Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [27]
The med droids were on hand to administer drugs and monitor and record the procedures. Chief neurologist Lial Sompa wasn't expecting any surprises. The patient's vitals were excellent, and the chances of his going into shock or cardiac arrest were nominal. He had the heart and lungs of a thirty-year-old—literally—and the kidneys, spleen, pancreas, and liver of someone half his chronological age. For weeks following the most recent nerve splicing and deep neuron stimulation, he had been in and out of consciousness, experiencing sleep–wake cycles, tossing and turning, talking out loud, grinding his teeth, laughing and crying, perhaps in reaction to some of the lucid dreams Sompa had been feeding him for more than a decade now. In effect, the patient was surfacing like a deep-sea diver on a water-world—slowly and methodically, to keep from going into decompression sickness. Assured of success, Sompa had ordered the feeding tube removed.
“You're too sure of yourself,” Ril Bezant said. A Twi'lek, she was Aurora's most celebrated psychotherapist. “We've been at this same juncture more times than I can count.”
“This time will be different,” Sompa promised.
“I find it morally indefensible that you continue to devote half the resources of the facility to a pet project.”
Sompa's head tresses took on sudden color. “Need I remind you that you are here only to observe?”
“I wouldn't want it any other way, Lial.”
Sompa gazed at her. “Why is it you seem determined to see this man die?”
“No more determined than you are to keep him alive at any cost— if we concede to call this living.”
“I want him more than alive.”
“You're not omnipotent, no matter what they told you at the Rhinnal Academy.”
“I'm profoundly aware of my limitations.”
“Then you've done a fine job of fooling many of us all these years.” Bezant gestured to one of the display screens. “Reticular formation damage remains extensive. Segregated corticothalamic networks show limited connectivity and only partial functional integrity … Even if he does emerge, the chances for viability are minimal.”
Sompa directed his response to the entire team. “We have kept his body alive. His muscles have been stimulated and kept healthy. Failing organs have been replaced. His blood has been cleansed. Cerebral damage notwithstanding, I'm confident we have kept his mind as sound as we have kept his body.”
“Meat can be kept frozen,” Bezant countered. “Beings can be preserved in carbonite. But the sentient brain isn't a muscle.”
“We have given him dreams and memories. His mind is healthy.”
“Implanted memories,” Bezant said more firmly. “Memories of a life he hasn't lived. Even if he does awaken, he'll be a psychological mess.”
Sompa was dismissive. “Side effects we can treat with therapy. As easily dealt with as recurrent dreams.”
“He'll be in therapy for the rest of his life.”
“Many have who didn't sustain the neural damage he did.”
Bezant exhaled in defeat, her lekku quivering. “I'll never understand this, Lial. You already have a shelf full of Faan'er awards.”
“This isn't about prizes, Doctor.”
“Then, what? You can't possibly believe this approach has universal application. Most of the beings who receive treatments here could scarcely spend what it has cost to keep this one on ice.”
“Dr. Sompa,” the 2-1B interrupted.
Sompa turned in time to see the patient's eyes flutter, blink, then snap open, blue irises staring up into an assortment of human, alien, and droid faces.
“Some disconjugate motion of the optical orbs,” the same droid said.
“Lower the lights,” Sompa said, eyes fixed on the displays dedicated to heartbeat and respiration rates. Leaning slightly toward the patient, he said in a soft voice: “Captain Jadak.”
Jadak's irises dilated, and