Chapter 6: Tiger Makes a Promise

“I think,” Black Doctor Hugo Tanner said ominously, “that an explanation is in order. I would now like to hear it. And believe me, gentlemen, it had better be a very sensible explanation, too.”

The pathologist was sitting in the control room of the Lancet, his glasses slightly askew on his florid face. He had climbed through the entrance lock ten minutes before, shaking snow off his cloak and wheezing like a boiler about to explode; now he faced the patrol ship’s crew like a small but ominous black thundercloud. Across the room, Jack Alvarez was staring through the viewscreen at the blizzard howling across the landing field below, a small satisfied smile on his face, while Tiger sulked with his hands jammed into his trousers. Dal sat by himself feeling very much alone, with Fuzzy peering discreetly out of his jacket pocket.

He knew the Black Doctor was speaking to him, but he didn’t try to reply. He had known from the moment the surgeon came out of the operating room that he was in trouble. It was just a matter of time before he would have to answer for his decision here, and it was even something of a relief that the moment came sooner rather than later.

And the more Dal considered his position, the more indefensible it appeared. Time after time he had thought of Dr. Arnquist’s words about judgment and skill. Without one the other was of little value to a doctor, and whatever his skill as a surgeon might have been in the Moruan operating room, he now realized that his judgment had been poor. He had allowed himself to panic at a critical moment, and had failed to see how far the surgery had really progressed. By deciding to wait for help to arrive instead of taking over at once, he had placed the patient in even greater jeopardy than before. In looking back, Dal could see clearly that it would have been far better judgment to proceed on his own.

But that was how it looked now, not then, and there was an old saying that the “retrospectoscope” was the only infallible instrument in all medicine.

In any event, the thing was done, and couldn’t be changed, and Dal knew that he could only stand on what he had done, right or wrong.

“Well, I’m waiting,” Black Doctor Tanner said, scowling at Dal through his thick-rimmed glasses. “I want to know who was responsible for this fiasco, and why it occurred in the first place.”

Dal spread his hands hopelessly. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “I took a careful history of the situation as soon as we arrived here, and then I examined the patient in the operating room. I thought the surgery might be over my head, and couldn’t see attempting it if a hospital ship could be reached in time. I thought the patient could be maintained safely long enough for us to call for help.”

“I see,” the Black Doctor said. “You’ve done micro-surgery before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And organ transplant work?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Black Doctor opened a folder and peered at it over his glasses. “As a matter of fact, you spent two solid years in micro-surgical training in Hospital Philadelphia, with all sorts of glowing reports from your preceptors about what a flair you had for the work.”

Dal shook his head. “I--I did some work in the field, yes, but not on critical cases under field conditions.”

“You mean that this case required some different kind of technique than the cases you’ve worked on before?”

“No, not really, but--”

“But you just couldn’t quite shoulder the responsibility the job involved when you got into a pinch without any help around,” the Black Doctor growled.

“I just thought it would be safer to wait,” Dal said helplessly.

“A good conservative approach,” Dr. Tanner sneered. “Of course, you realized that prolonged anaesthesia in itself could threaten that patient’s life?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you saw the patient’s condition steadily deteriorating while you waited, did you not?”

“It was too late to change my mind then,” Dal said desperately. “We’d sent for you. We knew that it would be only a matter of hours before you arrived.”

“Indeed,” the Black Doctor said. “Unfortunately, it takes only seconds for a patient to cross the line between life and death, not hours. And I suppose you would have stood there quietly and allowed him to expire if we had not arrived at the time we did?”

Dal shook his head miserably. There was nothing he could answer to that, and he realized it. What could he say? That the situation seemed quite different now than it had under pressure in the Moruan operating room? That he would have been blamed just as much if he had gone ahead, and then lost the case? His fingers stole down to Fuzzy’s soft warm body for comfort, and he felt the little creature cling closer to his side.

The Black Doctor looked up at the others. “Well? What do the rest of you have to say?”

Jack Alvarez shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not a surgeon,” he said, “but even I could see that something should be done without delay.”

“And what does the Green Doctor think?”

Tiger shrugged. “We misjudged the situation, that’s all. It came out fortunately for the patient, why make all this fuss about it?”

“Because there are other things at stake than just medical considerations,” the Black Doctor shot back. “This planet has a grade I contract with Hospital Earth. We guarantee them full medical coverage of all situations and promise them immediate response to any call for medical help that they may send us. It is the most favorable kind of contract we have; when Morua VIII calls for help they expect their call to be answered by expert medical attention, not by inept bungling.”

The Black Doctor leafed through the folder in his hands. “We have built our reputation in the Galactic Confederation on this kind of contract, and our admission to full membership in the Confederation will ultimately depend upon how we fulfill our promises. Poor medical judgment cannot be condoned under any circumstances--but above all, we cannot afford to jeopardize a contract.”

Dal stared at him. “I--I had no intention of jeopardizing a contract,” he faltered.

“Perhaps not,” the Black Doctor said. “But you were the doctor on the spot, and you were so obviously incompetent to handle the situation that even these clumsy Moruan surgeons could see it. Their faith in the doctors from Hospital Earth has been severely shaken. They are even talking of letting their contract lapse at the end of this term.”

Tiger Martin jumped to his feet. “Doctor Tanner, even Four-star Surgeons lose patients sometimes. These people should be glad that the doctor they call has sense enough to call for help if he needs it.”

“But no help was needed,” the Black Doctor said angrily. “Any half-decent surgeon would have handled the case. If the Moruans see a patrol ship bring in one incompetent doctor, what are they going to expect the next time they have need for help? How can they feel sure that their medical needs are well taken care of?” He shook his head grimly. “This is the sort of responsibility that doctors on the patrol ships are expected to assume. If you call for help where there is need for help, no one will ever complain; but when you turn and run the moment things get tough, you are not fit for patrol ship service.”

The Black Doctor turned to Dal Timgar. “You had ample warning,” he said. “It was clearly understood that your assignment on this ship depended upon the fulfillment of the duties of Red Doctor here, and now at the first real test you turn and run instead of doing your job. All right. You had your opportunity. You can’t complain that we haven’t given you a chance. According to the conduct code of the General Practice Patrol, section XIV, paragraph 2, any physician in the patrol on probationary status who is found delinquent in executing his duties may be relieved of his assignment at the order of any Black Doctor, or any other physician of four-star rank.” Doctor Tanner closed the folder with a snap of finality. “It seems to me that the case is clear. Dal Timgar, on the authority of the Code, I am now relieving you of duty--”

“Just a minute,” Tiger Martin burst out.

The Black Doctor looked up at him. “Well?”

“This is ridiculous,” Tiger said. “Why are you picking on him? Or do you mean that you’re relieving all three of us?”

“Of course I’m not relieving all three of you,” the Black Doctor snapped. “You and Dr. Alvarez will remain on duty and conduct the ship’s program without a Red Doctor until a man is sent to replace this bungler. That also is provided for in the code.”

“But I understood that we were operating as a diagnostic and therapeutic team,” Tiger protested. “And I seem to remember something in the code about fixing responsibility before a man can be relieved.”

“There’s no question where the responsibility lies,” the Black Doctor said, his face darkening. “This was a surgical problem, and Dal Timgar made the decisions. I don’t see anything to argue.”

“There’s plenty to argue,” Tiger said. “Dal, don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”

Across the room Dal shook his head wearily. “You’d better keep out of it, Tiger,” he said.

“Why should I keep out of it and let you be drummed out of the patrol for something that wasn’t even your fault?” Tiger said. He turned angrily to the Black Doctor. “Dal wasn’t the one that wanted the hospital ship called,” he said. “I was. If you’re going to relieve somebody, you’d better make it me.”