Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [71]
“Brilliant.” Uli shook his head. Fates save him from literal-minded droids. But there was no time to be annoyed at the MD-S3. The appendix was swollen to what looked like four times normal size, though its unusual location made it hard to see even though he now knew where it was. His mind ran through various choices. He’d have to open the man up a bit more, or get an endoscopic arm in to snip and glue … yeah, that would be the best way. Least invasive.
“Extrude a number six endoscope with an SS clamp and seal off that appendix.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Another thin appendage snaked from the droid’s housing. This one bore a two-tined fork. The upper one was a self-cleaning cam lens, while the lower tine, five centimeters longer, held an open surgical-steel clamp. The droid deftly inserted the arm into the patient. The holo appeared over the man, showing the fork’s progress.
Unerringly, the droid positioned the clamp at the base of the inflamed appendix and then snapped it shut. A second arm, an endosnipper, slid in and, with an actinic flash of laser light, removed the appendix. A vacuum attachment sucked out any possible contaminants. The droid removed the surgical arms and tissue.
Uli breathed easier. “Do a scan of the appendix for any pathogens and order antigen motes effective for anything you find.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Send me a copy of the lab work and prescriptions.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Okay. Close him up and have an orderly take him to the ward.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Uli turned away from the patient. Before such things as axial scans and precision surgical droids, they might have lost this patient, digging around looking for a lost appendix that was about to pop. But the major would survive, and likely go on to slaughter hundreds or maybe thousands more people before the war ended.
The irony of it all wasn’t hard to see.
SUPERLASER FIRE CONTROL, THETA SECTOR, DEATH STAR
“So whaddya think, Chief?” Mekkar Doan slapped the main control console.
Tenn Graneet grinned at his fellow petty officer. “Oh, it’s a first-class craft, right enough.”
The two men were standing in a small nexus chamber overlooking the eight radiating particle accelerator tubes designed to feed the superlaser beam. The walls were covered with readout meters, fluctuating bar graph monitors, banks of controls, and other equipment. Much of it was beyond CPO Tenn Graneet’s knowledge, but that was all right. He didn’t need to know everything about how it worked. He just had to be able to work it.
Chief Doan laughed. “You think you can shoot it, once everything’s hooked up?”
Tenn gave him a fake astonished look. “You shot it, didn’t you? When I can’t hit anything you can, I’ll retire.”
“You read the specs?”
Tenn nodded. “Yeah. It could be a planet cracker, if it works like it’s supposed to.”
“Engineers say it will.”
“Engineers.” Tenn put a considerable amount of sarcasm in the word.
“Yeah, I hear that. But they’re pulling out all the stops on this baby.” He rubbed his hand on the control console. “Any problem they had, they threw enough money at it to bury it to the rails. We’ll have the power, no worries there.”
“And if somebody didn’t forget to dog a bolt tight, maybe it won’t blow us all to the other side of the Rim.”
“Hey, I’m telling you, word is the worst piece of gear on it is still triple redundant.”
“I had a nephew who was a deck monkey on the Battle Lance,” Tenn said.
Doan’s smile faded. “Yeah. I knew a couple of guys shipped on her. It was a freak accident.”
“Maybe. A backfire could overload the HM reactor and turn this station into radioactive dust, too.”
Doan shook his head. “Never happen. They got the Emperor himself looking over their shoulders on this one. They won’t frip it up.”
Tenn shrugged. There was little point in worrying about equipment failure. If the thing worked, it would prove the Death Star to be, as Tarkin had put it in one of his many inspirational addresses to the station’s population, “The ultimate power in the galaxy.” If it didn’t work—well, the