Suddenly the room was slit with intense nageric brilliance. Unconscious beneath Digen’s hands, Hayashi moved spasmodically toward that selyn source. Digen cut the field, desperate to hold everything in stasis as long as possible.
Now that Digen was taking the brunt of it, Mora had recovered her normal poise. “Ilyana,” she said, “get over here and help Digen. He can’t tolerate attrition—because of his own injury.”
As Ilyana glided into place at Digen’s left, he said, woodenly, “I’m all right, Mora.” And he took Ilyana’s enormous field strength, meshed so perfectly with his own field, and used her strength to control the voiding. “See?”
Mora, on the verge of taking back the responsibility Digen had assumed, relented. Because of their disparities, she couldn’t use Ilyana the way Digen was. She retired to arm’s length and said, “Attrition isn’t something you should have to face, Digen. I’m sorry I called you. There’s nothing either of us can do anyway—it would be kinder just to let him die.”
Digen shook his head. “We’ve bought some time with this,” said Digen. “I’ll think of something.” I hope.
Ilyana laid her left arm along Digen’s left, placing her right around his waist, her body against his, her head on his shoulder. She was controlled, relaxed, a source of infinite, steady strength. Soaked in her nager, attrition seemed like a fairy tale.
Mora said, “Ease up a little, Ilyana. You’re removing him from reality.”
Her fields lightened and Digen’s mind cleared. Mora said, “Digen, he’s going to die. There’s nothing we can do. Just look at his fields, the turbulence. The blood loss alone—you can’t hold that pressure forever—cells in his lower arm are already dying for lack of blood.”
Digen examined the wound more carefully. The bullet had driven across the lateral and then somehow passed between the bones of the forearm, nicking the main artery to the tentacles. Digen concluded that Hayashi must have been moving under augmentation when he was shot. Bullets do not ordinarily follow such curved trajectories.
“How did this happen?” asked Digen, probing the wound.
“I didn’t see it. When I got here, Lankh was on the floor, unconscious, with a gun in his hand, and Rin was—like this. Lankh must have—Oh, Digen, ever since that day he saw you and Skip by the elevators, he was so much better. He must have been planning revenge on Skip and had the gun smuggled in to him…”
Digen’s eyes met Mora’s. “Don’t blame yourself. We all missed it. Now we’ve got a life to save.” He looked at Hayashi’s heavily lined face, lax in unconsciousness. “He’s really on to something with those machines of his—ever since Jesse’s death. He really is the key. The Tecton—it all depends on him.”
“I thought,” said Ilyana, “the whole principle of the Tecton was that no single person be irreplaceable.”
“Maybe he’s not irreplaceable—and then again, maybe he is. We’ve got to save him.”
“I’m not a Zeor channel,” said Mora, “but I know there’s nothing—not even among the householdings—that can save him now. Digen, it took four perfectly matched channel/Donor teams to save you. We can’t even muster two teams—not in time.”
Digen loosened his hold on the artery to let blood down into the lower arm. But blood gushed freshly from the wound in little spurts. Suddenly his fingers itched for a suturing needle. His hands knew what had to be done.
“It’s got to be repaired surgically,” he said.
Mora looked at him, eyes wide. Then she looked at the wound. “You can’t. You’re under Controller’s injunction—violation is summary execution by attrition, no appeal, even for the Sectuib in Zeor!”
Digen shook his head. “Mickland was scared that surgery on Donors would make me go junct. Surgery on a Sime—a channel—should pose no such problem. Mora, don’t you understand yet—this is what I’ve been working toward all my life. Mickland will tear up his injunction when he sees this. He’s got to. This will change everything.”
“If he dies….”
“If he dies,” said Digen, “there’s going to be a revolt in the ranks somewhere before the end of the year. People see themselves in Jesse. We’ve all been shorted lately; we’ve all had the nightmares. Where will the Tecton be if the Firsts and high Seconds quit?”
“The renSimes will be shorted; they’ll start raiding Gen Territory, killing….”
“…For the first time since Klyd Farris signed the First Contract. Five generations of sacrifice—for nothing. And on Faith Day…? We’re just going to sit here and let that happen? Ilyana,” said Digen, “get me an out-Territory line on that phone.”
She hesitated, then moved to punch in the number Digen gave her. “You two,” said Digen, propping the handset against his shoulder and waiting for the connection, “are going to help me. You will help, won’t you, Ilyana?”
“To cut Rin up?”
“No. Just handle the fields, help me keep him from voiding to death. You don’t seem to faint at the sight of blood.”
With a measure of offhanded pride, she said, “I’m a trained midwife.”
Digen was a little startled. That was no job for a Gen. “Well, good, then this should be fairly easy for you.”
“You mean, save the Tecton—again?” She tried to muster an ironic smile through a veil of tears.
“Not for the Tecton,” said Digen. “For Rin.”
“For Rin. I owe him that much at least.”
Whatever her motives, Digen knew she would again be credited with saving the Tecton, and on the strength of that he could make them grant a lortuen exclusive. She’d come around to his way of seeing things, eventually.
A distant tinkling indicated that the phone on the other end was finally ringing. Answer, damn it! thought Digen. The tinkling began its second one minute repeating sequence before there was a long beep and a groggy voice mumbled something.
“Wake up, Joel, I’ve got a case for you!” snapped Digen. He could imagine Hogan sitting up amid tangled bedclothes, palming his eyes and peering at his watch.
“Digen? Whatimesit? Where—we’re not on duty—”
“I’m at the Sime Center. It’s happened, Joel, what we’ve talked so much about. Now wake up, a lot depends on you!”
More crisply, Hogan said, “What? What’s happened?”
“You’ve heard of Rindaleo Hayashi?”
“Who hasn’t?” He was attentive now, completely awake.
“He’s going to die unless you get over here with a full field surgery kit and about five units of plasma—and, just in case, bring the thoracic instrument package too.” But I hope I won’t have to try that!
Hogan made disbelieving sounds, but Digen cut him off. “I give him about fifteen minutes. If I don’t get something into him by then, he’s not going to make it.”
“I’ve got my pants on; I’m on my way. Hang tight.”
“Don’t forget the venipuncture and IV set. We have nothing of that sort here.” Then Digen gave him directions to the door where Mora would meet and escort him upstairs. “You can trust her as you trust me.”
With Ilyana punching phone combinations, Digen organized the materials he would require to turn the room into an impromptu surgery. With Mickland out of town for the holiday, Digen was senior in the district, so all his requests went unchallenged.
By the time Mora brought Hogan into the room, the wetbench had been turned into a fair imitation of a surgical table. “Set up over there,” Digen said to Hogan; then he described the injury and what he planned to do.
Hogan never paused in his work as he said, “Why not bring him over to the OR? Thornton would let you do him.”
“Not without retainers. That artery is inside a basket-weave of selyn transport nerves. Try this blind, and none of us would live through it.”
Hogan did stop then, absorbing the implications.
“That’s right, Joel, you’re assisting.”
Hogan half turned his head as if in negation, looking at Hayashi. “Dige
n, you know I can’t tolerate selyn movement…”
“You won’t have to. Ilyana here will handle the fields. But I can’t do this alone, Joel.”
Hogan stared at Hayashi, summoning every shred of courage he owned. “He’s the one with the miracle Donor training machines, right? I suppose it’s poetic justice, somehow. All right, what’s the plan?”
“That plasma heated yet? Sime body temp, remember?”
“Almost.”
“Let’s get this IV set up, then.” While Hogan screwed the pole together and ripped open the field tray, Digen had Mora help him move Hayashi onto the makeshift operating table. Hogan approached with the tourniquet in hand, looking at Digen. “Where…?”
“At the ankle. You’ll have to do the cutdown, but there’s no problem as long as you just expose the vein, going no deeper than that.”
Joel went to work, Mora Dyen standing back, struggling to keep herself unaffected. But the moment Hogan’s scalpel bit into flesh, Mora’s gorge rose and she dashed from the room, mumbling an apology. Digen said, “Let her go. Ilyana’s holding his orientation well enough.”
The commotion jolted Hayashi back to consciousness just as the first of the plasma worked its way into his veins. Digen leaned over him, saying, “Hajene? Hajene Hayashi?”
The channel’s eyes blinked open, squinting against the lights Digen had rigged. “Where’s Skip? Is he all right?”
Digen said, “He’s disappeared. Mora put out an alert to have him picked up. Lankh has a concussion—he’s in the doublescan room for the Thirds to watch.”
Hayashi, his immediate anxiety relieved, began to take note of his situation. “Digen?” he said, focusing on his right arm where Digen held the wound. Then he became aware of the needle taped to his ankle, the hanging bottle of plasma, selyn-dead as it dripped into his veins. “Digen!”
“It’s gruesome, I know,” said Digen, deliberately in English. “But it will save your life. Can you understand me?” Hayashi’s assent was a weak nod. Digen went on describing the nature of the problem and what Hayashi had to do to help them. Working with Digen, he could control much of the bleeding, the pain, and the tension in his muscles.
When Digen told him, Hogan said, “You mean you’re not going to use anesthetic?”
“It would kill him,” said Digen: “Those instruments ready yet? At least the small clamps?”
“Right here,” said Hogan.
Hayashi caught at Digen’s hand. “No! There’s no way you can get selyn across that severed lateral. I’m dying—I won’t let you risk your life for a lost cause.”
Their fields were so entwined that Digen felt the bleak resignation that gripped the channel. He bent over, saying, “I’m going to repair that gash, and then I’m going to get selyn into you. I have a plan. I can do it. I’ll have to put you into suspension….”
But Digen’s words weren’t quite registering. Hayashi was in a deep inner struggle. “I—I’m dying. Accept—accept my pledge, to Zeor and to the Sectuib in Zeor. I can’t—you can’t let me die alone like this.”
Digen was shaken by the plea. “I—can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”
“If I’m going to die under your hands, it’s going to be under the hands of my own Sectuib.” His voice was reedy, but Digen heard every word. “Accept—my pledge—or—or I’ll take myself out right now—the easy way.”
“We’ve no time to argue now. We’ll take it up after,” said Digen, knowing that it would be altogether too easy for Hayashi to let himself die at this point. “There’s a chance, a good chance, that you won’t die if you’ll let me do this.”
“I—won’t let you—violate a Controller’s injunction. Not for a nonmember. Your father—would never forgive me. Take my pledge, Sectuib, and you can do anything you want to me.”
It would change the legal picture drastically. The Tecton recognized the peculiar personal loyalties between members of a house. But never, to Digen’s knowledge, had that recognition extended as far as a violation of a direct Controller’s injunction. Still, it was a temptation, one more factor in his favor. But no! “Hajene Hayashi,” said Digen stiffly, “I—loved—my father. I was pledged to him and to Zeor. I—can’t—go against his wishes. No matter how much I’m tempted. You should know that.”
Digen was bearing the weight of both his own and Hayashi’s emotions, joined as they were for Hayashi’s life. His heart grew almost too heavy to beat, thickened by almost two decades of Hayashi’s unrelenting pain. “Sectuib—it would not be—against—Orim’s wishes. He never meant—it to—be this way. Believe that. You’ve got to believe that. I have kept the standards, remained loyal. Don’t make me die outside of Zeor. Don’t….”
Hayashi truly believed, Digen saw, that he had done nothing to incur a banning. But the testimony had been clear. Several people had heard Orim issue an order which Hayashi had deliberately disobeyed. Im’ran had said it: “Would you accept the pledge of an oath breaker, Sectuib?” Yet, Digen must do just that to save the Tecton—for Hayashi, in his current mood, would surely suicide to prevent the Sectuib in Zeor from violating a Controller’s injunction for the sake of a nonmember.
“Do you know what you’re blackmailing me into?”
“I am no oath breaker, Digen. Zeor is my life.”
Digen twisted off the ring he wore bearing the double Tecton/Zeor crest, and thrust it into Hayashi’s left hand. “Pledge then,” he said, “and may father forgive you this—and Vira, and Nigel, and Wyner, and Bett too! Because I can’t guarantee I ever will!”
Taking the ring, Hayashi said, gathering his last strength, “Unto the House of Zeor, I pledge—my heart, my hand, my substance. And unto Digen Farris—heir to Orim Farris—Sectuib in Zeor, I pledge my life, my trust—my—undying loyalty. I commit my life, my substance, and my children—Out of Death To Be Born—Unto Zeor, Forever.”
Forcing the words through tightened throat, Digen said, “Unto Rindaleo ambrov Zeor, I pledge—my—substance my—trust—my undying loyalty, in my own name—born from death, Unto Zeor, Forever.”
In the faintest whisper Hayashi said, breathing heavily, “Do what you will, Sectuib. Sectuib Farris, I rest content.”
Digen eased Hayashi into the suspended state necessary to simulate anesthesia, and, true to his word, Hayashi cooperated fully. Hogan and Ilyana scrubbed as best they could, but Digen’s fingers and tentacles had already been as deep into the wound as possible, and there was little sense in him trying to scrub now, except to rinse the blood and ronaplin from his fingers so that he could handle the suturing needle.
Digen positioned Ilyana beside him, Hogan across from them, and began to repair the artery. Hogan, watching, said, “Ilyana, hand Digen the suture in the blue box. I think it would be best for this job.”
“She doesn’t speak English,” said Digen, translating to Ilyana. A little later, a clamp that Digen had placed on a minor artery slipped. Hogan reached to replace it while Digen was wrestling with a delicate stitch. Digen dropped what he was doing, blocking Hogan’s hand. “No!” And he replaced the clamp himself.
“Well,” said Hogan, “I don’t know what you want me here for!”
Digen was shifting back and forth from duoconsciousness up to pure hyperconsciousness, concentrating as he’d never done before in his life. He had to hold down the selyn voiding while at the same time not interfering with the vital nerves around the nicked artery. He paused in duoconsciousness, and snapped, “I can’t talk now! Wait!”
Hogan’s reply was lost as Digen slipped back to hyperconsciousness, planting the last two, tiny sutures to secure the artery. The way he was using his hands, he had to let go of the tight control of the selyn voiding. The selyn flows in the little nerve fibers were shutting down in attrition, and Digen, as he finished, could barely see them to avoid hitting them with the needle. The plume of voided selyn was fading alarmingly.
Tight-lipped, Digen threw the needle back on the tray and picked up his post at the lateral. With all t
he field gradient at his control, he could not force selyn into Hayashi. He knew he would have to take his most desperate gamble. “Quickly, Joel; the thoracic kit,” said Digen, and named the incision he would require, straight down to the vriamic node. “Expose the lungs,” said Digen, “you’re safe to that point. I’ll take it from there.”
Hogan froze. He had begun to understand what surgery on a Sime—with the whirling energy currents—entailed. “We’ve got ten minutes,” said Digen levelly, “and he’s dead.”
Hogan tightened up on his courage and began to open the chest. “I’ve never done this before, Digen, only watched.”
“I’ve done it,” said Digen. “Now I’ll teach you.” And he began talking Hogan through it, splitting his attention between that and holding down the selyn leakage as much as he could. Ilyana, eyes closed, lending her field to Digen, was seated on a tall chair where she could reach Digen’s instrument tray.
Hogan, working steadily, sweating, without any nurse to wipe his forehead, said, “He’s going to take another unit of plasma.”
“Not until I get a selyn infusion into him. It would kill him.”
“So will circulatory collapse.”
“We can only do our best, Joel. Just keep working.” Then Digen turned to instruct Ilyana. She roused herself, glimpsed what Hogan was doing, and turned aside with a grimace. “Just a few minutes more, Ilyana. Give me your hands now.”
Ilyana steeled herself inwardly and thrust her hands at Digen’s. “No, no,” said Digen. “Barriers down. This is where you’ve got to bridge for us in perfect mesh.”
Digen placed her hands across the lateral gash he could not repair until he had enough selyn flow to see what he was doing. “If you’re close enough,” said Digen to Ilyana, “when I let go here, I’ll still be able to use your field to block that selyn loss. It won’t be long, Ilyana, just until I can force selyn into him at the vriamic node.”
She looked at Digen through tears, bit her lip, and came into the closest bridge synchronization Digen had ever seen. It has to be good enough, he thought, loosening his hold. He didn’t wait to see if Ilyana was securing the leak, but plunged his hands, wrist deep, into the chest incision, groping for the vriamic node, with his laterals extended.
Unto Zeor, Forever Page 21