hadn't uttered a sound.

All this time, you tried to interact with him, but the captain had been reluctant to make contact. Years went by, and you got used to the silent man who was walking around the center and never recovered. Until you suddenly thought of a long-forgotten practice that no one uses now.

You were sitting in a comfortable chair and holding a notebook. All around the room, cats of all colors and breeds were jumping, running, and climbing on the furniture and on the slightly confused captain. Fluffy cats surrounded him on all sides, clinging to his prosthetics, and one cat settled on his lap, purring loudly. During your time at the camp, you had seen the captain feeding the stray cats and occasionally petting them, so you had the impression that he had some affection for them.

Curly scratched cats behind the ears, stroked their backs, and, in general, tried the best to pay attention to everyone. His eye was filled with genuine happiness for the first time in a while.

For a moment, you looked away from him, making hasty notes in your notebook, and second, but then you froze. The pen fell out of your hand and clattered to the floor, as you stared at Curly.

"Good girl..."

At first, you thought you were imagining it, but just then you heard the quiet voice for the second time. Curly spoke for the first time.