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Authors: Richard Chizmar
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for bandaging the patient after surgery.”
Zella tugged me off to one side. “With you, I must speak.”
“Okay.” I bent down. “What?”
“Dizzy or nauseous, are you feeling?”
“No, I’ve done this thousands of times.” Her fur was standing on end, why was she so damned skittish? No one was going to tear
her
into pieces. “Zel—”
“About it, forget.”
I went back to the table. The sedated patient didn’t flinch as I made the initial incision. Internally, the damage was thankfully restricted to the three-sided left kidney; I’d have been wasting my time if the bowel had been compromised.
“Sponge. Apply it there. Keep monitoring his vitals. That’s it.
I went to work. The surgery went slowly without a lascalpel, but I silently thanked the Medtech instructor who had insisted I learn to cut with traditional as well as modern instruments. Though I wasn’t sure that any surgeon in modern history had ever performed a procedure with another being’s tooth. Still, the incisor was the sharpest nonmechanical implement I’d ever used.
Two hours later, I finished sewing—literally—the abdominal incision and manually checked the patient’s vitals again. His signs remained weak, but steady. I had the feeling he’d make it, in spite of the crude tools I’d used to repair his body.
“He needs to be isolated,” I said to Zella, checking her mouth before she could stop me. The shiny nub of her tooth looked jagged and painful. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Grow back, it will.” Dchêm-os turned to instruct the nurse, then froze.
“Very interesting work,” the Trytinorn’s bass voice said just above my head. “I see the Reedol intern is quite handy with a bladed weapon.”
A vicious blow from behind knocked me down. Then someone tore the covering from my head. Once my ears stopped ringing, I looked up into little, mean eyes and an extremely large, yellow-and-black striped foot.
So this is how it feels, I thought, to become a rug.
“You must be Torin,” the Major said. “But Colonel Shropana told us you were Terran, not Reedol.”
“Maybe he got mixed up,” I said to the towering being.
The nurses all stood in place, their expressions a mixture of dismay and guilt. Dchêm-os stared at the Major, then at me, then she shrugged. Zella’s compassion meter just hit empty, I thought. It had been nice while it lasted.
“It was not enough that you sold the Fleet to the butchers,” the Major said. “You had to come here and do some carving of your own.”
“I operated on this man”—I indicated the patient—“to save his life.”
The Major turned and got louder. “The Terran traitor is here among us. What shall we do with her?”
There was some gruesome suggestions, delivered by several angry shouts. The entire population of the Detainment Area began to close in on us. God, I hoped Alunthri wouldn’t have to see this. The gentle Chakacat was revolted by even the mildest form of violence. I waved a hand to get the Trytinorn’s attention.
“Excuse me? Major?” When he looked down, I smiled. “Before you tear me to pieces, would you have some of your men move this patient to an isolated spot? His kidney won’t take any more abuse.”
“Remove him,” the Major said, and the nurses helped push the makeshift operating table across the deck away from me.
Now I was standing alone, facing a ring of furious faces. Some of them I had treated only hours before. Guess League memories tended to run from short to nonexistent. No one moved, and quite frankly, I was tired, so I sat down on the deck.
The Major stepped forward. “Get up.”
“No.” I yawned, and rubbed my face with a tired hand. “My feet hurt.”
“Terran beast-lover,” someone shouted. “Stand and face your victims!”
“There’s an open mind,” I said to the Trytinorn. “You can feel the draft from here.”
“S-s-s-stop!”
That came from someone I hardly recognized. The long, lean feline’s fur was
Zella tugged me off to one side. “With you, I must speak.”
“Okay.” I bent down. “What?”
“Dizzy or nauseous, are you feeling?”
“No, I’ve done this thousands of times.” Her fur was standing on end, why was she so damned skittish? No one was going to tear
her
into pieces. “Zel—”
“About it, forget.”
I went back to the table. The sedated patient didn’t flinch as I made the initial incision. Internally, the damage was thankfully restricted to the three-sided left kidney; I’d have been wasting my time if the bowel had been compromised.
“Sponge. Apply it there. Keep monitoring his vitals. That’s it.
I went to work. The surgery went slowly without a lascalpel, but I silently thanked the Medtech instructor who had insisted I learn to cut with traditional as well as modern instruments. Though I wasn’t sure that any surgeon in modern history had ever performed a procedure with another being’s tooth. Still, the incisor was the sharpest nonmechanical implement I’d ever used.
Two hours later, I finished sewing—literally—the abdominal incision and manually checked the patient’s vitals again. His signs remained weak, but steady. I had the feeling he’d make it, in spite of the crude tools I’d used to repair his body.
“He needs to be isolated,” I said to Zella, checking her mouth before she could stop me. The shiny nub of her tooth looked jagged and painful. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Grow back, it will.” Dchêm-os turned to instruct the nurse, then froze.
“Very interesting work,” the Trytinorn’s bass voice said just above my head. “I see the Reedol intern is quite handy with a bladed weapon.”
A vicious blow from behind knocked me down. Then someone tore the covering from my head. Once my ears stopped ringing, I looked up into little, mean eyes and an extremely large, yellow-and-black striped foot.
So this is how it feels, I thought, to become a rug.
“You must be Torin,” the Major said. “But Colonel Shropana told us you were Terran, not Reedol.”
“Maybe he got mixed up,” I said to the towering being.
The nurses all stood in place, their expressions a mixture of dismay and guilt. Dchêm-os stared at the Major, then at me, then she shrugged. Zella’s compassion meter just hit empty, I thought. It had been nice while it lasted.
“It was not enough that you sold the Fleet to the butchers,” the Major said. “You had to come here and do some carving of your own.”
“I operated on this man”—I indicated the patient—“to save his life.”
The Major turned and got louder. “The Terran traitor is here among us. What shall we do with her?”
There was some gruesome suggestions, delivered by several angry shouts. The entire population of the Detainment Area began to close in on us. God, I hoped Alunthri wouldn’t have to see this. The gentle Chakacat was revolted by even the mildest form of violence. I waved a hand to get the Trytinorn’s attention.
“Excuse me? Major?” When he looked down, I smiled. “Before you tear me to pieces, would you have some of your men move this patient to an isolated spot? His kidney won’t take any more abuse.”
“Remove him,” the Major said, and the nurses helped push the makeshift operating table across the deck away from me.
Now I was standing alone, facing a ring of furious faces. Some of them I had treated only hours before. Guess League memories tended to run from short to nonexistent. No one moved, and quite frankly, I was tired, so I sat down on the deck.
The Major stepped forward. “Get up.”
“No.” I yawned, and rubbed my face with a tired hand. “My feet hurt.”
“Terran beast-lover,” someone shouted. “Stand and face your victims!”
“There’s an open mind,” I said to the Trytinorn. “You can feel the draft from here.”
“S-s-s-stop!”
That came from someone I hardly recognized. The long, lean feline’s fur was
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