by Jim Rudnick
Today he'd learn what the Barony was all about.
She looked to her left and noted the Doge of Conclusion was here, as was Chairman Gramsci of Alex'n, and the Caliph of Neria sat facing half-turned away as he watched his tablet. She hadn't even nodded to him. There was tension in the room, and she was going to put an end to some of it today.
Bustling in late, the Duke d'Avigdor made his apologies, and he was followed in by the Master Adept of Eons.
All seven present and accounted for, and the Chairman banged a single gavel once to call the meeting to order.
"Clerk, read the minutes please for the last meeting—or can we dispense with this as a simple carried?" he asked and looked around the table.
While the general principles of committee meetings were followed, this was much less formal than the full RIM Confederacy Council meetings, the Baroness had learned just a month ago. As this was her second meeting, she signified her agreement by knocking on the table, and the clerk sat down to take this meetings minutes. She nodded a moment later to the chairman and he smiled.
"Today we entertain only one item of major importance, so let's get to it first, shall we?" he asked and received looks of assent from all at the table.
"May I interject here for a moment," the Caliph said, "as this is all about one of our planets, Olbia, and its current state of revolt. Again, as I have stated more than once to all here in our Ansible discussions, this is internal to the Caliphate and has no business at this table. Now or ever. This is interference within our own realm, and we will not stand for it. Now or ever," he said loudly and smacked the table for emphasis.
The Caliph was upset and that's just too, too damn bad, Helena thought.
"May I make a comment," the Master Adept said and the discussion stopped cold.
When an Issian wanted to speak, one was smart to always sit back and listen. The fact that her race, from the planet of Eons, was telepathic and could usually be counted on to see the future under certain circumstances meant that when they talked one listened.
She was a small woman of indeterminate age, but everyone always guessed past at least one hundred years old. The fact that the Issian race lived a long, long life was a part of those estimates, but more than that, no one currently alive could remember a previous Master Adept. That was an item for later discussion, the Baroness thought, and she leaned forward to hear what the woman had to say.
"We have looked ahead, and I believe that I can, to a small degree, help cut down the time to be spent on the discussion of this topic here today. What we know—all of us here—is that the planet has rebelled. Past tense, yes, I used the past tense, and we know that as we too have Issians on the planet who are in contact with us. The whole planet is under revolt, and nothing is being imported—or to the chagrin of the Caliph—exported either. The breadbasket of the Caliphate is no longer producing foods for the rest of their realm. And they say—as you've all heard in the media broadcasts and interviews and all, that they want their freedom from the Caliphate. Or, at a minimum, a planet-wide referendum on their future," she said and her voice got steely at that point, Helena thought.
"We support that planet-wide referendum, and I suspect that many of you here agree. And I can add, that at the end of this meeting, that will be the result—at least that's what the future holds. You have my word as an Adept on that," she finished off and that got them all talking at once.
The chairman let it go for a minute and then another, and as things were not waning, he sighed and picked up the gavel with one of his six arms and banged the table sharply. That brought the talking and yelling to a standstill, and he turned to the Caliph on his left.
"Sharia, what do you think of that idea—the planet-wide referendum? Seems to me to be a viable alternative to what, forced intervention by your Ramat. Troops invading, students and farmers dying ... I think that the rational thing to do would be to think about this, Sharia," he said. He locked two hands together on the desk in front of him while one held a tablet that another was keying something in and another hand toyed with the gavel.
The admiral interrupted the Caliph and held up his hand as if to stop all talk while he spoke.
"Chairman, members, it must be remembered that the planet has right at this moment what they are calling an 'interim' government body, who have requested under our own RIM Confederacy statutes, asked for our support for their rebellion. There is a RIM statue that covers same, so I'm not happy to hear any talk of a Ramat invasion—as it would be met with full military force from our own RIM forces. No one can do what they want—realms included, as there are laws governing this. Laws, as you all know, that protect the rights of all ..." he finished off yet there was no doubt how he saw things.
The Baroness pointed at the admiral.
"Sir, do you mean that if the Ramat landed tomorrow, we—the RIM itself—would meet those forces with our own. War, Sir ... are we talking about a war?" She purposely picked polarized words to ensure he would have to speak plain and others would too.
He looked at each person at the table and then nodded to the table.
"Yes, Baroness. We would fight unlawful aggression with force. Plain and simple," he said and from the tone he used, no one at the table doubted that.
"So," she said, "then it's war ..." she polarized even more.
The room grew silent again and eventually everyone looked at the Caliph. He played with the front of his sash, a shade of brown like the rest of his outfit, and looked lost in thought. His face was tight and no emotion played on it, but most around the table could see the vein in his right temple pulsing and pulsing.
He finally looked up and nodded.
"We will allow the planet to have its referendum—and we would only ask that the RIM Council sanction the referendum. Watch, monitor, and keep it secure. We will agree to that," he said.
There was a general sigh around the room; war had been averted.
But at what cost, the Baroness wondered, and that thought sat on her like a cloud while the rest of the Agenda was slowly checked off.
The chairman stopped at one point though to discuss same at some length.
"Before my time on the Council, I note that there has actually been an answer to the seventy-year-old request from us—the RIM I mean, to talk to the third planet in the UrPoPo system about joining us," he said with a tone that made one think it was pretty much a far-fetched idea. He nodded to the clerk who rose to read back the full content of the communication from these aliens. It seemed that a ship without FTL, had arrived at Juno, requesting landing privileges and a meeting with the RIM Council to discuss the status of that request.
"It appears," the clerk said with a tone too of some kind of astonishment in her voice, "that they are willing to discuss us joining their planet as a part of their realm. We join them with some conditions—again to be discussed at a future time. They delivered their letter to the Customs, Health, and Security officers—well, letter might be stretching it—it came via a probe. The probe, it appears, took almost sixty years to arrive—at least that's what it says at less than FTL, from Enki to Juno. They don't have FTL; which in and of itself might be of interest, 'til you read the letter. They want to work out arrangements to have a single member of the RIM Council, they said, to go to their planet—oh, it's called Enki; they are bipedal bird-like aliens, look much like the UrPoPo race, so we figured it's a split-off race at some point long ago. The full communication letter comes up on the Agenda for the next full RIM Council meeting in almost a month. So this is just an FYI for the executive committee ..."
She sat and the table seemed to let that simmer for a moment, and then the Duke rose to speak after getting an okay from the chair.
"We—well, not us, of course, but the RIM Council seventy years ago offered this planet the opportunity to begin talks for them to join us—as a member of the RIM Confederacy. My grandfather, I believe, was on the executive committee then, but what little I know of that was never couched in terms t
hat we join them. Records will prove me out, I believe ... so this is a simple play in my opinion, to get them some strength of bargaining their role here. I would counsel full communication and yet a firm POV that they are joining us and not the other way around," the Duke said as he sat and the table then pondered his advice.
The chair looked at everyone and noted a general round of agreement with the Duke, and then he slapped the table with his gavel.
"So noted and yes, we agree with the Duke's position. We will send a single RIM Navy ship, plus a couple of attending ships just to show our might, Admiral, to the planet to open up discussions. We would like that to happen immediately, as the distance from Juno to UrPoPo is what, twenty-seven lights ... wait, that's going to take too long to get there, negotiate, and then get back here for the next RIM Council meeting," he said.
The Baroness moved in to take advantage of that opportunity immediately.
"Chairman Gramsci, I would be honored to allow the RIM Navy to ship some of their officers on our own BN Atlas. We could make that trip handily, Sir, and this is, of course, not a problem for us," she said, her voice sweet and mellow.
No matter whom the admiral put on the Atlas, she would ensure that the Atlas crew would be in charge.
The chair once more looked around the table and sensing agreement, pounded the table one more time.
"Done. Clerk, make that a part of the minutes. Admiral, coordinate your group with the captain of the Atlas, and Ma'am, if you can get it here STAT, that'd be swell. Now, next ..." he said.
The clerk rose to once again take on the next Agenda item as the executive committee worked.
At some point, the Duke rose to speak on a matter that was not on the Agenda, but dear to his realm, and she missed the whole thing.
No war meant the referendum would occur, and that almost made her smile.
This was a momentous day, and she was happy. That and the Atlas would now play a major part of bringing in a new Confederacy member.
She stood at the end and carefully did not meet the eyes of anyone else in the room, busying herself instead with her scarf and checking her bag. She was busy and no one else seemed to bother her as they all left the room one by one.
Moving down the hallway, she saw the Master Adept seated in a settee against one wall, talking to one of her acolytes, and she paused in front of them. She simply looked at the older woman, and with others close by, she knew she couldn't say much.
"Thank you, Master, for your presence here today. I had heard that you were not feeling well, so it was good to see you attend the meeting," she said, smiled, and dipped her head.
It was met with a stare back, a soft smile, and a nod.
The Baroness turned back to the hallway and made her way to the elevator down the five floors to the big rotunda of Navy Hall and then by Jeep back out to the landing field and the Compass, to return to the Barony.
She had accomplished her task. The Olbia rebellion was going to be sanctioned by a referendum, and she had a smile for the Master Adept too.
####
"M&M today at 1600 hours, right, Doc?" Maddie said as she passed a surgeon on the ward floor.
He continued to update a chart on his tablet but nodded and said, "big doc will be there, right?" he asked.
"Course, he will, someone has to run the thing," she answered for the third time in the last hour, as she made her rounds.
She had to tell more than fifty doctors they were expected to be at the monthly meeting and no exceptions were allowed. Some ducked her and she had to wander into linen closets and even the men's room up on the thirty-first deck to get a couple more to agree they'd be there.
She had her own list, and she checked off that last doctor on same, and she was done. Finding each of them on M&M day was a chore but one that she relished as the gossip from each was delicious, and she knew some of the bad medicine being practiced here on the Hospital Ship was getting better. Least it was supposed to, she knew, and having finished her monthly task, she went to lunch.
At 1600 hours, in the large conference room on Deck Twenty-four, the Mortality and Morbidity monthly meeting was filling up with doctors and staff, and as each came in, they found their place cards and sat, files put in front of them, ready for reference. Each of them usually then looked at the thick Agenda document that lay in front of them. As usual, each turned to their own section and read, and there were some real shocked looks and some audible sighs.
Maddie noted the doctor in charge of the Radiological Services area looked especially upset as she should be and that the ER doc was all smiles.
More than once, she remembered, the faces had changed during the meeting, and that was still a possibility today too.
She busied herself at her side table, nodded to a steward who held up a carafe, and said, "Black," when asked what she wanted in her coffee.
Moments later, in walked the chief of medicine for the Barony Hospital Ship, Dr. Zacrom Mendoza, an average-sized man of no real distinguishable features. He was seventy-two years old, with graying, thinning hair, and as a cardiac surgeon, he had made the best of his time and his career. He had risen through the ranks from the College of Physicians & Surgeons more than fifty years ago to now being in charge of the complete medical administration here on the ship. He wore, as they all did, scrubs, but he always had a half lab coat on too, pure white with only his name on the left breast pocket.
He smiled at the group of more than fifty doctors in front of him in the room from his place at the head of the table and said simply, "Let's get started, shall we, Doctors?"
He looked down at his Agenda and said as he always did, "For the record, this is the monthly meeting of the Mortality and Morbidity group here on the Barony Hospital Ship. As usual, this is our peer review of mistakes occurring during the care of patients. The objectives of a well-run M&M conference are to learn from complications and errors, to modify behavior and judgment based on previous experiences, and to prevent repetition of errors leading to complications. And as always with the Hospital Ship, our conferences are non-punitive and focus on the goal of improved patient care. The proceedings are generally kept confidential by law," he said.
Nods happened all around the table, and he turned to Maddie.
"Please note, Maddie, that we have ...ah, full attendance, I believe, correct?" he said.
She nodded and said, "Yes, Doctor, all are here."
He nodded back and looked to his far right at the ER section chief and said "ER, please present your monthlies," and he then sat back to listen.
The doctor who ran the ER on the Hospital Ship nodded and then referred to his own files and gave the breakdown of the full medical care the ER had provided over the past month.
Number of patients broken down by triage as to their ailments and injuries; numbers of simple ins and outs, and the percentage was as usual a good ratio; numbers of more detailed maladies then took him almost a full half hour to present and discuss. He said as a simple matter of fact they had issues trying to get other sections to respond STAT at the needs that their patients had presented. This was a standard issue from ER—never fast enough response times from Radiology or Surgery or Psych. But that would never change, yet the head of ER pushed for better response times from all.
Maddie made the notes for the minutes, and on her sheet, she just put SERC, which stood for "standard ER criticism" and later when she'd make the full minutes out, she'd put in the standard four or five paragraphs like she always did. As she wrote, Dr. Mendoza called the next section.
The Research section, headed up by Principal Research Scientist Alex Toombs, always had a spot on the Agenda, but as usual, he didn't have much to report. As they were not involved with patients—human or alien patients not the Garnuthian mice that they imported by the hundreds of dozens—they had little to report. As usual, Toombs was short and curt and didn't bring any files or notes, nor for that matter had he even looked at the Agenda. He had to be here, yet he looked down on medi
cine from his purely research-only pedestal. The fact that he had an MD after his name mattered not a whit to him; he lived and died for research. This meeting was a waste of his time, and his whole demeanor and attitude was that of someone who was not here by choice.
Dr. Mendoza thanked Toombs as usual with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice and then called the next section.
Surgery was a difficult section; there was no doubt about that. By the time a patient got to Surgery, they were sorely in need of help by the most talented of doctors, surgeons. Cardiac surgery, neurosurgery, orthopedics, plastic surgery—all areas that were here to establish and review deaths as part of professional learning and have the potential to provide hospital boards with the assurance that patients were not dying as a consequence of unsafe clinical practices.
Section after section went by, and the numbers presented were all, Maddie noted, within some kind of normality when it came to deaths. Not one single case of poor doctoring appeared at all. So far, so good, she thought. And now to the big one ...
"Fine, ICU, well presented," Doctor Mendoza said and then said, "Radiology is next," and he once again sat back to listen.
"I must say, right up front, that this is wrong. The numbers shown stand for themselves and I will not—Radiology will not—accept this kind of karma. We are the best in the RIM for what it is we do," Doctor Maria Cotton said loudly. She flipped the Agenda away from her, and it sailed halfway across the table.
Doctor Mendoza let that sit for a moment.
"From my understanding, Doctor, nuclear medicine imaging involves the administration into the patient of radiopharmaceuticals consisting of substances with affinity for certain body tissues labeled with radioactive tracers. The most commonly used tracers are technetium-99m, iodine-123, iodine-131, gallium-67, indium-111, thallium-201, and fludeoxyglucose. The heart, lungs, thyroid, liver, gallbladder, and bones are commonly evaluated for particular conditions using these techniques, and you and your department have messed up, Doctor. Again. Once more. As usual," he said and held her gaze.
