"You were younger," she said slowly, giving herself time to think. "I don't remember that beard."
His hands touched it. "Oh… yes. It does make a difference, I suppose. And it's been over forty years for you, even if most of that wasn't real time. I mean waketime. I was just so glad to see your name come up on the boards. I suppose you never knew that it was that hospital tour that got me into medicine, and beyond that into the Oddballs -"
"I'm glad," she said. What was his name? He had worn a big square nameplate that day; she could remember that it was green with black lettering, but not what the name was.
"Jerik," he said now, relieving her of that anxiety. "Doctor Jerik now, but jerik to you, of course. I'm an epidemiologist, currently stranded in Admin because my boss is on leave."
He had the collar pin of an honor graduate and the second tiny chip of diamond which meant he was also an Adept. It was not something to speak of, but it meant he was not just out here blathering away for nothing. His pose of idle chatter and innocent enthusiasm was just that - a pose.
"You'll be wondering," he said, "why you were dragged into the Oddballs when you deserve a good long rest and chance to catch up on your education."
"Bather," said Lunzie. He must think the area was under surveillance, and it probably was. Only the Mountain would be certainly beyond anyone's ability to spy on.
"Tliere are some interesting things going on - and you, with your experience of cold sleep, may be just the person we need. Of course, you will have to recertify…"
Lunzie grimaced. "I hate fast-tapes."
He was all sympathy. "I know. I hate them, too - it's like eating three meals in five minutes; your brain feels stuffed. But it's the only way, and unless you have two or three years to spare…"
"No. You're right. What will I need?"
What she would need, after 43 years out of date, was fer more than Mayerd on Sassinak's ship had been able to give her. And she'd refused Mayerd's offer of fast-tape equipment. New surgical procedures, using new equipment: that meant not only fast-tape time, but actual in-the-OR work on "slushes," the gruesomely realistic androids used for surgical practice. New drugs, with all the attendant information on dosages, side effects, contraindications, and drug interferences. New theories of cognition that related to the coldsleep experience.
One of the neat things about her hop-skip-and-jump experiences, Lunzie realized partway through this retraining, was that it gave her an unusual overview of medical progress… and regress. She solved one diagnostic problem on the fourth day, pointing out that a mere 45 years ago, and two sectors away, that cluster of symptoms was called Galles Disease. It had been wiped out by a clever genetic patch, and had now reoccurred ("Probably random mutation," said the senior investigator with a sigh. "I should have thought of that") in an area where everyone had forgotten about it.
Differences between sectors, and between cultures within a sector, meant that what she learned might not be new in one place - or available in twenty others.
Access to the best medical technology was at least as uneven as on Old Earth. Lunzie spent all her time in the fast-tape booths, or practicing procedures and taking the preliminary recertification exams. Basic and advanced life support, basic and advanced trauma first response, basic and advanced contagious disease techniques… her head would have spun if it could.
In her brief time 'off,' she tried to catch up with current research in her area, flicking through the computerized journal abstracts.
"What we really need is another team member for a trip to Diplo." Someone groaned, in the back of the room, and someone else shushed the groaner.
"Come on," the speaker said, half-angrily. "It's only a short tour, thirty days max."
"Because that's the medical limit," came a mutter.
"This comes up every year," the speaker said. "We have a contract pending; we have an obligation; whatever your personal views, the heavyworlders on Diplo have significant medical problems which are still being researched."
"Not until you give us an allowance for G-damage."
Lunzie thought that was the same mutterer, someone a few seats to her left and behind.
"Pay and allowances are adjusted for local conditions," the speaker went on, staring fixedly at his notes. "This year's special topic is the effect of prolonged coldsleep on heavyworlder biochemistry, particularly the accumulation of calcium affecting cardiac function." He paused. Lunzie wondered when that topic had been assigned. Everyone would know, from her qualifications posted in the files, that she had special knowledge relevant to the research. But it would not do to show eagerness. The speaker went on. "We've already got a molecular biologist, and a cardiac physiologist -"
The names came up on the main room screen, along with their most recent publications. Very impressive, Lunzie thought to herself. Both Bias, the biologist, and Tailler, the cardiac physiologist, had published lead articles in good journals.
"Rehab medicine?" asked someone in back.
The speaker nodded. "If your Boards include a subspecialty rating in heavyworlder rehab, certainly. Clearly relevant to this year's special problem."
Another name went up on the screen, presumably the rehab specialist who'd spoken: Conigan, age 42, had published a textbook on heavyworlder rehabilitation after prolonged work undersea. Lunzie decided she'd waited long enough. What if someone else qualified for 'her' slot?
"I've got a background in prolonged coldsleep, and some heavyworlder experience." Heads turned to look at her; Discipline kept her from flushing under that scrutiny. The speaker peered at what she assumed was her file on his podium screen. "Ah… Lunzie. Yes. I see you haven't yet taken your Boards recertification exam?"
"It's scheduled for three days from now." It had been scheduled for six months from now but Jerik had arranged for her to take the exam singly, ahead of time. "All the prelims are on file."
"Yes, they are. It's amazing you've caught up so fast, and your skills are well suited to this mission. Contingent on your passing your Boards, you're accepted for this assignment." He looked up, scanning the room for the next possible applicant.
Tne woman next to Lunzie nudged her.
"Are you sure you want to go to Diplo? I heard your last coldsleep was because heavyworlders went primitive."
Lunzie managed not to glare. She had not heard the rumors herself, but she'd known they would be flying around the medical and scientific community.
"I can't talk about it," she said, not untruthfully. "The case won't be tried for months, and until then -"
"Oh, I quite understand. I'm not prying, Doctor. It's just that if it was heavyworlders, I'm surprised you're signing up for Diplo."
Lunzie chuckled. "Well, there's this glitch in my pay records -"
The woman snorted. "There would be. Of course; I see. You'd think they could realize the last thing you need is worry about money, but the Feds have acute formitis."
"A bad case," Lunzie agreed.
With the others, she craned her head to see the last responder, a dark man whose specialty was heavyworlder genetics. From the heft of his shoulders, he might have heavyworlder genes of his own, she thought.
So it proved when the whole team met for briefing. Jar was the smaller (and nonadapted) of twins born to a heavyworlder couple; he was fascinated by the unusual inheritance patterns of adaptation, and by the equally unusual inheritance patterns of tolerance or intolerance to coldsleep. Aside from his heavyworlder genes, he seemed quite normal, and Lunzie felt no uneasiness around him.