White, James – Sector General 07 – Code Blue Emergency

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.