"The skill that went into matching the unrelated parts that are now you is a landmark in medical history, quite comparable to Harvey's discovery of the circulation of the blood," said Dr. Crander. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't participated in it myself. There have been limb and brain replacements before, but never on such a scale. One of these days, we'll get out a report that will astound the medical world."
Without doubt, it would. Merrol tried to feel grateful, but gratitude refused to come. They had saved him—but was it worth it?
Puzzled, Crander frowned at the buzzer. He'd been pressing it intermittently for the past few minutes. "Doesn't seem to be working," he muttered, heading toward the door through which Merrol had entered. "Wait here—I'll be back. I have to cancel an appointment."
As soon as the door closed, a voice behind Merrol hissed. "I fixed the buzzer. He went for the guards."
He whirled. Miss Jerrems stood in the doorway that led into the filing room on the opposite side of the office. "Guards?" he repeated.
"Of course—guards for the violent patients."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"You escaped once, didn't you?"
He hadn't escaped, he had merely walked out when he felt he could. Did that qualify him as violent? It might. "What of it? I'm no longer a patient. The doctor said I had recovered."