conditions is, of course, internal organ displacement and decompression damage.
But with this type of operation there is no real problem. The bleeding is
controlled with clamps, and the procedure is simple enough for any of you
advanced trainees to perform it under supervision.
“In fact,” the Diagnostician added, showing its teeth suddenly, “I shall not
even lay a cutter on this patient. The responsibility for the operation will be
collectively yours.”
A quiet, polite uproar greeted the Earth-human’swords and the trainees surged
closer to the barrier, imprisoning Cha Thrat within a barricade of metal-hard
Hudlar bodies and tentacles. So many conversations were going on at once that
several times her translator was overloaded, but from what she did hear it
seemed that they were all in favor of this utterly shameful act of professional
cowardice, and stupidly eager rather than afraid to take surgical
responsibility.
She had never in her wildest and most fearful imaginings expected anything like
this, nor thought to prepare herself for such a vicious and demoralizing attack
on her ethical code. Suddenly she wanted away from this nightmare with its group
of demented and immoral Hudlars. But they were all too busy flapping their
speaking membranes at each other to hear her.
“Quiet, please,” Diagnostician Conway said, and there was silence. “I don’t
believe in springing surprises, pleasant or otherwise, but sooner or later you
Hudlars will be performing multiple amputations like this on your home world
hour after hour, day after day, and I feel that you should get used to the idea
sooner rather than later.”
It paused to look at a white card it was holding in one hand, then said,
“Trainee FROB-Severity-three, you will begin.”
Cha Thrat had an almost overwhelming urge to shout and scream that she wanted
out and far away from this hellish demonstration. But Conway, a Diagnostician
and one of the hospital’s high rulers, had commanded silence, and the discipline
of a lifetime could not be broken—even though she was far from Sommaradva. She
pushed silently against the wall of Hudlar bodies enclosing her on three sides,
but her attempts to pass through were ignored if they were even noticed.
Everyone’s eyes were focused exclusively on the operating cradle and pa-tient
FROB-Eleven Thirty-two and, in spite of her attempts to look elsewhere, hers
were turned in the same direction.
It was obvious from the start that Seventy-three’s problem was psychological
rather than surgical, and caused by the close proximity of one of the hospital’s
foremost Diagnosticians watching every move it made. But Conway was being both
tactful and reassuring during its spoken commentary on the operation. Whenever
the trainee seemed hesitant, it managed to include the necessary advice and
directions without making the recipient feel stupid and even more unsettled.
There was something of the wizard in this Diagnostician, Cha Thrat thought, but
that in no way excused its unprofessional behavior.
‘The Number Three cutter is used for the initial incision and for removing the
underlying layers of muscle,” Conway was saying, “but some of us prefer the
finer Number Five for the venous and arterial work, since the smoother edges of
the incisions make suturing much easier as well as aiding subsequent healing.
“The nerve bundles,” it went on, “are given extra length and covered with inert
metal caps, and are positioned just beneath the surface of the stump. This
facilitates the nerve impulse augmentors that will later control the
prosthetics…”
“What,” Cha Thrat wondered aloud, “are prosthetics?”
“Artificial limbs,” the Hudlar beside her said. “Watch and listen; you can ask
questions afterward.”
There was plenty to see but less to hear because Trainee FROB-Seventy-three was
working much faster and no longer seemed to be in need of the Diagnostician’s
covert directions. Not only could Cha Thrat lookdirectly at the operative field,
but the internal scanner picture was also being projected onto a large screen
above and behind the patient, so that she could watch the careful, precise
movements of the instruments within the limb.
Then suddenly there was no limb—it had fallen stiffly, like the diseased brnch
of a tree, into a container on the floor—and she had her first view of a stump.
Desperately she fought the urge to be physically sick.