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Nix Gottlieb has been working for the RCM for thirty-nine years - since its very inception - and never has he seen a bigger bunch of idiots than the current cohort.
You have the twin fools McLaine and Torson, who are constantly in for the stupidest things, a real revolving door. Gottlieb suspects they like the company. Then, you have McCoy, who has never met a fight he wouldn’t pick. There is Minot, who tends to hide things until it’s nearly too late. There is Kitsuragi, who is the stubbornest man Gottlieb has ever met, and there is Vicquemare, who, when he is not actively trying to die, is not working very hard to prevent it. The consultant, Heidelstam, who is worth too much for how often they let him go out on calls and get stabbed. Even the horses which Gottlieb takes care of are exceptionally stupid this year.
And then, Gottlieb sighs, you have Du Bois.
Well, at least there is never a dull moment. -
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the indefiniable weird expeirnece of being a doctor, captured beautifully here
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At the end of June, Trant Heidelstam comes in with a knife wound to his forearm, a gash about 11 centimeters long, and about a centimeter deep. At least he’d had the foresight to cover his face, Gottlieb thinks, as Vicquemare tells him about the case he’d been consulting on when he’d been attacked. Gottlieb gets the feeling that the attacker may not be conscious in the holding cell he is currently in, courtesy of Officer Vicquemare.
Gottlieb sanitizes Heidelstam and stitches him up, Heidelstam proceeding to unspool an unending diatribe about, apparently, the ancient Samaran practice of ritual scarification, and its relation to the weather, or something, while Gottlieb works. Heidelstam stops, once, to heave in a great big breath, then keeps going. It’s actually fairly impressive.
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