"Over eighteen hours already."

"And how much blood has he received?"

"A dozen liters."

"Any more on hand?"

"Perhaps six more."

"Well, you'd better get it into him. He's in shock right now."

The surgeon scurried away while Dal took another look at the micro
field. The situation was bad; the anaesthesia had already gone on too
long, and the blood chemistry record showed progressive failure.

He stepped down from the platform, trying to clear his head and decide
the right thing to do.

He had done micro-surgery before, plenty of it, and he knew the
techniques necessary to complete the job, but the thought of attempting
it chilled him. At best, he was on unfamiliar ground, with a dozen
factors that could go wrong. By now the patient was a dreadful risk for
any surgeon. If he were to step in now, and the patient died, how would
he explain not calling for help?

He stepped out to the scrub room where Tiger was waiting. "Where's
Jack?" he said.