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  STAR SURGEON

  by

  ALAN E. NOURSE

  [Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  DAVID McKAY COMPANY, INC.

  NEW YORK

  COPYRIGHT (C) 1959, 1960 BY ALAN E. NOURSE

  _All rights reserved_

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NO. 60-7199

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  VAN REES PRESS . NEW YORK

  _Typography by Charles M. Todd_

  Sixth Printing, April 1973

  Part of this book was published in _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_

  CONTENTS

  1 The Intruder 3 2 Hospital Seattle 15 3 The Inquisition 25 4 The Galactic Pill Peddlers 37 5 Crisis on Morua VIII 54 6 Tiger Makes a Promise 66 7 Alarums and Excursions 78 8 Plague! 98 9 The Incredible People 10710 The Boomerang Clue 12111 Dal Breaks a Promise 13612 The Showdown 15113 The Trial 16514 Star Surgeon 175

  STAR SURGEON

  CHAPTER 1

  THE INTRUDER

  The shuttle plane from the port of Philadelphia to Hospital Seattle hadalready gone when Dal Timgar arrived at the loading platform, eventhough he had taken great pains to be at least thirty minutes early forthe boarding.

  "You'll just have to wait for the next one," the clerk at thedispatcher's desk told him unsympathetically. "There's nothing else youcan do."

  "But I _can't_ wait," Dal said. "I have to be in Hospital Seattle bymorning." He pulled out the flight schedule and held it under theclerk's nose. "Look there! The shuttle wasn't supposed to leave foranother forty-five minutes!"

  The clerk blinked at the schedule, and shrugged. "The seats were full,so it left," he said. "Graduation time, you know. Everybody has to besomewhere else, right away. The next shuttle goes in three hours."

  "But I had a reservation on this one," Dal insisted.

  "Don't be silly," the clerk said sharply. "Only graduates can getreservations this time of year--" He broke off to stare at Dal Timgar,a puzzled frown on his face. "Let me see that reservation."

  Dal fumbled in his pants pocket for the yellow reservation slip. He waswishing now that he'd kept his mouth shut. He was acutely conscious ofthe clerk's suspicious stare, and suddenly he felt extremely awkward.The Earth-cut trousers had never really fit Dal very well; his legs weretoo long and spindly, and his hips too narrow to hold the pants upproperly. The tailor in the Philadelphia shop had tried three times tomake a jacket fit across Dal's narrow shoulders, and finally had givenup in despair. Now, as he handed the reservation slip across thecounter, Dal saw the clerk staring at the fine gray fur that coated theback of his hand and arm. "Here it is," he said angrily. "See foryourself."

  The clerk looked at the slip and handed it back indifferently. "It's avalid reservation, all right, but there won't be another shuttle toHospital Seattle for three hours," he said, "unless you have a prioritycard, of course."

  "No, I'm afraid I don't," Dal said. It was a ridiculous suggestion, andthe clerk knew it. Only physicians in the Black Service of Pathology anda few Four-star Surgeons had the power to commandeer public aircraftwhenever they wished. "Can I get on the next shuttle?"

  "You can try," the clerk said, "but you'd better be ready when theystart loading. You can wait up on the ramp if you want to."

  Dal turned and started across the main concourse of the great airport.He felt a stir of motion at his side, and looked down at the small pinkfuzz-ball sitting in the crook of his arm. "Looks like we're out ofluck, pal," he said gloomily. "If we don't get on the next plane, we'llmiss the hearing altogether. Not that it's going to do us much good tobe there anyway."

  The little pink fuzz-ball on his arm opened a pair of black shoe-buttoneyes and blinked up at him, and Dal absently stroked the tiny creaturewith a finger. The fuzz-ball quivered happily and clung closer to Dal'sside as he started up the long ramp to the observation platform.Automatic doors swung open as he reached the top, and Dal shivered inthe damp night air. He could feel the gray fur that coated his back andneck rising to protect him from the coldness and dampness that his bodywas never intended by nature to endure.

  Below him the bright lights of the landing fields and terminal buildingsof the port of Philadelphia spread out in panorama, and he thought witha sudden pang of the great space-port in his native city, so verydifferent from this one and so unthinkably far away. The field below wasteeming with activity, alive with men and vehicles. Moments before, oneof Earth's great hospital ships had landed, returning from a cruise deepinto the heart of the galaxy, bringing in the gravely ill from a dozenstar systems for care in one of Earth's hospitals. Dal watched as thelong line of stretchers poured from the ship's hold with white-cladorderlies in nervous attendance. Some of the stretchers were encased inspecial atmosphere tanks; a siren wailed across the field as anemergency truck raced up with fresh gas bottles for a chlorine-breatherfrom the Betelgeuse system, and a derrick crew spent fifteen minuteslifting down the special liquid ammonia tank housing a native ofAldebaran's massive sixteenth planet.

  All about the field were physicians supervising the process ofdisembarcation, resplendent in the colors that signified their medicalspecialties. At the foot of the landing crane a Three-star Internist inthe green cape of the Medical Service--obviously the commander of theship--was talking with the welcoming dignitaries of Hospital Earth.Half a dozen doctors in the Blue Service of Diagnosis were checking newlab supplies ready to be loaded aboard. Three young Star Surgeons swungby just below Dal with their bright scarlet capes fluttering in thebreeze, headed for customs and their first Earthside liberty in months.Dal watched them go by, and felt the sick, bitter feeling in the pit ofhis stomach that he had felt so often in recent months.

  He had dreamed, once, of wearing the scarlet cape of the Red Service ofSurgery too, with the silver star of the Star Surgeon on his collar.That had been a long time ago, over eight Earth years ago; the dream hadfaded slowly, but now the last vestige of hope was almost gone. Hethought of the long years of intensive training he had just completed inthe medical school of Hospital Philadelphia, the long nights of studyingfor exams, the long days spent in the laboratories and clinics in orderto become a physician of Hospital Earth, and a wave of bitterness sweptthrough his mind.

  _A dream_, he thought hopelessly, _a foolish idea and nothing more. Theyknew before I started that they would never let me finish. They had nointention of doing so, it just amused them to watch me beat my head on astone wall for these eight years._ But then he shook his head and felt alittle ashamed of the thought. It wasn't quite true, and he knew it. Hehad known that it was a gamble from the very first. Black DoctorArnquist had warned him the day he received his notice of admission tothe medical school. "I can promise you nothing," the old man had said,"except a slender chance. There are those who will fight to the very endto prevent you from succeeding, and when it's all over, you may not win.But if you are willing to take that risk, at least you have a chance."

  Dal had accepted the risk with his eyes wide open. He had done the besthe could do, and now he had lost. True, he had not received the final,irrevocable word that he had been expelled from the medical service ofHospital Earth, but he was certain now that it was w
aiting for him whenhe arrived at Hospital Seattle the following morning.

  The loading ramp was beginning to fill up, and Dal saw half a dozen ofhis classmates from the medical school burst through the door from thestation below, shifting their day packs from their shoulders andchattering among themselves. Several of them saw him, standing byhimself against the guard rail. One or two nodded coolly and turnedaway; the others just ignored him. Nobody greeted him, nor even smiled.Dal turned away and stared down once again at the busy activity on thefield below.

  "Why so gloomy, friend?" a voice behind him said. "You look as thoughthe ship left without you."

  Dal looked up at the tall, dark-haired young man, towering at his side,and smiled ruefully. "Hello, Tiger! As a matter of fact, it _did_ leave.I'm waiting for the next one."

  "Where to?" Frank Martin frowned down at Dal. Known as "Tiger" toeveryone but the professors, the young man's nickname fit him well. Hewas big, even for an Earthman, and his massive shoulders and stubbornjaw only served to emphasize his bigness. Like the other recentgraduates on the platform, he was wearing the colored cuff and collar ofthe probationary physician, in the bright green of the Green Service ofMedicine. He reached out a huge hand and gently rubbed the pinkfuzz-ball sitting on Dal's arm. "What's the trouble, Dal? Even Fuzzylooks worried. Where's your cuff and collar?"

  "I didn't get any cuff and collar," Dal said.

  "Didn't you get an assignment?" Tiger stared at him. "Or are you justtaking a leave first?"

  Dal shook his head. "A permanent leave, I guess," he said bitterly."There's not going to be any assignment for me. Let's face it, Tiger.I'm washed out."

  "Oh, now look here--"

  "I mean it. I've been booted, and that's all there is to it."

  "But you've been in the top ten in the class right through!" Tigerprotested. "You know you passed your finals. What is this, anyway?"

  Dal reached into his jacket and handed Tiger a blue paper envelope. "Ishould have expected it from the first. They sent me this instead of mycuff and collar."

  Tiger opened the envelope. "From Doctor Tanner," he grunted. "The BlackPlague himself. But what is it?"

  "Read it," Dal said.

  "'You are hereby directed to appear before the medical training councilin the council chambers in Hospital Seattle at 10:00 A.M., Friday, June24, 2375, in order that your application for assignment to a GeneralPractice Patrol ship may be reviewed. Insignia will not be worn. Signed,Hugo Tanner, Physician, Black Service of Pathology.'" Tiger blinked atthe notice and handed it back to Dal. "I don't get it," he said finally."You applied, you're as qualified as any of us--"

  "Except in one way," Dal said, "and that's the way that counts. Theydon't want me, Tiger. They have never wanted me. They only let me gothrough school because Black Doctor Arnquist made an issue of it, andthey didn't quite dare to veto him. But they never intended to let mefinish, not for a minute."

  For a moment the two were silent, staring down at the busy landingprocedures below. A warning light was flickering across the field,signaling the landing of an incoming shuttle ship, and the supply carsbroke from their positions in center of the field and fled like beetlesfor the security of the garages. A loudspeaker blared, announcing theincoming craft. Dal Timgar turned, lifting Fuzzy gently from his arminto a side jacket pocket and shouldering his day pack. "I guess this ismy flight, Tiger. I'd better get in line."

  Tiger Martin gripped Dal's slender four-fingered hand tightly. "Look,"he said intensely, "this is some sort of mistake that the trainingcouncil will straighten out. I'm sure of it. Lots of guys have theirapplications reviewed. It happens all the time, but they still get theirassignments."

  "Do you know of any others in this class? Or the last class?"

  "Maybe not," Tiger said. "But if they were washing you out, why wouldthe council be reviewing it? Somebody must be fighting for you."

  "But Black Doctor Tanner is on the council," Dal said.

  "He's not the only one on the council. It's going to work out. You'llsee."

  "I hope so," Dal said without conviction. He started for the loadingline, then turned. "But where are _you_ going to be? What ship?"

  Tiger hesitated. "Not assigned yet. I'm taking a leave. But you'll behearing from me."

  The loading call blared from the loudspeaker. The tall Earthman seemedabout to say something more, but Dal turned away and headed acrosstoward the line for the shuttle plane. Ten minutes later, he was aloftas the tiny plane speared up through the black night sky and turned itsneedle nose toward the west.

  * * * * *

  He tried to sleep, but couldn't. The shuttle trip from the Port ofPhiladelphia to Hospital Seattle was almost two hours long because ofpassenger stops at Hospital Cleveland, Eisenhower City, New Chicago, andHospital Billings. In spite of the help of the pneumatic seats and asleep-cap, Dal could not even doze. It was one of the perfect clearnights that often occurred in midsummer now that weather control couldmodify Earth's air currents so well; the stars glittered against theblack velvet backdrop above, and the North American continent was freeof clouds. Dal stared down at the patchwork of lights that flickered upat him from the ground below.

  Passing below him were some of the great cities, the hospitals, theresearch and training centers, the residential zones and supply centersof Hospital Earth, medical center to the powerful GalacticConfederation, physician in charge of the health of a thousandintelligent races on a thousand planets of a thousand distant starsystems. Here, he knew, was the ivory tower of galactic medicine, thehub from which the medical care of the confederation arose. From thehuge hospitals, research centers, and medical schools here, thephysicians of Hospital Earth went out to all corners of the galaxy. Inthe permanent outpost clinics, in the gigantic hospital ships thatserved great sectors of the galaxy, and in the General Practice Patrolships that roved from star system to star system, they answered thecalls for medical assistance from a multitude of planets and races,wherever and whenever they were needed.

  Dal Timgar had been on Hospital Earth for eight years, and still he wasa stranger here. To him this was an alien planet, different in athousand ways from the world where he was born and grew to manhood. Fora moment now he thought of his native home, the second planet of a hotyellow star which Earthmen called "Garv" because they couldn't pronounceits full name in the Garvian tongue. Unthinkably distant, yet only daysaway with the power of the star-drive motors that its people haddeveloped thousands of years before, Garv II was a warm planet, teemingwith activity, the trading center of the galaxy and the governmentalheadquarters of the powerful Galactic Confederation of Worlds. Dal couldremember the days before he had come to Hospital Earth, and the manytimes he had longed desperately to be home again.

  He drew his fuzzy pink friend out of his pocket and rested him on hisshoulder, felt the tiny silent creature rub happily against his neck. Ithad been his own decision to come here, Dal knew; there was no one elseto blame. His people were not physicians. Their instincts and interestslay in trading and politics, not in the life sciences, and plague afterplague had swept across his home planet in the centuries before HospitalEarth had been admitted as a probationary member of the GalacticConfederation.

  But as long as Dal could remember, he had wanted to be a doctor. Fromthe first time he had seen a General Practice Patrol ship landing in hishome city to fight the plague that was killing his people by thethousands, he had known that this was what he wanted more than anythingelse: to be a physician of Hospital Earth, to join the ranks of thedoctors who were serving the galaxy.

  Many on Earth had tried to stop him from the first. He was a Garvian,alien to Earth's climate and Earth's people. The physical differencesbetween Earthmen and Garvians were small, but just enough to set himapart and make him easily identifiable as an alien. He had one too fewdigits on his hands; his body was small and spindly, weighing a bareninety pounds, and the coating of fine gray fur that covered all but hisface and palms annoyingly grew longer and thic
ker as soon as he came tothe comparatively cold climate of Hospital Earth to live. The bonestructure of his face gave his cheeks and nose a flattened appearance,and his pale gray eyes seemed abnormally large and wistful. And eventhough it had long been known that Earthmen and Garvians were equal inrange of intelligence, his classmates still assumed just from hisappearance that he was either unusually clever or unusually stupid.

  The gulf that lay between him and the men of Earth went beyond merephysical differences, however. Earthmen had differences of skin color,facial contour and physical size among them, yet made no sign ofdistinction. Dal's alienness went deeper. His classmates had been civilenough, yet with one or two exceptions, they had avoided him carefully.Clearly they resented his presence in their lecture rooms andlaboratories. Clearly they felt that he did not belong there, studyingmedicine.

  From the first they had let him know unmistakably that he was unwelcome,an intruder in their midst, the first member of an alien race ever totry to earn the insignia of a physician of Hospital Earth.

  And now, Dal knew he had failed after all. He had been allowed to tryonly because a powerful physician in the Black Service of Pathology hadbefriended him. If it had not been for the friendship and support ofanother Earthman in the class, Tiger Martin, the eight years of studywould have been unbearably lonely.

  But now, he thought, it would have been far easier never to have startedthan to have his goal snatched away at the last minute. The notice ofthe council meeting left no doubt in his mind. He had failed. Therewould be lots of talk, some perfunctory debate for the sake of therecord, and the medical council would wash their hands of him once andfor all. The decision, he was certain, was already made. It was just amatter of going through the formal motions.

  Dal felt the motors change in pitch, and the needle-nosed shuttle planebegan to dip once more toward the horizon. Ahead he could see thesprawling lights of Hospital Seattle, stretching from the CascadeMountains to the sea and beyond, north to Alaska and south toward thegreat California metropolitan centers. Somewhere down there was acouncil room where a dozen of the most powerful physicians on HospitalEarth, now sleeping soundly, would be meeting tomorrow for a trial thatwas already over, to pass a judgment that was already decided.

  He slipped Fuzzy back into his pocket, shouldered his pack, and waitedfor the ship to come down for its landing. It would be nice, he thoughtwryly, if his reservations for sleeping quarters in the students'barracks might at least be honored, but now he wasn't even sure of that.

  In the port of Seattle he went through the customary baggage check. Hesaw the clerk frown at his ill-fitting clothes and not-quite-human face,and then read his passage permit carefully before brushing him onthrough. Then he joined the crowd of travelers heading for the citysubways. He didn't hear the loudspeaker blaring until the announcer hadstumbled over his name half a dozen times.

  "_Doctor Dal Timgar, please report to the information booth._"

  He hurried back to central information. "You were paging me. What isit?"

  "Telephone message, sir," the announcer said, his voice surprisinglyrespectful. "A top priority call. Just a minute."

  Moments later he had handed Dal the yellow telephone message sheet, andDal was studying the words with a puzzled frown:

  CALL AT MY QUARTERS ON ARRIVAL REGARDLESS OF HOUR STOP URGENT THAT I SEE YOU STOP REPEAT URGENT

  The message was signed THORVOLD ARNQUIST, BLACK SERVICE and carried thepriority seal of the Four-star Pathologist. Dal read it again, shiftedhis pack, and started once more for the subway ramp. He thrust themessage into his pocket, and his step quickened as he heard the whistleof the pressure-tube trains up ahead.

  Black Doctor Arnquist, the man who had first defended his right to studymedicine on Hospital Earth, now wanted to see him before the councilmeeting took place.

  For the first time in days, Dal Timgar felt a new flicker of hope.