Salem watches for a moment, transfixed, as Ossanlin's ship begins siphoning the blood of the morphed Andalite-- he has, indeed, morphed the Hork-Bajir on the table. That's a clever use of the morphing technology. No quicker way to ensure a safe supply of blood.
When the morphed Andalite asks if the Hork-Bajir will be okay, he shakes his head and turns to Ossanlin. "Man, I'm a field medic at best. This..." his throat works as he considers the unconscious Hork-Bajir on the lev-table for a moment. "This is beyond me. He might survive, if he's very, very lucky, but it would take a miracle for him to keep his legs at all, let alone ever being able to use them again."
He turns his gaze towards Al, questioningly. Al returns his gaze, eyebrow raised, in an expression that's somehow stern, serious, scared, and every bit as questioning as Salem's. Finally, Salem frowns and shakes his head. <<Not yet.>>
He kneels and begins rifling through his medical bag, looking for something. "What about the morphing technology?" he asks Ossanlin, sounding... almost too casual. "If you have one of those cube-dealies, I might be able to stimulate his consciousness long enough to allow the change."
He stands up holding what looks a little like another syringe, only this one lacks a needle. He leans over the Hork-Bajir and begins probing with his fingers again, this time along the Hork-Bajir's chest, where the sternum would be if he were human. He's fully aware that he's nearly surrounded by the creature's blades on all sides, but it doesn't seem to be his largest concern at the moment.
"Is he a controller, or just the host at this point?" he asks.