He went up to the operating room immediately, and the anaesthetic blacked him out and released him from both pain and consciousness.
The days that followed were hazy; they kept him drugged because his energetic nature would have prevented rapid healing. And it was four days after the operation that they gave him a quick shot of counter-drug that brought him out of the fog immediately.
There were people there.
Don Channing, Walt Franks, Wes Farrell, and Dr. Hansen.
"Hello," he said, looking up with a wry smile. "How many car-washings do I owe you?"
"Plenty, brother. I tinkered for three hours over that frame of yours. Why did they have to run through an engineering change when they got to hanging your appendix in? I had to dig for it."
"That's the trouble with this system," Keg mumbled to Don. "He'll get the same credit for tinkering with me as he would for removing the cat's appendix."
"Well, you're worth the same as any cat," grinned Walt.
"Thanks," grunted Keg. "Don't tell me that you guys were worried?"
"Nope. We came to give you a hunk of something interesting. Wes Farrell hauled it out of space, electrons, and considerable high-powered theory. Identium. Corrosion-proof, inert, malleable but hard enough for coins, and you can roll it out into ten-thousandths sheets and use it for paper money. But don't ever put it into a duplicator. It'll blow the top right off of your roof if you do. There's our medium of exchange, Keg."