Gone were the high discordant peaks. More halothane, and he watched the ectopic levelling become bigeminal—two small beeps. A more even pattern on the EKG. Ordinarily, this pattern on the screen would have set a flurry of emergency measures into motion, but it took the anaesthesiologist to alert the team. Instead, Dr. Demmet watched the screen. Still bigeminal. The pulse lowered, blood pressure lowered, heartbeat weak and struggling. The patient needed no more halothane.

In three minutes and forty-five seconds by Demmet's watch, the screen showed a smooth, even-flowing, up-and-down line. Dr. Demmet relaxed. For the first time since the operation began, he felt the hardness of the stool. He watched the surgeon work, watched the nurse count the sponges and make sure that everything brought to the operating table remained there, not inside the patient. A sponge or a clamp left inside a patient could mean a malpractice suit, even though a sponge might not do much harm. The supervising nurse's real job was the first step in the professional web that made it almost impossible for a doctor to lose a malpractice suit. Naturally, the patient's bill showed the cost of the nurse's services.

Dr. Demmet waited another two minutes and then turned off the halothane, reduced the nitrous oxide, folded his arms, and watched the peaceful, level hills of death.

When the surgeon looked up, Demmet shook his head. "I'm sorry. We've lost him," he said.

The announcement snapped everyone's head toward the EKG screen, where the beeping dot painted the landscape of oblivion.

The surgeon glared angrily at Demmet. He would complain later that Dr. Demmet should have let him know that the patient was in trouble. And Demmet would inform the surgeon that he had done everything possible to save the patient and that if the surgeon had any complaints, he should go see Ms. Hahl, the assistant administrator of the hospital.

Now Dr.