James White - The Genocidal Healer

At the adjacent desk, Cha Thrat was concentrating even more intently on its screen as it pretended not to listen. For some reason Lioren’s problems, and some of his suggested solutions, had been a source of considerable amusement over the past few days, but this time it was going to be disappointed.

“The reason for my silence,” he replied, “is that I was concentrating on clearing the routine work so as to have more time available for Seldal. There is no specific problem, merely a discouraging lack of progress in every direction.”

Braithwaite removed its hands from his desk and straightened up. Showing its teeth, it asked, “In which direction are you progressing least?”

Lioren made the Gesture of Impatience with two of his medial limbs and said, “It is difficult to quantify negative progress. Over the past few days I have observed Seldal’s performance of major surgery and discussed the subject’s behavior with other observers, during which information emerged which was not available from its psych file. The new material is based on unsupported gossip and may not be entirely factual. The subject is highly respected and popular among its medical subordinates. This popularity seems to be deserved rather than deliberately sought. I cannot find any abnormality in this entity.”

“Obviously that is not your final conclusion,” said Braithwaite, “or you wouldn’t be trying to free more time for the investigation. How do you plan to spend this time?”

Lioren thought for a moment, then said, “Since it will not always be possible to question observers or its OR staff without revealing the reason for my questions, I shall have to ask—”

“No!” Braithwaite said sharply, the hairy crescents on its face lowering so that they almost hid its eyes. “You must not question the subject directly. If you should discover anything amiss, report it to O’Mara and do or say nothing to Seldal itself. You will please remember that.”

“I am unlikely to forget,” Lioren said quietly, “what happened the last time I used my initiative.”

For a moment there was neither sound nor movement from Cha Thrat or Braithwaite, but the Earth-human’s facial pigmentation was deepening in color. Lioren went on. “I was about to say that I would have to question Seldal’s patients, discreetly, in the hope of detecting by hearsay any unusual changes in the subject’s behavior during its visits before and after surgery. For this I need a list and present locations of Seldal’s post-op patients and the timing of its ward rounds so that I can talk to them without meeting the subject itself. To avoid comment by the ward staff concerned it would be better if someone other than myself requested this information.”

Braithwaite nodded its head. “A sensible precaution. But what will be your excuse for speaking to these patients and for talking to them about Seldal?”

“The reason I shall give for visiting them,” Lioren replied, “will be to ask for any comments or criticism they may have regarding the environmental aspects of their various recovery wards, since this is an important nonmedical aid to recuperation and the department carries out such checks from time to time. I shall not ask the patients about their medical condition or their surgeon. But I have no doubt that both subjects will arise naturally and, while pretending disinterest, I shall gather as much information as I can.”

“A finely woven, intricate, and well-concealed spell,” Cha Thrat said before Braithwaite could speak. “My compliments, Lioren. Already you show promise of becoming a great wizard.”

Braithwaite nodded its head again. “You seem to be covering all eventualities. Is there any other information or help you need?”

“Not at present,” Lioren said.

He was not being completely truthful, because he wanted clarification of Cha Thrat’s compliment, which, to a highly qualified former medic like himself, had verged on the insulting. Perhaps “spell” and “wizard,” which were words that Cha Thrat used frequently, had different meanings on Sommaradva than on Tarla. But it seemed that his curiosity was soon to be satisfied, because the Sommaradvan wanted to see a Tarlan trainee wizard at work.

The choice of the first patient was forced on him because the other two were beginning their rest periods and Psychology Department staff had no authority to intervene during clinical treatment, which included interrupting a patient’s sleep. The interview promised to be the most difficult and delicate of the three cases Braithwaite had listed for him.

“Are you sure you want to talk to this one, Lioren?” Cha Thrat asked with the small upper-limb movements that he had learned signified deep concern. “This is a very sensitive case.”

Lioren did not reply at once. It was a truism accepted on every inhabited world of the Federation that medics made the worst patients. Not only was this one a healer of the highest professional standing, the interview would have to be conducted with great care because patient Mannen’s condition was terminal.

“I dislike wasting time,” Lioren said finally, “or an opportunity.”

“Earlier today,” Cha Thrat said, “you told Braithwaite that you had learned your lesson regarding the too-free use of initiative. With respect, Lioren, it was impatience and your refusal to waste time that caused the Cromsag Incident.”

Lioren did not reply.

Mannen was an Earth-human DBDG, of advanced age for that comparatively short-lived species, who had come to Sector General after graduating with the highest honors at its home world’s foremost teaching hospital. It had quickly been promoted to Senior Physician and within a few years to the post of Senior Tutor, when its pupils had included such present members of the medical hierarchy as Conway, Prilicla, and Edanelt, until it relinquished the position to Cresk-Sar on its elevation to Diagnostician. Inevitably the time had come when the establishment’s most advanced medical and mechanical aids were no longer capable of extending its life, even though its level of mentation remained as sharp and clear as that of a young adult.

Ex-Diagnostician and current-patient Mannen lay in a private compartment off the main DBDG medical ward, with biosensors monitoring its vital signs and the usual life-support mechanisms absent at its own request. Its clinical condition was close to critical but stable, and its eyes had remained closed, indicating that it was probably unconscious or asleep. Lioren had been surprised and pleased when they found the patient unattended, because Earth-humans were numbered among the intelligent species who liked the company of family or friends at ending of life. But his surprise had disappeared when the ward’s Charge Nurse informed them that the patient had had numerous visitors who had left or been sent away within a few moments of arrival.

“Let us leave before it awakens,” Cha Thrat said very quietly. “Your excuse for being here, to ask if it is satisfied with the room’s environmental system, is, in the circumstances, both ridiculous and insensitive. Besides, not even O’Mara can work a spell on an unconscious mind.”

For a moment Lioren studied the monitor screens, but he could not recall the values he had learned so long ago regarding the measurement of Earth-human life processes. This room was a quiet and private place, he thought, in which to ask personal questions.

“Cha Thrat,” he asked softly, “what precisely do you mean by working a spell?”

It was a simple question that required a long and complicated answer, and the process was neither shortened nor simplified by Cha Thrat breaking off every few minutes to look worriedly toward the patient.

The Sommaradvan culture was divided into three distinct levels of person — serviles, warriors, and rulers — and the medical fraternities responsible for their welfare were similarly stratified.