Author's Note: My apologies for the long wait. I seem to have lost the reason of this story for some time. But now I've returned and hope that you like what I've written.

Oh, and I truly hope you got the joke with the doctor's name. Not? One word. Godzilla.

Delilah - June 27, 2004

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P.S. I'm truly sorry I mixed the chapters up.

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Chapter Four - Jinar Gol

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No, my friend. This is not a nightmare.

"Are you sure?"

Yes, Master Healer.

"Are you one hundred percent sure?"

Yes, yes. There isn't any chance you might walk into your mother here.

"That is not a very calming thought, you know."

Yes, I know, Doctor Gol.

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"Well, then. Why am I here?"

To learn more about a patient of yours.

"And of which are you speaking, Sir?"

You know who I mean, Jinar.

"The anomaly."

Yes, him. But there is nothing wrong with his blood.

"Truly you jest, Sir. Never have I seen such strange blood levels. And I dare not speak about his genetic make-up."

Like I said, Jinar. There is nothing wrong with angel blood.

"Angel? There are no angels anymore. They faced their extinction more than ten thousand years ago."

It must be true if you say that.

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Impertinent child. What does this little boy know of surgery? Who does he think he is? And why, in the name of the Great Library, aggravates this child me in such a way?

Really, that is no proper behaviour for a surgeon. Highly unbecoming. Truly scandalous.

What would Mother say when learning of my disgrace?

I don't dare to think about it. Even thinking about thinking about her reaction is too much at the moment. And so I return to what I was trained to do best. May the holy art of healing sooth my pained soul and help me forget the reason I left home.

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So, my dear patient doesn't want to receive a Class IX Devublin respiratory system? I can only shrug at the man's insistence. It is his own fault if he doesn't appreciate my art.

And this is the reason I give him only the second best help he could have gotten from my hands. Though Fighterpilot Carnor Jeren's arguments were sound and I am willing to believe my red-eyed friend suffers from the 'Jedi-Syndrome', the last patient ever to be recognized as a victim of this illness died more than two hundred years ago.

In three days time, when he awakes again from the surgery, I will welcome his temper. For such a patient, so full of knowledge in the matter and with such a will to fight, will be a pleasure to guide to a complete recovery. I will find great amusement in our future arguments, that I am sure of.

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Well, my dear doctor? What do you think now?

"I have to admit, Sir, that I made a mistake."

A mistake you say? And what, pray tell, did go wrong?

"I..."

Speak up, Master Gol.

"I suggested an organic implant."

YOU DID WHAT?!

"I said it was a mistake, Sir."

I hope that you will not repeat such foolishness. The consequences would be quite fatal.

"I understand, Sir."

Good. What else?

"He seems to have a fan club."

...

"Am I allowed to ask what is so amusing, Sir?"

I always knew he has it in him, but this fast?...

"Sir?"

Nothing.

Return to your duty.

It was nothing.