James White - The Galactic Gourmet

During the return flight the Wem did not spare so much as a glance at the medical team who were working on Creethar, nor did it speak another word to Gurronsevas or anyone else. He tried to imagine how he would have felt if one of his children, supposing there had been any, had been seriously injured and he had been offered the chance to watch the surgeons working on it.

Perhaps Remrath was right and his remark had been most insensitive.

Unlike Remrath, Gurronsevas could not avoid seeing or at least hearing everything that was being done. Each stage of the procedure was being relayed onto the casualty deck’s large repeater screen and, since it was the first major operation on a life-form new to the Federation, the procedure was being recorded for future study, which meant that the accompanying verbal commentary was precise and detailed. Even when he directed all of his eyes away from the screen, he could not escape the word-pictures that the voices were painting.

Beyond the direct vision port the steep green slopes of the valley dimmed gradually into the monochrome of twilight and then to the near-absolute darkness that was possible only on a moonless world in a galactic sector where the star-systems were sparse, and still they worked and talked over the patient. But as the first grey hint of dawn diluted the blackness, the work slowed to a stop and the commentary went into the summation phase.

The voices were sounding increasingly concerned.“… You will observe,” Prilicla was saying, “that the simple and complicated fractures to the leg, fore-limb, and rib cage have been reduced and immobilized where necessary, and the incised and lacerated wounds and abrasions irrigated, sutured and covered with sterile dressings. Because of the Wem physiological data furnished by Tawsar and Remrath, no difficulties were experienced during the surgical repair work. It is the minor injuries, the areas of surface laceration or abrasion associated with the fractures, which are the major cause of concern and which make the prognosis uncertain …”

“Translated,” said Naydrad, its pointed head turning toward Gurronsevas, “it means the operation was a success but the patient will probably die.”

None of the others remonstrated with it. Probably the Charge Nurse was saying only what the medical team was already thinking.“… While it is unnecessary to remind some of you,” Prilicla went on, for the non-medical Gurronsevas’s benefit, “that pathogens evolved on one world cannot affect the life-forms of another, the same cannot be said for the curative medication used by different species. We have developed a single, emergency-use specific that is effective against infections of this type found in the majority of the warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing life-forms, but there are a few species on whom the medication is lethal. Even with Sector General’s facilities a lengthy investigation — two or three weeks, at minimum — would be required before it could be declared safe for use on a Wem patient. We took a small risk with the anesthetic …”

“We may have to take the big one, Doctor,” Murchison broke in sharply. Then in a more clinical voice, it went on, “The patient is severely debilitated, initially by its injuries, then by the continuing trauma of its long journey without treatment, and now by unavoidable post-operative shock. The shock is being controlled, but the only positive measures we have been able to take are running in pure oxygen and intravenous feeding lines. At least we know enough about the Wem basic metabolism not to poison it with an IV drip.

“Whether or not to risk using Wem-untested medication is a decision that will have to be made very soon,” Murchison went on. “Thankfully it isn’t mine to make. I don’t have to mention the Cromsaggar Incident, because we must all be remembering it, when Lioren used untested medication and came close to committing species genocide. It isn’t the fault of the Wem that they know nothing about the treatment of even the simplest injuries or infections. Seemingly, they have learned to accept the idea that a minor injury nearly always results in death or permanent disability. So they have passed responsibility for Creethar’s treatment to us, the wonderful, medically advanced off-worlders. And what are we doing? We are trusting to the patient’s natural resistance to fight off what should be a minor infection.

“In its present condition I doubt whether the patient has any resistance left.”

“The decision is …” began Prilicla, then interrupted itself. “Gurronsevas, you are emoting very strongly, a combination of impatience, irritation and frustration characteristic of a person who is in disagreement but wants badly to speak. Quickly please, what is it that you want to say?”

“Pathologist Murchison is too critical of the Wem,” Gurronsevas replied. “And wrong. They do treat minor, non-surgical ailments. Usually the kitchen staff double as healers, so that—”

“Are they better healers than they are cooks?” Naydrad broke in, its fur tufting with impatience.

“I am not qualified,” said Gurronsevas, “to give an opinion on medical matters, but I wanted to—”

“Then why,” said Murchison sharply, “are you interrupting a clinical discussion?”

“Please go on, Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla, gently but very firmly. “I feel you wanting to help.”

As briefly as possible he described one of his recent food experiments in the mine kitchen, where he was continually trying to find combinations of taste and consistency that would lift the vegetable meals to a level where, so far as the tradition-bound Wem were concerned, they would compete successfully with their remembered meat dishes. He had been trying every variety of root, leaf and berry that he could find, including those he found in a small and apparently little-used storage cupboard. His first attempt to incorporate them into a main dish had led to much unexplained hilarity among the kitchen staff until Remrath had told him that he was using stale materials from their medicinal herbs store.

“From the discussion that followed,” he went on, “I learned that, while the Wem would not cut surgically into a living body, they use herbal remedies to treat simple medical conditions. Respiratory difficulties, problems encountered with the evacuation of body wastes, and superficial wounds are treated in this way, usually with hot poultices made from a paste of certain clays and herbs, and grasses to bind the poultice together and allow easier application to the injured area. When I asked them about your patient’s injuries, Remrath said that Creethar was seriously and irreparably damaged, that parts of his body had been broken, and that treating the superficial damage would merely prolong suffering that had already gone on for far too long.”

While he had been speaking, Prilicla had alighted on the bottom edge of Creethar’s bed and was watching Gurronsevas, as silent and still as all the others. The patient’s respirator was beginning to sound loud.

Hesitantly, he went on, “If, if I understand you correctly, Creethar’s internal injuries, the fractures, have been treated and it is the surface wounds that are causing concern. That was why I mentioned—”

“Gurronsevas, I’m sorry,” Murchison broke in again, “I did not think you could make any contribution, and impatience made me forget my manners. Even with the availability of these local folk-remedies whose effectiveness is still in doubt, we may not be able to cure our patient. But its chances have improved.”

The pathologist laughed suddenly, but it was the sharp, barking sound which, Gurronsevas thought, indicated a release of tension rather than amusement. It went on, “But just look at us! We have the most technologically advanced ambulance ship in known space with, I say in all modesty, a medical team with the experience to match it, and we’re back to using dark-age poultices! When Peter gets to hear about this, he will never let us live it down. Especially if the treatment works.”