by James White
For some reason Chiang barked—laughed—again.
Ignoring it, O’Mara went on. “Senior Physician Edanelt is satisfied regarding your professional competence and suggests that I assign you to a suitable ward as soon as possible. Before that happens you must become more familiar with the layout, operation, and work of the hospital. You will find that it is a very dangerous and frightening place to the uninformed. At present, that is you.”
“I understand,” Cha Thrat said.
“The people who will impart this very necessary information,” it went on, “are of many different physiological types and medical and technical specialities. They will range from Diagnosticians, Senior Physicians, and healers like, or totally unlike, yourself, to nursing staff, and laboratory and maintenance technicians. Some of them will be your medical or administrative superiors, others will be nominally subordinate to you, but the knowledge they impart is equally valuable. I’m told that you are averse to sharing patient responsibility. While learning you may, at the discretion of the doctor in charge, be allowed to practice, but under close supervision. Do you understand, and agree?”
“I do,” Cha Thrat said unhappily. It was going to be her first year in the School for Warrior-Surgeons on Sommaradva all over again but, hopefully, without the attendant nonmedical problems.
“This interview,” O’Mara went on, “will not decide whether or not you are accepted as a permanent member of the hospital staff. I cannot tell you what or what not to do in every situation that will arise; you must learn by observation and attention to the words of your tutors and decide that for yourself. But if there are really serious problems that you are unable to solve for yourself, you may come to me for guidance. Naturally, the fewer visits you make to this office the better disposed I shall feel toward you. I shall be receiving continuous reports on your progress, or lack of it, and it is these that will decide whether or not you remain here.”
It paused briefly and moved the digits of one hand through the short gray head-fur. She watched carefully but saw no sign of dislodged parasites, and decided that the movement was an unthinking one.
“This interview,” O’Mara continued, “is intended to explore some of the nonmedical aspects of your treatment of Chiang. In the short time available I would like to learn as much as possible about you as a person: your feelings, motivations, fears, likes, and dislikes, that sort of thing. Is there any area in which you would not want to answer questions, or would give obscure or false answers, because of moral or parental or community tribal conditioning during childhood or maturity? I must warn you that I am capable of detecting a lie, even the weird and wonderfully complicated lies that some of our extraterrestrials tell, but it takes time and I have none of that to waste.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “There are matters involving sexual encounters that I would rather not discuss, but all other answers will be complete and truthful.”
“Good!” O’Mara said. “I have no intention of entering that area and, hopefully, may never have to do so. At present I am interested in your thoughts and feelings between the time you first saw your patient and the decision to operate, any relevant discussion between the healer who was first on the scene and yourself, and the reason for the delay in starting the operation when you did take charge. If you had any strong feelings at that time, please describe and explain them if you can, and speak as the thoughts come to you.”
For a moment Cha Thrat tried to recall her exact feelings at the time, then she said, “I was spending but not enjoying an enforced vacation in the area, because I would have preferred to continue working in my hospital instead of trying to devise ways of wasting time. When I heard of the accident I was almost pleased, thinking at first that the survivor was a Sommaradvan, and there was proper work for me to do. Then I saw the Earth-human’s injuries and knew that the local healer would not dare touch it because he was a healer of serviles. Even though the survivor was not a Sommaradvan warrior, it was plainly a warrior injured in the course of its duty.
“I am uncertain about your units of time measurement,” she went on. “The crash occurred just before sunrise, and I reached the shore of the lake where Chiang had been placed shortly before the time of the morning meal. Without proper medication or knowledge of the body structure, many things had to be considered. The sensible course would have been to allow the survivor to bleed to death or, out of kindness, expedite matters by immersing it in the lake …”
She stopped for a moment because O’Mara seemed to have a temporary blockage of the breathing passages, then she resumed. “After several examinations and evaluations of the risks, surgery was begun early in the afternoon. At the time I did not know that Chiang was the ruler of a ship.”
The two Earth-humans exchanged looks, and O’Mara said, “That was five, maybe six hours later. Do you usually take as long as that to reach a professional decision? And would it have made any difference if you had known of Chiang’s importance?”
“There were many risks to consider—I did not want to risk losing a limb,” she replied sharply, sensing a criticism. “And yes, it should have made a difference. A warrior-surgeon is in the same position to a ruler as the servile-healer is in relation to a warrior. I am forbidden to practice beyond my qualifications. The penalties are most severe, even allowing for the increasingly lax standards so prevalent these days. But in this instance, well, it was a unique situation. I felt frightened, and excited, and I would probably have acted in the same way.”
O’Mara said, “I’m glad you don’t normally practice surgery beyond your level of competence …”
“It’s a good thing she did,” Chiang said softly.
“ … And your tutors will be relieved as well,” O’Mara went on. “But I’m interested in this stratification of the Sommaradvan medical profession. Can you tell me about that?”
Puzzled by what seemed to be a nonsense question, she replied, “We are not forbidden to talk about anything. On Sommaradva there are three levels of persons—serviles, warriors, and rulers—and three levels of healers to care for them …”
At the bottom were the serviles, the people whose work was undemanding and repetitious—important in many respects, but completely without risk. They were a contented group, protected from gross physical damage, and the healers charged with their care used very simple procedures and medication such as herbs, poultices, and other traditional remedies. The second level, less numerous than the serviles, were the warriors, who occupied positions of responsibility and often great physical danger.
There had been no war on Sommaradva for many generations, but the warrior class had kept the name. They were the descendants of the people who had fought to protect their homelands, hunted for food, raised city defenses, and generally performed the dangerous, responsible jobs while the serviles saw to their physical needs. Now they were the engineers, technicians, and scientists who still performed the high-risk jobs associated with mining, power generation, large-scale construction, and the protection of rulers. For that reason the injuries sustained by warriors were and always had been traumatic in nature, requiring surgical intervention or repair, and this work was the responsibility of the warrior-surgeons.
The ruler-healers had even greater responsibilities and, at times, much less reward or satisfaction in their work.
Protected against all physical accident or injury, the ruler class were the administrators, academics, researchers, and planners on Sommaradva. They were the people charged with the smooth running of the cities and the continents and the world, and the ills that affected them were invariably the phantasms of the mind. Their healers dealt in wizardry, spells, sympathetic magic, and all the other aspects of nonphysical medicine.
“Even from the earliest times the practice of healing has been so divided,” Cha Thrat concluded, “into physicians and surgeons and wizards.”
When she finished speaking, O’Mara looked down for a moment at its hands, which were placed palms down o
n its desktop, and said quietly, “It’s nice to know that I would rate the top level of the Sommaradvan medical profession, but I’m not sure that I like being called a wizard.” It looked up suddenly. “What happens if one of your warriors or rulers gets a simple tummyache, instead of a traumatic injury or an emotional problem? Or if a servile should accidentally break a leg? Or what if a servile or a warrior is dissatisfied and wants to better itself?”
“The Cultural Contact people sent you a full report on all this,” Chiang broke in, “as background material on the new medic.” Apologetically it added, “The decision to send Cha Thrat was taken at the last moment, and possibly the report arrived with us on Thromasaggar.”
O’Mara exhaled loudly, and she wondered if it was an expression of irritation at the interruption, then said, “And the hospital’s internal mail system operates at a speed considerably less than that of light. Please go on, Cha Thrat.”
“In the highly unlikely event of a servile having such an accident,” she said, “a request for treatment would be made to a warrior-surgeon who, depending on assessment of the injuries, would or would not agree to do the work. Responsibility for a patient is not taken lightly on Sommaradva, as is shown by the delay in treating Chiang, and the loss of a life, an organ, or a limb has serious repercussions for the surgeon.
“Should a warrior or ruler require simple medical attention,” she continued, “a servile-healer would be instructed, and would indeed be honored, to provide the necessary assistance.
“If a discontented servile or warrior is able as well as ambitious,” she went on, “elevation to a higher level is possible. But the examinations are wide-ranging and difficult, and it is much easier to remain at the level traditionally occupied by the family or tribe or, if a release from problems and responsibilities is desired, to go down a level. Promotions, even minor promotions within a level, are not easy on Sommaradva.”
“Nor are they easy here,” O’Mara said. “But why did you come to Sector General? Ambition, curiosity, or a release from problems at home?”
This was an important question, Cha Thrat knew, and the quality and accuracy of the answer would have an important bearing on whether or not she was accepted by the hospital. She tried to frame the answer so that it would be accurate, truthful, and brief, but before she could reply the ship ruler was talking again.
“We were grateful to Cha Thrat for saving my life,” Chiang said, speaking very quickly, “and we told her colleagues and superiors so in no uncertain language. The subject of treatment by other-species medics came up, and Sector General, where it was the rule rather than the exception. It was suggested to us, and we agreed, that Cha Thrat should come here. The Sommaradvan cultural contact is going very well and we didn’t want to risk offending, perhaps insulting, them by refusing.
“I realize that we bypassed the normal candidate selection procedure,” it continued. “But her already-proven ability to perform other-species surgery, on me, made us sure that you would be interested in—”
O’Mara was holding up one hand, and it had not taken its attention from Cha Thrat while the other Earth-human had been speaking. It said, “Is this a political appointment, then, which we must accept whether we like it or not? But the original question remains. Why did you want to come here?”
“I didn’t want to come here,” she replied. “I was sent.”
Chiang covered its eyes suddenly with one hand, a gesture she had never seen it make before. O’Mara looked at her for a moment, then said, “Explain.”
“When the warriors of the Monitor Corps told us of the many different intelligent species who make up the Galactic Federation,” she replied, “and talked to me at great length about Sector General, where I could meet and work with many of these life-forms, I was curious, interested, but much too frightened by the prospect of meeting not one but nearly seventy different species to risk undergoing an experience that might give me a ruler’s disease. I told everyone who would listen my feelings, and reminded them of my utter lack of competence in relation to the level of surgery practiced here. I was not pretending to modesty. I really was, and am, ignorant. Because I was warrior level, I could not be forced, but it was strongly suggested by my colleagues and local rulers that I come.”
“Ignorance can be a temporary condition,” O’Mara said. “And it must have been a pretty strong suggestion. Why was it made?”
“In my hospital I am respected but not liked,” she went on, hoping that the anger in her voice was not reproduced by the translator. “In spite of being one of the first female warrior-surgeons, an innovation in itself, I am a traditionalist. I will not tolerate the reduced standards of professional behavior that are becoming increasingly prevalent, and I am critical of colleagues and superiors alike if they become lax. It was suggested to me that if I did not take advantage of the opportunity being offered by the Earth-humans, there would be a continuing increase of the nonmaterial pressures associated with my work as a surgeon. The situation was too complex for me to describe briefly, but my rulers made suggestions to the Monitor Corps, who were very reassuring and persuasive. The Earth-humans pulled while my superiors pushed, and I am here.
“Now that I am here,” she ended, “I shall use my limited abilities, under direction, as best I can.”
O’Mara was looking at the ship ruler now. Chiang had taken its hand away from its eyes, but its pink face was a deeper color than she had ever seen before.
“The Sommaradvan contact was widening nicely,” Chiang said, “but it was at a delicate stage. We didn’t want to risk refusing what seemed to them to be such a small favor. And anyway, we were pretty sure that they were giving Cha Thrat a hard time and we—I—thought she would be happier here.”
“So,” O’Mara said, still looking at the ship ruler, whose face was now an even deeper shade of pink, “we have not only a political appointee but an unwilling volunteer and possibly a misfit. And, out of a misplaced sense of gratitude, you tried to conceal the true situation from me. That’s great!”
It turned to face Cha Thrat again and said, “I appreciate your truthfulness. This material will be useful in the preparation of your psych profile but it does not, in spite of what your misguided friend may think, preclude your acceptance by the hospital provided the other requirements are satisfied. Those you will learn during training, which will begin first thing in our morning.”
The words were coming faster than before, as if O’Mara’s time for talking were limited, as it went on. “In the outer office you will be given an information package, maps, class schedules, general rules, and advice, all printed in the most widely used language on Sommaradva. Some of our trainees will tell you that their first and most difficult test was finding their rooms.
“Good luck, Cha Thrat.”
As she was picking her way between the alien furniture toward the door, O’Mara was saying “I’m primarily interested in your postoperative emotional condition, Major Chiang. Have there been any waking fears, recurrent nightmares, unexplained episodes of tension, with or without accompanying perspiration, associated with the operation? Any feelings of drowning, strangulation, increasing and unreasoning fear of the dark? …”
Truly, she thought, O’Mara was a great wizard.
In the outer office, the Earth-human Braithwaite gave verbal as well as printed advice together with a white band to wear on one of her upper arms. It signified to all that she was a trainee, it said, laughing, and likely to become confused and lost. Should that happen she could ask any member of the hospital staff for directions. It, too, ended by wishing her well.
Finding the way to her room was a nightmare worse, she was sure, than any that Chiang might be relating to O’Mara. She needed directions on two occasions, and each time she asked groups of the silver-furred Kelgians who seemed to be everywhere in the hospital, rather than any of the great, lumbering monsters or the squishy beings in chlorine envelopes who crowded past her. But on both occasions, in spite of the respectful
manner of her request, the information was given in a most rude and abrupt fashion.
Her immediate feeling was one of severe personal offense. But then she saw that the Kelgians were rude and short-tempered even to other members of their own species, and she decided that it might be better not to upbraid them for their extreme lack of politeness toward a stranger.
When she at last located her room, the door was wide open and the Earth-human Timmins was lying prone on the floor and holding a small metal box that was making quiet noises and winking its lights.
“Just testing,” Timmins said. “I’ll be finished in a moment. Look around. The operating instructions for everything are on the table. If there is anything you don’t understand, use the communicator to call Staff Training, they’ll help you.” It rolled onto its back and got to its feet in a way that was physically impossible for a Sommaradvan, and added, “What do you think of the place?”
“I’m—I’m surprised,” Cha Thrat said, feeling almost shocked by its familiarity. “And delighted. It’s just like my quarters at home.”
“We aim to please,” Timmins said. It raised one hand in a gesture she did not understand, and was gone.
For a long time she moved about the small room examining the furniture and equipment, not quite believing what she saw and felt. She knew that photographs and measurements had been taken of her quarters in the warrior-surgeon level at the Calgren House of Healing, but she had not expected such close attention to detail in the reproduction of her favorite pictures, wall coverings, lighting, and personal utilities. There were differences, too, some obvious and others subtle, to remind her that this place, despite appearances to the contrary, was not on her home world.