Elus Amir called in one of the servants clustered outside, and commanded curtly, "Get the doctor here, immediately." Then he went over to the two on the floor. "Let me look," he half-pushed Hanlon aside, and stooped to peer closely at that wounded shoulder.
"Help me get him onto the bed," he said after a quick inspection. "I don't think any of the bone is gone—it's just a bad flesh burn."
Tenderly the two men raised the admiral, who protested weakly that he could get up by himself, and lifted him onto the bed. Amir himself began pulling off the admiral's tunic, while Hanlon helped.
By the time the doctor came running in, and took over the dressing of the wound, they had the arm and shoulder bared. But the elder Newton, in spite of his protestations, had fainted from the loss of blood and shock.
Amir sent the assembled servants away, retaining only his dresser, who helped him on with his day clothes.
The doctor worked swiftly, as Hanlon watched anxiously, applying ointments to the burn, and finally bandaging it.
"He's weak from all the blood he lost, and doesn't seem to have been in too good condition anyway," the doctor said at last. "I hope the man is strong enough to pull through."
"Then give him some plasma," Hanlon said frantically. "He needs it."
"I don't know what you mean," the doctor was bewildered by the word, for Hanlon had had to use the Terran word "plasma", not knowing any translation for it.
"A blood transfusion, then, or at least some glucose."