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myself as I accessed the panel and activated one of the table scanners. This junk seemed to take forever to scan the body and chest cavity before it extrapolated a diagnosis.
    “Pneumothorax, right lung,” I said, reading the displayed results out loud. “Multiple fractures in both arm hocks and seven ribs. Looks like one of those pierced the gland cluster behind the cardiac organ.”
    TssVar was indeed very efficient.
    On top of that, Shropana’s heart displayed the unmistakable signs of severe coronary arterial disease. As if I didn’t have enough of a challenge to deal with. I checked the other scanner.
    “Head wound is superficial. No sign of subdural hematoma.” I inspected the laser rig as I powered it up. “All right, people, we’re going to have our hands full. He’s a myocardial infarction waiting to happen.” I checked and saw the Hsktskt standing at the back of some nurses. “OverLord, you’ll want to come inside the field perimeter now.”
    The Hsktskt quickly stepped forward. He must have remembered the last time he encountered the bioelectrical wall—also the last time he’d seen me at work, back on K-2, when I’d delivered his mate’s quintuplets. At gunpoint.
    The glamorous life of an intergalactic surgeon. Maybe I should have listened to Dhreen and opened a restaurant on K-2. “Activate sterile field.”
    The static buzz was followed by the whispered suction of the air replacement unit. I pulled down the rig and checked the settings. The beam regulator badly needed calibration, and I had to fool with the stream injector for a minute before it produced the proper bandwidth. My arm hurt, but not enough to make it difficult to handle the instruments.
    “Tell me something,” I asked no one in particular. “How is it that the League will waste untold millions of credits tracking down a single Terran female, but won’t spend a tiny fraction of that upgrading and maintaining its own medical equipment?”
    No one answered.
    “Stats.” When I got no answer, I glared at the nurse handling the Colonel’s anesthesia. “Well? Are you taking a nap over there, or what?”
    “He’s barely stable,” she said, muttering under her mask. “You should know.”
    I powered down and pushed the rig to one side. The slave brand under my gown throbbed in time with the invisible hammers on each side of my head.
    I didn’t really have the time to do this, I thought, as I surveyed the numerous insubordinate eyes watching me. However, that was one thing I learned in my first year of residency—if you wanted to be in charge, you’d damn well better
act
like it.
    “Okay, children,” I said, insulting the group at large. “Here’s how it works.
I
am the surgeon.
You
are the surgical support team.
I
ask questions.
You
answer me.
I
cut.
You
mop up the blood. If you won’t do that, get out and send in someone who will.”
    The League med pros exchanged glances. One of the male residents cleared his throat.
    There’s always one brave one. “You have a comment you’d like to make, resident?”
    “You turned the fleet over to the Hsktskt,” he said, glancing nervously at the OverLord. “Why should you wish to save the Colonel’s life now?”
    TssVar made an ugly sound.
    Brave, and possibly suicidal. “As I recall, you people were prepared to destroy an entire world to get me. The way I see it, we’re even. Got it?”
    Everyone appeared to get it.
    “Good. Now, can we do this, or watch him die?” I waited for the length of a heartbeat. “Stats.”
    The nurse sounded furious, but she rattled off the appropriate readings. My instrument nurse positioned her setup tray. The interns moved in to assist.
    Hey, it worked.
    I silently released the breath I’d been holding, reactivated the rig and pulled down the lascalpel. The bright optic lights made Shropana’s hairy torso appear bloated and purplish.
    “Here we go.” I made the initial incision and pulled the beam down the median line from his chest,