“If you don’t resign,” the Senior Physician went on, “it may well be that you will discover firsthand the answer to the question you asked me this morning on the recreation level.”
Cha Thrat remembered that question very well, and the amusement it had caused among the tutor’s friends. She also remembered her initial feelings of shock and shame when her duties as a trainee nurse had been explained to her. Nothing could be more demeaning for a warrior-surgeon than that, she had thought at the time, but she had been wrong.
“I am still ignorant of the laws governing the hospi-tal,” she said. “But 1 realize that I have transgressed them in some fashion and must therefore accept the consequences. I shall not take the easy option.”
O’Mara sighed and said, “It is your decision, ChaThrat.”
Before she could reply, the Nidian Senior Physician was talking again. “Putting it into Maintenance would be a criminal waste,” the tutor protested. “It is the most promising trainee in its class. If we were to wait until the Hredlichli outcry died down, or until the grapevine is overloaded with another scandal, you might be able to find a ward that would take it for a trial period and—”
“Enough,” O’Mara said, visibly relenting. “I don’t believe in having second thoughts because the first are usually right. But I’m tired and hungry and I, too, have had enough of your trainee.
“There is such a ward,” it went on. “FROB Geriatric, which is chronically understaffed and may be desperate enough to accept Cha Thrat. It is not a ward where I would normally assign a trainee who is not of the patients’ own species, but I shall speak to Diagnostician Conway about it at the first opportunity.
“Now go away,” it ended sourly, “before I cast a spell consigning both of you tothe center of the nearest whitedwarf.”
As they were heading for the dining hall, Cresk-Sar said, “It’s a tough ward and, if anything, the work is even harder than a job in Maintenance. But you can say whatever you like to the patients and nobody will mind. Whatever else happens, you can’t get into troublethere.”
The Nidian’s words were positive and reassuring, butits voice carried undertones of doubt.
CHAPTER 7
She was given two extra days off duty, but whether they were a reward for her help with AUGL-One Sixteen or because it took that long for O’Mara to arrange for her transfer to FROB Geriatric, Cresk-Sar would not say. She paid three lengthy visits to One Sixteen in the AUGL ward, during which her reception was enough to turn its tepid water to ice, but she would not risk returning to the recreation level or exploring the hospital. There was less chance of getting into trouble if she stayed in her room and watched the teaching channels.
Tarsedth pronounced her certifiably insane and wondered why O’Mara had not confirmed this diagnosis.
Two days later she was told to present herself at FROB Geriatric in time for morning duty and to make herself known to the DBLF nurse in charge. Cresk-Sar said that it would not need to introduce her on this occasion because Charge Nurse Segroth, and probably every other being on the hospital staff, would have heard all about her by now. That may have been the reason why, on her meticulously punctual arrival, she was given no opportunity to speak.
“This is a surgical ward,” Segroth said briskly, indicating the banks of monitors occupying three walls of the Nurses’ Station. “There are seventy Hudlar patients and 90a nursing staff of thirty-two counting yourself. All the nurses are warm-blooded oxygen-breathers of various species, so you will not need environmental protection other than a gravity compensator and nasal filters. The FROBs are divided into pre- and post-op patients, segregated by a light- and soundproof partition. Until you learn your way around you will not concern yourself, or go anywhere near, a post-op patient.”
Before Cha Thrat had time to say that she understood, the Kelgian ran on. “We have an FROB trainee and classmate here who will, I’m sure, be happy to answer any questions you are afraid to ask me.”
Silvery fur puckered into irregular waves along its flanks in a way, she had learned from observing Tarsedth, that indicated anger and impatience. It continued. “From what I’ve heard of you, Nurse, you are the type who will already have studied the available Hudlar material and will be eager to make a contribution. Don’t even try. This is a special project of Diagnostician Conway, we are breaking new surgical ground here, so your’knowledge is already out of date. Except for those times when you are required by O’Mara for AUGL-One Sixteen, you will do nothing but watch, listen, and occasionally perform a few simple duties at the direction of the more experienced nurses or myself.
“I would not want to be embarrassed,” she ended, “by you producing a miracle cure on your first day.”
It was easy to pick out her FROB classmate from among the other nurses on duty — they were either Kelgian DBLFs or Melfan ELNTs — and even easier to tell it apart from all the FROB patients. She could scarcely believe that there was such a horrifying difference between a mature and an aged Hudlar.
Her classmate’s speaking membrane vibrated quietly on her close approach. It said, “I see you’ve survivedyour first encounter with Segroth. Don’t worry about the Charge Nurse; a Kelgian with authority is even less charming than one without. If you do exactly as it tells you, everything will be fine. I’m glad to see a friendly, familiar face in the ward.”
It was an odd thing to say, Cha Thrat thought, because Hudlars did not possess faces as such. But this one was trying hard to reassure her and she was grateful for that. It had not, however, called he’r by name, and whether the omission was deliberate or due to an oversight she did not know. Perhaps the Hudlars and Chalders had something in common besides great strength. Until she was sure that their names could be used without giving offense, they could call each other “Nurse” or “Hey, you!”
“I’m spraying and sponging-off at the moment,” the Hudlar trainee said. “Would you like to strap on a spare nutrient tank and follow me around? You can meet some of our patients.”
Without waiting for her reply, it went on. “This one you won’t be able to talk to because its speaking membrane has been muffled so that the sounds it makes will not distress the other patients and staff. It is in considerable discomfort that does not respond very well to the pain-killing medication, and, in any case, it is incapable of coherent speech.”
It was immediately obvious that this was not a well Hudlar. Its six great tentacles, which normally supported the heavy trunk in an upright position for the whole of its waking and sleeping life, hung motionless over the sides of its support cradle like rotted tree trunks. The hard patches of callus — the knuckles on which it walked while its digits were curled inward to protect them against contact with the ground — were discolored, dry, and cracking. The digits themselves, usually so steadyand precise in their movements, were twitching in continual spasm.
Large areas of its back and flanks were caked with partially absorbed nutrient paint, which would have to be washed off before the next meal could be sprayed on. As she watched, a milky perspiration was forming on its underside and dripping into the suction pan under its cradle.
“What’s wrong with it?” Cha Thrat asked. “Can it, is it being cured?”
“Old age,” the nurse said harshly. In a more controlled and clinical tone it went on. “We Hudlars are an energy-hungry species with a greatly elevated metabolic rate. With advancing age it is the food absorption and waste elimination mechanisms, both of which are normally under voluntary control, that are first to suffer progressive degeneration. Would you respray this area as soon as I’ve washed off the dried food, please?”