The Moment of Truth by Brian Stableford

Author:Brian Stableford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, plastic, surgery, medicine, future
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2017-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE FIFTH DAY: EVENING

When Huw Williams had gone Victory drove back to the hospital. He called in at Christina Legrange’s office, but the press officer had already gone home. Majeke was still there, though, off shift but on call. Friday and Saturday evenings were Accident and Emergency’s busiest sessions, and it was rare for one to pass by without half a dozen victims of drunken brawls presenting the kinds of injury that would benefit from the expertise of a plastic surgeon. Broken glass had always been the weapon of first choice in such improvised encounters.

“Shall we get some dinner in the canteen?” Victory asked her. “It’s still early—the rush won’t begin until the pubs begin to empty.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Majeke pointed out. “You could eat somewhere nice. Why aren’t you on your way back to your lovely farmhouse? I thought you didn’t stay in town at weekends.”

“I might drop in on Mrs. Allison later. I was planning to go out to Oxfordshire tonight, but I was delayed at my consulting rooms and it’s beginning to seem that it might not be worth the bother, given that I’m operating on Sunday. I’ll have to make the final preparations tomorrow, so I’ll have to be in Harley Street bright and early. As for the quality of the food—well, it’s only food.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The food was, indeed, only food—but Victory had grown accustomed to eating on the run, fuelling up without paying any particular attention to aesthetic considerations.

“Any problems with my star patients?” he asked her, when they were seated.

“None,” she said. “Both making good progress, both ready for the final phases of their respective treatments. Thankfully, the two I took over yesterday are doing just as well. I wish I could claim the credit, but it’s all down to the cleverness of the machinery.”

“Take the credit,” Victory advised her. “If and when anything does go wrong with the clever machinery, we’ll certainly have to take the blame—at least until the happy day comes when AIs can be hauled into the dock at the Old Bailey to answer for their misdeeds. Have you talked to Mrs. Allison at all?”

“Are you kidding? To her, I’m just one more skivvy. She might condescend to chat with you, but there’s no one else in the hospital that measures up to her Olympian standards. Did you meet Gregory the Great this morning?”

“We shook hands and chatted briefly,” Victory admitted. “I had to rush off, as usual. I regret it now; it might have been useful to have a more serious conversation with the great man, about his plans for Amahl’s future.”

“Does he have any plans for Amahl’s future? I wouldn’t put it past him to have arranged the boy’s treatment purely and simply to provide a shield to deflect press attention away from his wife’s treatment. Is that too cynical, do you think?”

“Yes it is,” Victory told her. “Mrs. Allison could have booked in months ago if she’d always planned to be here at the same time as Amahl.

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