XI

He never knew how or when they slipped him the anesthetic. It might have arrived in his drink, or his food, or the air of his apartment. When he sensed the impending clutch of lugubrious drowsiness he tried to fight back, screaming imprecations and pounding the walls in a futile attempt to stay awake.

As awareness faded he found himself wondering why they suddenly felt the need to render him unconscious. Perhaps they planned to move him to another installation and, mindful of his recent outburst, were taking no chances. Considering his state of mind and demonstrated capabilities, he wouldn’t have taken any chances when moving him either.

He appreciated the fact that oblivion came painlessly, but then Omaphil was a civilized place. He wondered how he would’ve been treated on the Human homeworld. That disagreeable thought was the last he recalled before sliding into a sleep of abyssal dimensions.

A great many individuals were gathered around view-screens scattered throughout the installation and elsewhere on Omaphil. The Surgery itself was uncrowded. First-of-Surgery was among those present, not to perform but to advise and observe. He had been teaching for so long that he no longer felt in possession of the necessary skills required to supervise the delicate operation. But he had been associated with the study from the beginning and realized that his presence would be a comfort to the others.

Another First-of-Surgery would handle the actual mechanics in conjunction with a highly experienced O’o’yan. Together they represented the zenith of Weave medical accomplishment.

Save for a single exception, interested Humans were excluded from the Surgery itself. While it was to be performed on a Human brain, no Human physician could have hoped to duplicate the sureness of movement and delicacy of touch possessed by Hivistahm or O’o’yan. They could only watch and envy.

Though everyone involved exuded confidence and expectation, an undercurrent of unease still permeated the proceedings. While the procedure had been thoroughly discussed and mapped out in advance, everyone realized they were entering unknown territory. Weave study of Homo sapiens had resulted in more than one surprise, not least to its own kind, and while expectations could be formulated, where the Human nervous system was involved nothing was absolute, nothing was certain.

In addition to the Hivistahm-O’o’yan staff there were two Humans in the Surgery: the man on the operating pallet, and a huge coppery-skinned male whose fine long-fingered hands seemed to have been lifted from a different body. Despite possessing skills which rendered him supreme among his people, he was present only to observe and advise. Hands which had worked on hundreds of his own kind would not go near this particular patient, would not in the event of emergency manipulate the microsurgical instrumentation. That would be left to aliens possessed of a touch finer than that of the greatest Human surgeons who had ever lived.

A thin sheet of softly opaque, nonreflective material covered Ranji-arr from the neck down. His forehead gleamed beneath the superb overhead lighting. Due to the nature of the tools which were to be used it had not been necessary to shave his skull. Invisible air clamps locked his head in place, allowing access by hands and equipment but no involuntary movement.

The attending physicians had already performed the operation many times on a virtual-reality simulator. Still, actual reality was different. If you made a mistake, there was no Reset button to push. In actual reality, patients died. So the surgical team was confident, but not certain.

The single Human towered over the roomful of Hivistahm and O’o’yan technicians, looking clumsy and out of place. His presence was something of a concession, and he knew it. Privately he had assured the two surgeons in charge that he would do his best to stay out of their way.

“As we begin,” the Human said through his translator, “I have to remind everyone both present and looking on that we don’t know what the result of our efforts will be. We may as readily kill as cure the subject. As those of you who have been following developments already know, scanning has detected at least one cluster of contained explosively carcinogenic cells implanted within the nodule. Any attempt to remove it would likely release these cells within the brain in a region where any hasty attempt at counteraction or emergency prophylaxis would be at least as damaging to the patient as the cells themselves. A carcinogenic time bomb, if you will.

“If this mechanism were located elsewhere in the body, we might be able to deal with it, but because it is buried deep within the cerebral cortex we cannot take the chance. Therefore it has been decided to leave the nodule in place and untouched while severing the neural connections between it and the rest of the patient’s nervous system with nonintrusive instrumentation. The aim is to render the growth harmless without removing or traumatizing it.”

“Truly this a delicate procedure is,” said First-of-Surgery senior, continuing the explanation for the benefit of onlookers. “As is any manipulation of the interior of the brain.” He turned to the table. “My colleague will now begin.”

The other First-of-Surgery fingered sensitive controls. The operational details had been programmed into the relevant instrumentation earlier, movements and reactions having been gathered from numerous operations carried out in virtual reality. The surgical computer would automatically compensate for any minute differences it detected between its programming and actual reality. Having installed the requisite programming and instructions, the surgeons’ presence was required only in case something went wrong. Should it encounter anything unexpected in the course of the surgery, the master computer would pause the operation and ask for new instructions.

A small metal dish lowered on a gleaming automatic arm until it stopped a few centimeters above Ranji’s skull. Medical scanners were active on both sides. Several small needlelike instruments projected downward from the dish.

“If we missed any neurological booby traps similar to the one we found earlier, we’re likely to lose him,” the tall Human muttered to no one in particular.

First-of-Surgery senior looked on intently as the sonic scalpel hummed softly for a split second. One needle shifted its position infinitesimally on the surface of the dish. Each time the needle moved and hummed a single neuron within Ranji’s brain was severed.

“All that can be done has been done. Scanning was rescanned, computer-enhanced, and scanned afresh. No other ‘traps’ were found.”

“Amplitur nanobioengineering is infernally subtle.”

“Truly. But science it only is, not magic.” A click of sharp teeth emphasized the point.

Monitors scattered throughout the Surgery displayed rock-steady images of the operation as it progressed. They could clearly see the ganglionic complex, the flow of blood through a nearby cerebral capillary, the neurons which connected the nodule to the rest of the patient’s brain. One by one they were neatly severed with impossibly brief, precisely applied bursts of high-frequency sound, progressively isolating the nodule with the intent of rendering it as harmless as a benign tumor.

“I’ve heard,” the tall Human murmured as his attention shifted from monitor to subject and back again, “that there are some on the staff who wouldn’t be particularly distressed if during the course of the operation this patient happened to die. This Ranji-aar’s no monster. He’s a normal Human who had his birthright stolen from him before he was born.”

“I have his genome map seen. You do not me need to convince,” replied First-of-Surgery.

“Sorry.” To his surprise the man found he had bitten his lower lip. He’d never done that before, but then this was no ordinary surgery. There was more than one life at stake here. All of the subject’s friends were also potential candidates for cutting. Though if they failed to restore this first one …

He knew that if he lived to be two hundred he could never hope to match the supernal precision of the medical computer or the programming skill of the Hivistahm, but something within him still made his fingers twitch slightly, as if he and not binary impulses were manipulating the instruments.

First-of-Surgery interrupted his thoughts. “I know of those of whom you speak. They believe that this individual and all like it should on sight be killed. They the interbreeding and contamination fear which could to Amplitur subjugation of the Human species lead.

“They do not individual salvations consider. As physicians we differently think.”

Not to mention how much you can learn from him so long as he lives, the Human surgeon mused. Though he could not condemn the Hivistahm. Not when he felt the same way.

Except for the barely audible, methodical sparking of the scalpel and the click of other instruments the Surgery was as quiet as a tomb. Above the patient nothing moved save the scalpel’s angustipunctal needle.

Only when the gleaming dish rose and withdrew, its programming completed, was the air filled with general conversation in several tongues and the febrile hum of busy translators. The scanners showed the nodule clearly, isolated and no longer connected to the rest of the patient’s brain. Even so, it was far too soon for shouts and hisses of triumph. Apparent success required medical confirmation.

The attending physicians crowded around the various technical stations, anxiously scanning readouts and eyeing monitors. The patient’s cerebrum did not explode. No armies of ravening cells were released from the nodule to destroy his brain. Circulation, respiration, wave functions, and all relevant vital signs read normal. There was no internal bleeding. First-of-Surgery allowed himself to gnash his teeth hopefully.

To the Human physician hardly any time seemed to have elapsed since actual surgery had commenced. He left the monitor he’d been studying to rejoin First-of-Surgery.

“That should do it. When he wakes up he won’t be any different from before, except that for the rest of his life he’ll carry a minuscule knot of useless cells around in his brain, and any Amplitur that tries to give him ‘suggestions’ will be in for a big surprise. Assuming that the operation has restored his nervous system’s natural defensive mechanism, of course.”

“It enough is that he can no longer be subject to their mental whims,” said First-of-Surgery decisively. “That the principal intent of the operation was. If the Human defense also restored is, that is a bonus to him.” First-of-Surgery looked thoughtful. “I also believe the knowledge can and should from the general Weave population be withheld.”

Conversing in low tones, the two physicians left the Surgery, together with the rest of the staff which had supervised the sensitive operation. Their patient remained behind. A second surgical team had entered and was busying itself with checkouts of fresh programming and different instrumentation.

The sonic scalpel had withdrawn into the ceiling. Its position above the recumbent form was now taken by different instruments riding on slightly larger supportive arms. While the nature of the initial procedure had been far more sensitive, the second was to prove messier, for the newly arrived team planned to remove the excess bone from the patient’s cheeks, rebuild his ears, shorten his fingers, and restore additional bone around his unnaturally wide occipital orbits.

It was their intention to render the patient as Human externally as the first team had made him within.

It did not matter that there were no Humans among them. Hivistahm and O’o’yan physicians knew the physiology of Homo sapiens inside and out, having spent much of their careers repairing injured Human soldiers. Artists as much as surgeons, they were completely confident that when the protective wraps were finally removed the patient would resemble anything but a member of a hostile species.

The Human surgeon who’d been present would have preferred to have remained to see that day, but knew how unlikely it was. His presence was required in combat. Few Humans chose anymore to enter professions at which other species excelled. This made the value of those who did so that much greater. The surgeon understood the situation completely. It was both simpler and more gratifying to specialize in what a Human did best.

Killing.