But that was how it looked _now_, not _then_, and there was an old saying that the "retrospectoscope" was the only infallible instrument in all medicine. In any event, the thing was done, and couldn't be changed, and Dal knew that he could only stand on what he had done, right or wrong. "Well, I'm waiting," Black Doctor Tanner said, scowling at Dal through his thick-rimmed glasses. "I want to know who was responsible for this fiasco, and why it occurred in the first place." Dal spread his hands hopelessly. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "I took a careful history of the situation as soon as we arrived here, and then I examined the patient in the operating room. I thought the surgery might be over my head, and couldn't see attempting it if a hospital ship could be reached in time. I thought the patient could be maintained safely long enough for us to call for help." "I see," the Black Doctor said. "You've done micro-surgery before?" "Yes, sir." "And organ transplant work?" "Yes, sir." The Black Doctor opened a folder and peered at it over his glasses. "As a matter of fact, you spent two solid years in micro-surgical training in Hospital Philadelphia, with all sorts of glowing reports from your preceptors about what a flair you had for the work." Dal shook his head. "I--I did some work in the field, yes, but not on critical cases under field conditions." "You mean that this case required some different kind of technique than the cases you've worked on before?" "No, not really, but--" "But you just couldn't quite shoulder the responsibility the job involved when you got into a pinch without any help around," the Black Doctor growled. "I just thought it would be safer to wait," Dal said helplessly. "A good conservative approach," Dr. Tanner sneered. "Of course, you realized that prolonged anaesthesia in itself could threaten that patient's life?" "Yes, sir." "And you saw the patient's condition steadily deteriorating while you waited, did you not?" "It was too late to change my mind then," Dal said desperately. "We'd sent for you. We knew that it would be only a matter of hours before you arrived." "Indeed," the Black Doctor said. "Unfortunately, it takes only seconds for a patient to cross the line between life and death, not hours. And I suppose you would have stood there quietly and allowed him to expire if we had not arrived at the time we did?" Dal shook his head miserably. There was nothing he could answer to that, and he realized it. What could he say? That the situation seemed quite different now than it had under pressure in the Moruan operating room? That he would have been blamed just as much if he had gone ahead, and then lost the case? His fingers stole down to Fuzzy's soft warm body for comfort, and he felt the little creature cling closer to his side. The Black Doctor looked up at the others. "Well? What do the rest of you have to say?"