Star Surgeon Page 5

  CHAPTER 5

  CRISIS ON MORUA VIII

  The three doctors huddled around the teletype, watching as the decodedmessage was punched out on the tape. "It started coming in just now,"Tiger said. "And they've been beaming the signal in a spherical pattern,apparently trying to pick up the nearest ship they could get. There'scertainly some sort of trouble going on."

  The message was brief, repeated over and over: REQUIRE MEDICAL AIDURGENT REPLY AT ONCE. This was followed by the code letters thatdesignated the planet, its location, and the number of its medicalservice contract.

  Jack glanced at the code. "Morua VIII," he said. "I think that's a gradeI contract." He began punching buttons on the reference panel, andseveral screening cards came down the slot from the information bank."Yes. The eighth planet of a large Sol-type star, the only inhabitedplanet in the system with a single intelligent race, ursine evolutionarypattern." He handed the cards to Tiger. "Teddy-bears, yet!"

  "Mammals?" Tiger said.

  "Looks like it. And they even hibernate."

  "What about the contract?" Dal asked.

  "Grade I," said Tiger. "And they've had a thorough survey. Moderatelyadvanced in their own medical care, but they have full medical coverageany time they think they need it. We'd better get an acknowledgment backto them. Jack, get the ship ready to star-jump while Dal starts digginginformation out of the bank. If this race has its own doctors, they'donly be hollering for help if they're up against a tough one."

  Tiger settled down with earphones and transmitter to try to make contactwith the Moruan planet, while Jack went forward to control and Dalstarted to work with the tape reader. There was no argument now, and nodissension. The procedure to be followed was a well-established routine:acknowledge the call, estimate arrival time, relay the call and responseto the programmers on Hospital Earth, prepare for star-drive, and startgathering data fast. With no hint of the nature of the trouble, theirjob was to get there, equipped with as much information about the planetand its people as time allowed.

  The Moruan system was not distant from the _Lancet_'s present location.Tiger calculated that two hours in Koenig drive would put the ship inthe vicinity of the planet, with another hour required for landingprocedures. He passed the word on to the others, and Dal began diggingthrough the mass of information in the tape library on Morua VIII andits people.

  There was a wealth of data. Morua VIII had signed one of the firstmedical service contracts with Hospital Earth, and a thorough medical,biochemical, social and psychological survey had been made on the peopleof that world. Since the original survey, much additional informationhad been amassed, based on patrol ship reports and dozens of specialtystudies that had been done there.

  And out of this data, a picture of Morua VIII and its inhabitants beganto emerge.

  The Moruans were moderately intelligent creatures, warm-blooded airbreathers with an oxygen-based metabolism. Their planet was cold, with17 per cent oxygen and much water vapor in its atmosphere. With its vastsnow-fields and great mountain ranges, the planet was a popular resortarea for oxygen-breathing creatures; most of the natives were engaged insome work related to winter sports. They were well fitted anatomicallyfor their climate, with thick black fur, broad flat hind feet and afour-inch layer of fat between their skin and their vital organs.

  Swiftly Dal reviewed the emergency file, checking for common drugs andchemicals that were poisonous to Moruans, accidents that were common tothe race, and special problems that had been met by previous patrolships. The deeper he dug into the mass of data, the more worried hebecame. Where should he begin? Searching in the dark, there was no wayto guess what information would be necessary and what part totallyuseless.

  He buzzed Tiger. "Any word on the nature of the trouble?" he asked.

  "Just got through to them," Tiger said. "Not too much to go on, butthey're really in an uproar. Sounds like they've started some kind oforgan-transplant surgery and their native surgeon got cold feet halfwaythrough and wants us to bail him out." Tiger paused. "I think this isgoing to be your show, Dal. Better check up on Moruan anatomy."

  It was better than no information, but not much better. Fuzzy huddled onDal's shoulder as if he could sense his master's excitement. Very fewraces under contract with Hospital Earth ever attempted their own majorsurgery. If a Moruan surgeon had walked into a tight spot in theoperating room, it could be a real test of skill to get him--and hispatient--out of it, even on a relatively simple procedure. Butorgan-transplantation, with the delicate vascular surgery andmicro-surgery that it entailed, was never simple. In incompetent hands,it could turn into a nightmare.

  Dal took a deep breath and began running the anatomical atlas tapesthrough the reader, checking the critical points of Moruan anatomy.Oxygen-transfer system, circulatory system, renal filtration system--atfirst glance, there was little resemblance to any of the "typical"oxygen-breathing mammals Dal had studied in medical school. But thensomething struck a familiar note, and he remembered studying thepeculiar Moruan renal system, in which the creature's chemical wasteproducts were filtered from the bloodstream in a series of tubulespassing across the peritoneum, and re-absorbed into the intestine forexcretion. Bit by bit other points of the anatomy came clear, and inhalf an hour of intense study Dal began to see how the inhabitants ofMorua VIII were put together.

  Satisfied for the moment, he then pulled the tapes that described theMoruans' own medical advancement. What were they doing attemptingorgan-transplantation, anyway? That was the kind of surgery that evenexperienced Star Surgeons preferred to take aboard the hospital ships,or back to Hospital Earth, where the finest equipment and the mostskilled assistants were available.

  There was a signal buzzer, the two-minute warning before the Koenigdrive took over. Dal tossed the tape spools back into the bin forrefiling, and went forward to the control room.

  Just short of two hours later, the _Lancet_ shifted back to normalspace drive, and the cold yellow sun of the Moruan system swam intosight in the viewscreen. Far below, the tiny eighth planet glistenedlike a snowball in the reflection of the sun, with only occasional rentsin the cloud blanket revealing the ragged surface below. The doctorswatched as the ship went into descending orbit, skimming the outeratmosphere and settling into a landing pattern.

  Beneath the cloud blanket, the frigid surface of the planet spread outbefore them. Great snow-covered mountain ranges rose up on either side.A forty-mile gale howled across the landing field, sweeping clouds ofpowdery snow before it.

  A huge gawky vehicle seemed to be waiting for the ship to land; it shotout from the huddle of gray buildings almost the moment they toucheddown. Jack slipped into the furs that he had pulled from stores, andwent out through the entrance lock and down the ladder to meet the darkfurry creatures that were bundling out of the vehicle below. Theelectronic language translator was strapped to his chest.

  Five minutes later he reappeared, frost forming on his blue collar, hisface white as he looked at Dal. "You'd better get down there rightaway," he said, "and take your micro-surgical instruments. Tiger, giveme a hand with the anaesthesia tanks. They're keeping a patient alivewith a heart-lung machine right now, and they can't finish the job. Itlooks like it might be bad."

  * * * * *

  The Moruan who escorted them across the city to the hospital was a hugeshaggy creature who left no question of the evolutionary line of hispeople. Except for the flattened nose, the high forehead and thefur-less hand with opposing thumb, he looked for all the world like amammoth edition of the Kodiak bears Dal had seen displayed at thenatural history museum in Hospital Philadelphia. Like all creatures withoxygen-and-water based metabolisms, the Moruans could trace theirevolutionary line to minute one-celled salt-water creatures; but withthe bitter cold of the planet, the first land-creatures to emerge fromthe primeval swamp of Morua VIII had developed the heavy furs and thehibernation characteristics of bear-like mammals. They towered over Dal,and even Tiger seemed dwarfed by their
immense chest girth and powerfulshoulders.

  As the surface car hurried toward the hospital, Dal probed for moreinformation. The Moruan's voice was a hoarse growl which nearly deafenedthe Earthmen in the confined quarters of the car but Dal with the aid ofthe translator could piece together what had happened.

  More sophisticated in medical knowledge than most races in the galaxy,the Moruans had learned a great deal from their contact with HospitalEarth physicians. They actually did have a remarkable grasp ofphysiology and biochemistry, and constantly sought to learn more. Theyhad already found ways to grow replacement organs from embryonic grafts,the Moruan said, and by copying the techniques used by the surgeons ofHospital Earth, their own surgeons had attempted the delicate job ofreplacing a diseased organ with a new, healthy one in a young maleafflicted with cancer.

  Dal looked up at the Moruan doctor. "What organ were you replacing?" heasked suspiciously.

  "Oh, not the entire organ, just a segment," the Moruan said. "The tumorhad caused an obstructive pneumonia--"

  "Are you talking about a segment of _lung_?" Dal said, almost choking.

  "Of course. That's where the tumor was."

  Dal swallowed hard. "So you just decided to replace a segment."

  "Yes. But something has gone wrong, we don't know what."

  "I see." It was all Dal could do to keep from shouting at the hugecreature. The Moruans had no duplication of organs, such as Earthmen andcertain other races had. A tumor of the lung would mean death ... butthe technique of grafting a culture-grown lung segment to a portion ofnatural lung required enormous surgical skill, and the finestmicroscopic instruments that could be made in order to suture togetherthe tiny capillary walls and air tubules. And if one lung weredestroyed, a Moruan had no other to take its place. "Do you have anymicro-surgical instruments at all?"

  "Oh, yes," the Moruan rumbled proudly. "We made them ourselves, just forthis case."

  "You mean you've never attempted this procedure before?"

  "This was the first time. We don't know where we went wrong."

  "You went wrong when you thought about trying it," Dal muttered. "Whatanaesthesia?"

  "Oxygen and alcohol vapor."

  This was no surprise. With many species, alcohol vapor was moreeffective and less toxic than other anaesthetic gases. "And you have aheart-lung machine?"

  "The finest available, on lease from Hospital Earth."

  All the way through the city Dal continued the questioning, and by thetime they reached the hospital he had an idea of the task that wasfacing him. He knew now that it was going to be bad; he didn't realizejust how bad until he walked into the operating room.

  The patient was barely alive. Recognizing too late that they were inwater too deep for them, the Moruan surgeons had gone into panic, andneglected the very fundamentals of physiological support for thecreature on the table. Dal had to climb up on a platform just to see theoperating field; the faithful wheeze of the heart-lung machine that wassustaining the creature continued in Dal's ears as he examined the workalready done, first with the naked eye, then scanning the operativefield with the crude microscopic eyepiece.

  "How long has he been anaesthetized?" he asked the shaggy operatingsurgeon.

  "Over eighteen hours already."

  "And how much blood has he received?"

  "A dozen liters."

  "Any more on hand?"

  "Perhaps six more."

  "Well, you'd better get it into him. He's in shock right now."

  The surgeon scurried away while Dal took another look at the microfield. The situation was bad; the anaesthesia had already gone on toolong, and the blood chemistry record showed progressive failure.

  He stepped down from the platform, trying to clear his head and decidethe right thing to do.

  He had done micro-surgery before, plenty of it, and he knew thetechniques necessary to complete the job, but the thought of attemptingit chilled him. At best, he was on unfamiliar ground, with a dozenfactors that could go wrong. By now the patient was a dreadful risk forany surgeon. If he were to step in now, and the patient died, how wouldhe explain not calling for help?

  He stepped out to the scrub room where Tiger was waiting. "Where'sJack?" he said.

  "Went back to the ship for the rest of the surgical pack."

  Dal shook his head. "I don't know what to do. I think we should get himto a hospital ship."

  "Is it more than you can handle?" Tiger said.

  "I could probably do it all right--but I could lose him, too."

  A frown creased Tiger's face. "Dal, it would take six hours for ahospital ship to get here."

  "I know that. But on the other hand...." Dal spread his hands. He feltFuzzy crouching in a tight frightened lump in his pocket. He thoughtagain of the delicate, painstaking microscopic work that remained to bedone to bring the new section of lung into position to function, and heshook his head. "Look, these creatures hibernate," he said. "If we couldget him cooled down enough, we could lighten the anaesthesia andmaintain him as is, indefinitely."

  "This is up to you," Tiger said. "I don't know anything about surgery.If you think we should just hold tight, that's what we'll do."

  "All right. I think we'd better. Have them notify Jack to signal for ahospital ship. We'll just try to stick it out."

  Tiger left to pass the word, and Dal went back into the operating room.Suddenly he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from hisshoulders. There would be Three-star Surgeons on a Hospital Ship tohandle this; it seemed an enormous relief to have the task out of hishands. Yet something was wriggling uncomfortably in the back of hismind, a quiet little voice saying _this isn't right, you should be doingthis yourself right now instead of wasting precious time...._

  He thrust the thought away angrily and ordered the Moruan physicians tobring in ice packs to cool the patient's huge hulk down to hibernationtemperatures. "We're going to send for help," Dal told the Moruansurgeon who had met them at the ship. "This man needs specialized care,and we'd be taking too much chance to try to do it this way."

  "You mean you're sending for a hospital ship?"

  "That's right," Dal said.

  This news seemed to upset the Moruans enormously. They began growlingamong themselves, moving back from the operating table.

  "Then you can't save him?" the operating surgeon said.

  "I think he can be saved, certainly!"

  "But we thought you could just step in--"

  "I could, but that would be taking chances that we don't need to take.We can maintain him until the hospital ship arrives."

  The Moruans continued to growl ominously, but Dal brushed past them,checking the vital signs of the patient as his body temperature slowlydropped. Tiger had taken over the anaesthesia, keeping the patient underas light a dosage of medication as was possible.

  "What's eating them?" he asked Dal quietly.

  "They don't want a hospital ship here very much," Dal said. "Afraidthey'll look like fools all over the Confederation if the word gets out.But that's their worry. Ours is to keep this bruiser alive until theship gets here."

  They settled back to wait.

  It was an agonizing time for Dal. Even Fuzzy didn't seem to be muchcomfort. The patient was clearly not doing well, even with the low bodytemperatures Dal had induced. His blood pressure was sagging, and at onetime Tiger sat up sharply, staring at his anaesthesia dials and frowningin alarm as the nervous-system reactions flagged. The Moruan physicianshovered about, increasingly uneasy as they saw the doctors from HospitalEarth waiting and doing nothing. One of them, unable to control himselfany longer, tore off his sterile gown and stalked angrily out of theoperating suite.

  A dozen times Dal was on the verge of stepping in. It was beginning tolook now like a race with time, and precious minutes were passing by. Hecursed himself inwardly for not taking the bit in his teeth at thebeginning and going ahead the best he could; it had been a mistake injudgment to wait. Now, as minutes passed into hours it looked more a
ndmore like a mistake that was going to cost the life of a patient.

  Then there was a murmur of excitement outside the operating room, andword came in that another ship had been sighted making landingmaneuvers. Dal clenched his fists, praying that the patient would lastuntil the hospital ship crew arrived.

  But the ship that was landing was not a hospital ship. Someone turned ona TV scanner and picked up the image of a small ship hardly larger thana patrol ship, with just two passengers stepping down the ladder to theground. Then the camera went close-up. Dal saw the faces of the two men,and his heart sank.

  One was a Four-star Surgeon, resplendent in flowing red cape andglistening silver insignia. Dal did not recognize the man, but the fourstars meant that he was a top-ranking physician in the Red Service ofSurgery.

  The other passenger, gathering his black cloak and hood around him as hefaced the blistering wind on the landing field, was Black Doctor HugoTanner.

  * * * * *

  Moments after the Four-star Surgeon arrived at the hospital, he wasfully and unmistakably in command of the situation. He gave Dal an icystare, then turned to the Moruan operating surgeon, whom he seemed toknow very well. After a short barrage of questions and answers, hescrubbed and gowned, and stalked past Dal to the crude Moruanmicro-surgical control table.

  It took him exactly fifteen seconds to scan the entire operating fieldthrough the viewer, discussing the anatomy as the Moruan surgeon watchedon a connecting screen. Then, without hesitation, he began manipulatingthe micro-instruments. Once or twice he murmured something to Tiger atthe anaesthesia controls, and occasionally he nodded reassurance to theMoruan surgeon. He did not even invite Dal to observe.

  Ten minutes later he rose from the control table and threw the switch tostop the heart-lung machine. The patient took a gasping breath on hisown, then another and another. The Four-star Surgeon stripped off hisgown and gloves with a flourish. "It will be all right," he said to theMoruan physician. "An excellent job, Doctor, excellent!" he said. "Yourtechnique was flawless, except for the tiny matter you have justobserved."

  It was not until they were outside the operating room and beyond earshotof the Moruan doctors that the Four-star surgeon turned furiously toDal. "Didn't you even bother to examine the operating field, Doctor?Where did you study surgery? Couldn't you tell that the fools hadpractically finished the job themselves? All that was needed was asimple great-vessel graft, which an untrained idiot could have doneblindfolded. And for this you call me clear from Hospital Earth!"

  The surgeon threw down his mask in disgust and stalked away, leaving Daland Tiger staring at each other in dismay.