I, Robot: To Protect

Chapter 14

Susan Calvin did not return to the PIPU until well into the afternoon. Keyed through the doors, she rushed onto the unit to receive glares from most of the staff. Uncertain what she might have done, she ignored them and headed for the staffing area to read the nurses’ notes on her patients. If anything had happened that day, someone should have keyboarded it into permanent history.

Sharicka’s day seemed to have consisted mostly of begging for human helicopter and horsey rides, though one note documented a near flood in the girls’ bathroom that was traced back to the girl. Apparently, Sharicka had “accidentally” left a wadded towel in the sink and the tap wide open. At least, this time, no alternative possibilities for the crime had been postulated. It seemed like a step in the right direction for the manipulated nursing staff.

Sable looked up from a palm-pross to give Susan a squint-eyed look that baffled her. Ignoring her, Susan glanced over Monterey’s notes, but the hostility stayed with her. She had never had a problem with Sable before. Monterey’s nursing notes contained nothing of interest. The girl remained uncommunicative, verbally and mostly nonverbally as well. The only new mention concerned a car-shaped gurney that had arrived from the pediatrics unit.

Susan had just decided to talk to Sable when Kendall entered the staffing area and plopped down heavily in a chair beside her. “Howdy, stranger. Thanks for joining us.”

Susan looked over him to where Sable had been sitting, but the female R-1 had gone. “Is that why everyone’s giving me the evil eye?”

Kendall crossed his feet on the desk and ran a hand through his hair until it stood up in red spikes. “I think it still irritates the nurses you made them look bad in front of Bainbridge.”

Susan had not considered that. “I didn’t mean —”

Kendall forestalled her with a raised hand. “No, that’s true, but it’s not the reason for the evil eye. There were two new admissions. At least one of them definitely should have been yours; you’ve only got two patients. I snagged one.”

“Don’t tell me.” Susan thought she had it figured. “Sable got the other one.”

“Yup. And it’s a doozy. Teenager. Burned her brains out on amphetamines. Nothing left but a kicking, biting, cursing handful of crazy.”

Susan winced. “Maybe she would give me —”

“Too late. She’s been assigned. If Sable lets you have her, she’ll look lazy in Bainbridge’s eyes.”

“Yeah.” Susan did not know what to do. “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long. It’s not like we went out for lunch or anything.” Her own words reminded her she had not eaten since breakfast. Should have grabbed something on the way down here. Now it’s too late. “I’m not up there playing games. First, I had to convince a patient’s family. . . .”

Again, Kendall stopped Susan. “You’re not going to win any sympathy by complaining about a project we would all give an eyeball to be a part of.”

Frustrated, Susan turned argumentative. “I’m not trying to win sympathy.”

“Sorry. I could have worded that better. We’re not angry; at least I’m not. It’s more a matter of . . . abject jealousy.”

Susan got it. She just didn’t like it. “I see. Good things are happening to me, so that’s a reason to hate me?”

“Sure it is.”

It was not the response Susan expected.

Kendall smiled, and his dark eyes sparkled. “Not a particularly good one, but a reason.”

Susan snorted. She was tired of pussyfooting around everyone’s insecurities.

“Lighten up.” Kendall uncrossed his ankles and prodded Susan with a toe. “When you chose psychiatry, you knew the kind of colleagues you’d have.”

Susan froze. She did not know psychiatry had a type. “You mean, not arrogant and jerky?”

“That’s surgeons,” Kendall reminded her. “We’re quirky.”

“Quirky?” Susan had no idea what he meant.

Kendall sat up suddenly. “You really don’t know the reputation of people who go into psychiatry?”

Susan shook her head. When she had chosen her profession, she had selected the one she had found most interesting during her M-3 and M-4 years. She supposed the residents and attendings she had worked with, the practices she had drawn, and the particular patients who came to her during that month had as much to do with her decision as anything. She did have a keen interest in the human mind, communication of every sort, and in the challenge of the most complex organ in the human body. There was more yet to discover about the brain than all the other living systems put together.

Kendall enlightened her. “It’s supposedly the first choice for residents who worry they might be crazy or, at least, have trouble with social dealings and want to understand the reasons why.”

Susan started to reply, then stopped.

Kendall glanced around, then shifted toward Susan and lowered his voice. “Think about it. Clamhead’s socially a mess. Nevaeh’s . . . obvious. Monk never had a chance to be a kid, and Sable’s mother has schizophrenia, which is inherited.”

Suddenly, Susan understood something that had troubled her earlier. “That’s why Monk tries so hard and dislikes me so much. He’s used to being the little brainiac.”

Kendall raised his brows knowingly. “Two, three years makes a huge difference at eight. Not so much at twenty-three, especially when you’re getting compared to other highly intelligent people instead of common folk.”

Susan had to ask, “What about us, Kendall?”

“Well,” Kendall said, clearly taking the challenge seriously, “I sublimate my lack of social skills with humor. And you’re working through some . . . parental issue.”

An unconscious squeak snuck out of Susan’s mouth. “How could you possibly know that?”

“What?” Kendall looked truly surprised. “You mean I’m right? You have parental issues? I just guessed that because you mentioned your father on our first day. The perfect man, remember?”

“My mother died when I was three. I was considered too young to attend the funeral, and my father and I never talked things out. Until yesterday.”

Kendall pursed his lips and nodded. “I . . . am amazing.”

“Yes, you are.” Susan would have liked to chat longer, but the workday had nearly ended. She still needed to handle Monterey. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to take off the unit. I have my Vox, if anyone needs me, and I’ll take any admission, even if it means I have to stay into on-call time.”

Kendall threw her a satirical but friendly salute.

Though made for younger children, the car-gurney fit Monterey well enough. If she felt silly, she gave no sign of it, or anything else. She allowed Susan to pull her through the corridors in silence, barely looking around her, showing no emotion whatsoever. The locked, austere hallways yielded to brighter, art-lined walls filled with bustling patients, workers, and families; but Monterey gave no indication she noticed any difference.

Apparently alerted by the rattle and creak of the gurney, as well as the movement of the knob, Nate met them at the door to the charting room. He greeted Monterey with a smile and a short bow. “Hello. You must be Monterey.”

Monterey stared at Nate, saying nothing.

Susan shut the door behind them, then threw a quick glance around the room to be sure they were alone. She could not forget the lecture on patient confidentiality, especially when it came to mental illnesses and other conditions with stigmata. Only then, Susan continued the introduction. “Monterey, Nate. Nate, Monterey.”

Nate’s grin grew broader. “How do you do?”

Monterey kept staring.

Nate’s smile wilted. “She’s afraid of me.”

Susan wondered what Nate saw. Nothing in Monterey’s body language gave away any emotion. “How do you know?”

“The eyes.” Nate stepped aside to give Susan the same vantage he had. “She doesn’t want to know me. She’s scared.”

Susan imagined she could see a hint of fear in Monterey’s hazel eyes. She hunched down, forcing the girl to meet her gaze. “Monterey, Nate’s not a man. He’s a robot and a very good friend.”

Monterey’s attention flicked immediately to Nate. Susan had never seen any part of the child move that fast. The girl studied the robot, the discomfort disappearing, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. She clearly did not believe it.

“Show her,” Susan said softly.

Nate dropped his bottom down on the closest chair, flopped a leg over the gurney, and peeled back a thick layer of skin to reveal circuitry tangled over a framework of realistic muscles.

Monterey reached out a curious hand.

Susan held her breath as the girl traced the wires, tapped her fingers against the muscle tissue, and stared in awe. Susan had never seen Monterey deliberately reach out to anything.

Swiftly, Nate withdrew his leg and replaced the flap of skin. Susan heard a step right outside the door. The knob turned, and the door eased open to reveal Remington Hawthorn.

Quietly, Susan motioned him inside. Monterey’s gaze went toward him, and the fear that had wholly vanished reappeared.

It’s not Nate who scares her; it’s men in general. Why? Susan’s thoughts immediately went to a history of molestation, and she hated herself for it. She had grown weary of that as the explanation for all things bad. By all reports, Monterey and her father had shared a close and happy relationship. Her problems had begun the day he died. Maybe she’s not afraid of men . . . but for men. Susan tried to take the thought further. She’s afraid that men . . . die. It did not feel quite right. Although psychiatric illness hinged on irrational thought, it usually followed a logical path. She’s afraid that . . . if she bonds with a man, he will die. That made more sense to Susan. It had the proper quality of childhood “magical thinking,” that the world revolved around them and they caused events to happen.

“Do you want me to leave?” Remington asked quietly.

Susan shook her head and motioned him to a distant couch. She did not want a human male to interfere with the rapport she hoped to create between Monterey and Nate. She also had not realized how long it had taken her to create the situation. If Remington had come, all of the other psychiatry residents had left for the day, except for Nevaeh, who was on call.

“Nate, can you sit here?” Susan indicated the front of the car-shaped gurney. The vehicle had only one seat, which the flick of a latch and a pull could turn into a classical gurney; but Nate could perch easily on the support structure for the pulling handle.

Nate did as she asked. It placed him with his back to Monterey, which Susan hoped simulated a car. She had not initially intended to force Monterey to actually relive the trauma, but the idea seemed suddenly sound. Classical therapies had not worked. Forcing her to relive the unpleasantness seemed unlikely to make things any worse, and it might just work. Monterey’s mother had already tried hypnosis; but, even with drug enhancement, that had proven unsuccessful. However, Susan intended to use the little information that had come out of the session to help her set up the current situation.

“You’re driving to Six Flags,” Susan informed Nate.

Nate grasped a pretend steering wheel and made appropriate motions, which impressed Susan. Surely, the robot had never actually driven a motor vehicle. Given the enormous number of choices in public transportation, most humans in cities this populated never bothered to learn. Monterey’s father had clung to his car and delighted in any opportunity to join the traffic.

“It’s a ’twenty-eight Toyota, I believe.”

Monterey’s eyes pinched, and she shook her head ever so slightly.

Susan bit back a smile. Apparently, the girl intended to play the game. She tried again. “A ’twenty-nine Toyota. Blue.”

A light flickered in Monterey’s eyes as she, apparently, fully realized what Susan intended. They widened slightly, and her pupils dilated. Her fingers tightened on the sides of the gurney.

Susan considered aborting the trial, then thought better of it. Monterey had probably suffered the shock of reliving the event many times in her head, as well as with physicians and quacks. Susan doubted she could startle the girl any worse than electroconvulsive therapy. This time, Susan had one thing no one else had: Nate. She only hoped she could interpret Monterey’s thoughts and actions correctly and would make the right decisions to improve rather than worsen Monterey’s condition.

Susan leaned forward to whisper Monterey’s father’s nickname for her into Nate’s ear, along with some vague instructions.

Nate nodded, readjusted his clothing, then retook the driving position. “So, Rey-rey, which ride do you want to go on first?”

Monterey stiffened ever so slightly at the mention of her nickname.

Nate turned his head to look at Monterey briefly.

Instantly, the girl’s breathing quickened almost to a gasp. Her mouth opened, but no words emerged.

Nate turned back to face the imaginary windshield. “How about some cotton candy, Rey-rey?”

The moment Nate returned his focus forward, Monterey relaxed visibly. She looked down, into her lap, saying nothing.

Susan glanced toward Remington, who smiled encouragingly. He had taken a seat well behind the car-shaped gurney, where Monterey could not see him without turning. She showed no sign of doing that.

“Rey-rey?” Nate twisted his head to look at Monterey again. “Cotton candy?”

Again, Susan saw the sudden change in Monterey. Her breathing quickened, her pupils opened, and a sheen of sweat appeared below her nose and across her brow. Suddenly, she raised a hand and pointed decisively toward the front of the car.

Obediently, Nate returned his gaze in the direction she had indicated.

The nonverbal communication with a male impressed Susan, and the subtext seemed obvious. Clearly, Monterey worried that the man driving the car, the father substitute, would lose focus and have an accident. Yet, Susan realized, there was more to her reaction. Her responses seemed too extreme for someone who usually kept all expression and communication hidden. There was more to it than fear. Susan knew she was seeing something else, another emotion she could not yet recognize. Think, Susan. Think.

Nate continued fake-driving, and Monterey’s face returned to neutral. The robot turned his attention to Susan, silently requesting more direction.

Susan ran through her mind, trying to remember what seemed out of place. A dipping of the body, almost hiding. Shifting gaze. She gave Nate a subtle thumbs-up to indicate he should continue as he had started.

Nate cleared his throat. “Rey-rey, if you’re not going to talk to me, how will I know where to take you?” Again, he turned. “This is our special day.”

Susan watched Monterey as closely as she dared. Again, she saw the fear reaction written plainly on her face and also the hunching into her seat, as if she wished to disappear. Her gaze shifted, and she again jabbed a finger forward.

Guilt, of course. Susan believed she had plucked the micro-expression from the overwhelming concern for safety. Monterey’s not worried for her own life; she survived the accident. She’s worried for Nate. And feeling guilty for killing her father. That fit in with Susan’s previous discussions with Nate and John Calvin. The affliction spoke for itself. There was no doubt about it anymore. She definitely said something that caused her father to take his eyes from the road.

The same possibilities presented themselves to Susan as before, the only two things a six-year-old might request in a moving car that a parent might indulge: food or a toy. Susan tweaked her memory by attempting to recall all of Monterey’s nursing notes. She was certain the girl had never shown any aversion toward food, not even the pickiness that usually afflicted young school-aged children. There had been a recent incident regarding a toy. A missing stuffed animal. Monterey had gone as frantic as a mute child can until one of the nurses found it wadded under a sofa cushion in the patients’ lounge. What was it? Susan tried to remember without success. The nurses had referred to it only as Bobo. Bobo. A different memory found itself lodged in Susan’s mind, one of Sharicka watching television with an unfamiliar plush monkey that looked worn and well loved. Bobo.

Susan sprang forward, keeping her voice calm. “Nate, Monterey dropped her stuffed monkey. Its name is Bobo. You don’t want to drive for an hour with a bored child, do you?”

Nate played along. “Definitely not. Where is Bobo?”

Susan planted her gaze on Monterey. The girl’s nostrils flared, her brows drew together, and her upper lip rose. Susan could see an artery in her neck pulsating so wildly it seemed to vibrate. Monterey had gone beyond fear to welling terror. “It’s in the passenger seat, just out of your reach. You’re going to have to unbuckle to get it.”

“Right.” Nate pantomimed releasing a seat belt and started leaning toward the passenger seat.

Abruptly, Monterey dove forward, catching Nate’s neck with both arms and squeezing with such violence that Susan took a step forward before remembering Nate did not need to breathe. A low humming sound seemed to come from nowhere. It took Susan a moment to realize it originated from Monterey’s throat.

Unable to move without first dislodging the girl, Nate rolled his gaze to Susan.

Susan tried to make sense of the noise emanating from Monterey. Gradually, she pieced it together as a deep, guttural “no” repeated so rapidly in succession it became a constant sound.

Suddenly, Monterey screamed. The sound was raw agony, a depthless, primal howl from some forgotten ancestral memory. Susan’s blood froze in her veins. Remington leapt to his feet, Nate went still, and Susan rushed toward Monterey. Before she reached the girl, another scream ripped from Monterey’s throat, then another. Worried she would bring the entire building running, Susan enwrapped the child as well as she could from beside the gurney and spoke in the calmest voice she could muster. “It’s all right. He’s a robot. He can’t die, Monterey. He . . . can’t . . . die.”

It was not wholly truth. Otherwise, there would be no need for the Third Law of Robotics: “A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First and Second Laws.” But Monterey could not know that.

Nate spoke in a muffled voice. “If I could die, it might be by strangulation.”

The screaming stopped. Slowly, Monterey’s arms slipped from Nate’s neck. She grasped Susan into a hug so fierce that she had no trouble lifting the child from the gurney and placing her on the floor. “It’s all right, Monterey. Everything will be okay.”

Monterey heaved with great sobs. Susan’s dress polo absorbed the tears, and she could feel the warm moisture seeping through to her chest. She grasped the girl more tightly, afraid to let go.

Nate stepped away from the gurney, readjusting his collar. Remington watched Susan and Monterey, not daring to break the near silence that followed those heartrending screams.

Susan gave man and robot uncertain looks. Clearly, things had changed for Monterey, but whether for better or worse remained to be seen. One thing seemed certain. To make Monterey well, they needed to address the burden of guilt she carried. In her heart and mind, she believed she and Bobo had killed her father, and Susan would have to disabuse her of that notion.

“Thank you,” Susan mouthed silently to Nate.

The robot only shrugged and smiled.