EYE CANDY - Chapter 20: Dry Water and Bright Darkness
Live your destiny.
If you’ve just discovered this, begin with Chapter 1 HERE.
New chapters every Saturday morning @ 9:09 a.m. EST. Yay!
After a wonderful, peaceful, restful night’s sleep with their bodies entwined, Danny and Candy roused themselves late the following morning. They enjoyed a luxurious brunch comprised of Danny’s self-proclaimed world-famous scrambled eggs (the recipe for which he refused to disclose to Candy so early in their courtship) and Candy’s allegedly equally-famous nacho-cheese-flavored tortilla chips topped with a massive quantity of grated Jack and Colby cheese and dosed liberally with her favorite fast-food chain-supplied picante sauce, then popped into the oven for ten minutes at 400 degrees.
In between bites of scrambled eggs and feeding each other tortilla chips covered in melted cheese, Danny commented that the special protein mask they had enjoyed the night before seemed to have had a positive result on her skin, which he assured her in no way needed any anti-aging treatments of any kind.
Candy thanked Danny and said that perhaps, if he were lucky, she would apply more of the magical fluid on his face later that night.
They decided to visit Robot City, a small unincorporated township which had grown up between Silverlake and downtown Los Angeles. Robot City was a city comprised almost entirely of robots, primarily robots whose owners had no longer wanted them (perhaps after acquiring the new model year ’bot), or owners who had passed away, and their faithful servant had no longer had a human to serve. The reasons were as wide and varied as the variety of robots which inhabited Robot City.
Robot City was a quiet place during the day, but it came to life at night. It was a great, glowing place full of lights and neon signs and flashing, brilliant edifices designed to entertain the eye. Who knew robots were such night owls?
The human population of Robot City was less than three thousand, as opposed to the robot population numbering near 50,000. At least, that was the estimate. No census had been taken in Robot City, and it was unlikely ever to happen. For although Robot City was an odd place reviled by many human beings, there was an informal de facto city council comprised of four humans and five robots. The council had modeled itself after the nine justices of the Supreme Court of the United States, selecting the odd number of nine so that there would not nor could ever be a tie when it came to deliberations pertaining to the daily operations and wellbeing of Robot City and its inhabitants. The council also saw to it that both Los Angeles County and California State taxes were paid. Robot City was left almost entirely to its own devices, and all nine members of the counsel, as well as the vast majority of residents, had no problem buying a bit of privacy and autonomy with their quarterly tax payments.
To their credit, the county of Los Angeles and the State of California left Robot City well enough alone. Despite its reputation for being a place of electronic and positronic oddities, it was a relatively peaceful place and the LAPD almost never had to venture into Robot City jurisdiction during its day-to-day business of keeping the peace, of protecting and serving. The occasional off-duty forays into Robot City tended to be of little consequence; as long as residents and visitors were respectful, and that pertained to humans and robots alike, no one much cared what went on in Robot City. Crime was almost non-existent, there was no pollution, and it was a steady stream of tax money. What was there to complain about? Let the robots and the robot freaks alone.
While many people were afraid of venturing into Robot City, regardless of whether or not they would publicly admit to being so, Danny and Candy both adored it. Each had visited Robot City once or twice, but it had been a few years ago, and they agreed that a stroll together through the Arcades would be a great way to spend an evening.
The Arcades consisted of a great span of many high arches, towering above the street itself. It was a pedestrian-only thoroughfare, open only to foot traffic, and bordered on both sides by businesses and shops and establishments both small and large, almost all of which were unique, one-of-a-kind storefronts. (One of the fundamental tenets of the Robot City Council was no admittance to franchised businesses of any kind.) The streets of Robot City had been designed and built in a gentle S-curve, so while the city itself was a traditional grid of north-south and east-west avenues providing easy navigation and travel, the gentle curve of the streets limited visibility; one could not see from one side of Robot City all the way across to the other. This created an effect of intimacy and quiet. It also tended to slow the rates of the electric vehicle traffic, which further discouraged any form of hustle-and-bustle. Robots were never in a hurry, nor should their home encourage them to be.
Candy and Danny enjoyed the diversity of shops, everything from robot repairs to eateries ranging from pastries and confections to fine dining. The tiered, multi-story buildings festooned with lights brought to mind images of a quaint yet futuristic European hamlet.
Nearly all the food-related establishments offered a patio for outdoor dining. The pleasant southern California climate contributed to the always-genial temperature inside the Arcades. The city had also been designed such that rainfall was carefully routed through a series of filtration systems and gathered for uses such as drinking water and for the production of steam-powered electricity which supplemented the solar-generated electricity that provided the vast majority of Robot City’s power needs. The net result was that it never rained in the Arcades, and only the parks and certain well-defined and well-known areas of Robot City were deliberately left open to receiving natural rainfall. All the better for any ’bots lacking a recent waterproofing treatment.
Candy and Danny strolled past patios where people were enjoying their dinners. Robots and humans alike sat in twos and threes and fours, conversing together.
Smaller cafés and coffee shops and patisseries offered electronic games on their patios, everything from 3-D checkers to virtual backgammon to digital wizard’s chess. Pairings for such games had no biological predispositions; robots and humans were valued as equals in Robot City, thus humans played checkers against humans, robots played backgammon against robots, and humans and robots shared equally in a good chess match. Any combination was possible and it was often impossible to predict the winner (though a bit of quiet, good-natured gambling on such outcomes was certainly never discouraged).
Danny and Candy ventured into a candy store bearing the name Isaac's in brilliant purple and green neon. Isaac’s was the most well-known candy store in all of Los Angeles county. All of their sweet confections were made entirely by hand; entirely by robot hands, a fact conveniently ignored by humans possessed of a sweet tooth greater than their anti-robot attitudes.
The proprietor of Isaac’s was a man of indeterminate (and undisclosed) age. He presided over his candy store from a loft overlooking the many barrels and bins and trays and tubs of candy. Great grey sideburns adorned his smiling cheeks, and his fingers danced over the keys of an old-fashioned typewriter, for he was also a well-known writer and novelist.
Candy and Danny noted that the beautiful neon-green sign contained a typo. They agreed a robot had probably made it and Isaac had embraced it for its natural wabi sabi, perfectly imperfect.
Candy purchased half a kilogram of the sugar-free dark chocolate for which Isaac and his robot confectioners were famous.
Danny perused the magazine rack. He enjoyed the pulp art on the science fiction novels, swashbuckling space-faring depictions of robots rescuing maidens from thieving marauders and giant robotic dragons.
Candy and Danny waved goodbye to Isaac and exited the candy store.
They resumed their stroll along the promenade and soon stopped at a gelato stand, where each ordered a scoop of gelato on a warm, freshly-made waffle cone. Candy asked for a scoop of dulce de leche while Danny opted for green pistachio.
Danny paid the robot and thanked him for the gelato, and he and Candy walked on.
Candy took Danny’s arm as they strolled, and they took turns tasting each other’s gelato. Danny seemed to prefer Candy’s sweet caramel-flavored gelato and he took too large a bite. Waves of cold radiated all the way into his brain.
“Brain freeze!” he cried. He grabbed the top of his head with his hand, as if that were likely to have any effect.
“A gelato-induced mental freeze-out,” said Candy. “I wonder what it feels like for a robot to freeze out. You think they feel anything?”
Danny considered Candy’s question while the chill in his head subsided. “I don’t know. Howard says he feels changes in his positronic potential sometimes. He says sometimes he experiences what you or I would consider anxiety.”
“Really? Anxiety?”
“A few days ago, he told me that he tried several times to ask me if he could go flying with me. But he was afraid I might say no, or that Floyd wouldn’t want to risk him in an airplane. Howard was concerned he would be embarrassed, that he would lose face, as he put it. He said that each time he wanted to ask me, it became more difficult for him to think, to perform basic mental operations, even difficult to move. So he decided not to ask me. Each time he decided not to, the slowness seemed to subside, and he felt better.”
“Fascinating.”
“Although, a couple days ago, I found him in the kitchen with his head in the refrigerator.”
“Why was his head in the refrigerator?”
“He said he wanted to see if cold affected his brain function.”
“Testing his limits,” said Candy, “just like humans do. Fascinating.”
They walked on, enjoying the gentle thrum of conversations, of people and robots conversing all around them, the aromas of coffee and pizza and the baking of waffle cones by the gelato vendor. A faint breeze whispered through the archway, carrying the scents and sounds of Robot City with it.
Candy said, “Do you believe in God?”
“Do you?”
“Chicken.”
Danny grinned and licked his gelato.
Candy continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Barney.”
“I see.”
Candy took a crunching bite out of her waffle cone. “What do you think happened to him when he died?”
“I think he was switched off.”
“Like a light?”
“More or less.”
“You don’t think robots have souls?”
“No, they’re machines. They do not have souls. You don’t get upset when your computer breaks. Well, you do, because there can be lost data if your cloud drive is full again and you weren’t doing your back-ups like you should, and then there’s the time and expense and the pain in the ass-ness of having to go get a new computer, but you don’t mourn the computer. It’s a machine which broke down. Nothing more.”
“Then how do you explain the individuality of robotic sentience?”
“The what?”
“The conundrum of a thing that shouldn’t be but is. Every robot is different. Even robots of the same make and model, produced on the same assembly line in the same factory. When they’re activated, they’re different from one another. They look the same and they sound the same, but they’re not.”
“How so?”
“A couple years ago, I spent some time in Pasadena, at Jet Propulsion Laboratories. The folks at JPL were building some serious robots up there, each of which was designed for long-duration space flight. I was called in to help evaluate them, to see how they were going to react to spending years in space. Some of them were going to be launched into deep space. They won’t arrive at their destination planet for five hundred years. They’re going to sit in their little capsule and do nothing but record and monitor the trip for five centuries. They don’t need to eat, don’t need to sleep, don’t need any kind of interaction. But I found something very interesting.”
“What did you find?”
“When the robots were activated, each of them was unique. Even their voices and the way they spoke was somehow . . . different. Most of the other scientists and physicists and roboticists thought I was crazy, and ultimately I stopped mentioning it. But I spent a lot of time with three of the deep space robots and they were all different. It was like human triplets: the same, but different. Two of them were gung-ho for their trip, but one of them did not want to go. His name was Casey. His full name was Cadmium Space Explorer Yellow, or C-S-E-Y. So everyone called him Casey.
“I spent hours talking with Casey. When it came time to drive him out to Vandenberg for the launch, he couldn’t get into the van. He literally couldn’t move. We had gone over and over and over the importance of the mission and what it meant to humanity and how millions and billions of human beings were going to directly benefit for generations from his discoveries. He said he knew all that, but that he still was afraid.
“Finally, I took my supervisor aside and told him that my recommendation was to find a different robot. But they couldn’t. The launch window was very narrow and there wasn’t time to prep a new ’bot for that particular mission. Plus Congress had already earmarked almost two trillion dollars for the next five hundred years, and if they didn’t go within that twelve-day period, they were at risk of having the funding pulled. Which is ridiculous if you ask me; who knows if any of us will even be here in five hundred years?”
“So what happened?” Danny was so fascinated that he failed to notice a long green drip of melting pistachio gelato trickling down his fingers.
Candy took a napkin from her pocket and wiped Danny’s fingers. “He went. It took six people, including myself, to lift Casey into the van. Then we lifted him out again once we reached Pad 21A with his rocket on it. Poor guy. He apologized over and over as we were carrying him. He said he simply couldn’t move.
“We put him in a wheel chair and took him up the lift and onto the gantry to where he was literally looking into the capsule where he was going to spend the next five hundred years. He looked down at the rocket, a great big Atlas VI. And suddenly, he relaxed. He stood up out of the wheelchair, turned to face us, and apologized for being difficult, and for making us angry and worried. Then he turned to me and said, ‘Thank you, Doctor Calvin. This is my destiny. And you will always be my friend.’ I’ll never forget those words. Then he turned and climbed into the capsule. Fourteen hours later, he blasted off and has been doing fine ever since. Last I heard, he was almost to Saturn.”
“What’s his destination?”
“That’s classified.”
“You can tell me, I won’t blab.”
“No, I mean it’s classified. They never told me. All I know is once he gets out past Pluto, he’s going to activate his special engine which, again, I know almost nothing about. But if it works, and that’s a big ‘if’, he’s going to accelerate to forty percent of the speed of light. Everybody at JPL is really excited to see what forty percent of the speed of light feels like.”
“Wow. And you really have no idea where he’s going?”
“Well, word around the water cooler was that if they’ve committed two trillion dollars and five hundred years’ worth of resources to monitor Casey and the trip, he must be going someplace really special. Personally, I think they found another planet just like Earth, and Casey is going to check it out.”
“But if it takes him five hundred years to get there, it’ll take another couple hundred years for his message to come back to Earth saying, ‘Hey, everybody, this is Casey. I’ve reached Planet blah-blah-blah and it’s a balmy seventy-four degrees Fahrenheit with clear blue skies and plenty of oxygen and nitrogen and all kinds of neat plants and animals. So load up the kids and get underway and I’ll see you in five hundred years.’ By the time we get Casey’s message seven hundred years from now, someone will have already discovered how to travel at the speed of light, or how to bend space, or how to travel through worm holes. Casey will reach Planet blah-blah-blah and there will already be a thriving metropolis with half a billion people on it, with pizza parlors and coffee shops and sexually transmitted diseases that haven’t been invented yet, and domestic violence and taxes and traffic. It’ll be the same junk we have here on Earth.”
“Pizza and coffee and sex and spousal abuse and taxes? Is that really all you see in the world?”
“Well, no. Pizza and coffee I adore. But we can’t and shouldn’t pretend that those other things don’t exist.”
“True, but we should focus on the positive, like sunsets and kisses and children laughing and fireworks.”
They strolled in silence for a time, each nibbling on their waffle cone. Danny had to admit that Candy had a point. His apparent world view certainly sounded bleak. Did he really see the world that way? And if so, how difficult (or easy!) would it be to alter his perception? Sunsets and kissing and children laughing and fireworks certainly sounded a lot more fun than did his list of societal attributes. “Maybe the point of Casey’s mission is to establish a new society. A better one.”
“How so?”
“Maybe the plan isn’t for people—human beings—to follow him there. Maybe the plan is to start over. With a new population. Kind of like a backup for the entire population of Earth.”
“What sort of population?”
“I don’t know. Did Casey have any cryogenic material with him?”
Candy considered it. “I don’t know. My focus was on him. But there were two geneticists on the team. And a zoologist, plus several biologists and botanists. And I know Casey had private consultations with a cultural anthropologist and a sociologist, but he never told me what they discussed, and I didn’t want to burden him by asking him questions he’d been instructed not to answer.”
“That sounds like conclusive evidence to me. When Casey gets wherever he’s going, he’s going to seed the planet with whatever earthly specimens are required. And when everything is ready and there’s a sustainable ecosystem with plants and animals, probably a hundred years or so after he arrives, he’ll move on to the people. The kids won’t be coming from Earth because the kids are already in Casey’s freezer. He’s probably got five thousand IVF babies ready to be grown in artificial wombs.”
“That would take a lot of gear. A lot of equipment.”
“You said yourself that they strapped Casey onto an Atlas VI rocket. That’s a heavy lifter. He probably has several school bus-sized laboratories riding with him. Including more ’bots like him. When he lands, he’ll get everything unpacked and set up. After the babies are born, Casey and the other robots will be their caretakers and schoolmasters. When they get old enough, they’ll begin breeding the old fashioned way. The fun way, like we do it here on Earth. The way God intended.”
“Casey once asked me if I believe in God.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that, yes, I do believe in God. Casey wondered if maybe he would find God somewhere out in space. I think that’s what he was thinking about in the elevator when we were riding up to the top of the gantry. And when he saw the rocket, and it all became real to him, it was in that moment that he realized why he had been created. He said it himself: it was his destiny.” Candy licked her gelato. “Do you believe in God? You wrote about it in your book, but I’ve read your book twice cover to cover, plus probably another three or four times cumulatively based on all the times I’ve used it as a reference book, particularly chapter three. But you never directly say what you personally believe, whether you do or do not believe in God.”
Danny took a deep breath and exhaled. “I want to believe that there is a God, some sort of omnipresent force in the world, in the galaxy, in the universe, which has a hand in all things, which keeps things balanced, and helps good triumph over evil. I want to believe in that. But the pragmatic scientist in me keeps getting in the way. I just don’t know. Even after I wrote The Rock of God I didn’t know. And that was the main reason I wrote the book.”
“Do you believe in miracles?”
“Same answer: I want to. But I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed one.”
“I have.”
“You have what?”
“Witnessed a miracle.”
“When?”
“One day, I was in the lab with Casey. It was just the two of us. He was reciting mission parameters for the first ten years of his flight. My job was to listen to see if he had any hiccups.”
“Hiccups? How can a robot get the hiccups?”
“Not literally hiccups. More like a snag or a moment of difficulty. It was imperative that he operate smoothly. My job was to look for any rough spots. So I’m sitting there listening to Casey talk about electrical systems on his ship when all of a sudden he stops, puts down his tablet, and stands up. He walks over to the window. There on the ledge is a spider. Casey picks it up. The fact that he didn’t accidentally smash it in the process is a testament to the folks who built him. Then he carries the spider in his fist over to the back door. He opens the door and opens his hand in a bush. Then he waits until the spider crawls out of his hand and onto a leaf. Casey closes the door, comes back to his seat beside me, and picks up his tablet as if nothing happened. After a few seconds he somehow sensed something was wrong and he looked at me. Probably because I was sitting there in shock with my mouth open. Then he said, ‘If the spider remains indoors, it will likely be unable to find food. I do not wish the spider to die.’ ”
“Apparently the first law about robots not injuring humans also pertains to spiders,” said Danny. “I can see why Casey was selected for his mission. A being sensitive enough to rescue a spider is perfect for seeding a new planet in the name of humanity. But I don’t see where the miracle was.”
“Isn’t it obvious? A machine, of its own volition, saved the life of an insect.”
“Spiders are arachnids, not insects.”
“I’m a roboticist, smart ass, not an arachnidologist or an insectologist.”
“You mean an entomologist?” Danny couldn’t stifle a grin. He was needling Candy now, having a bit of fun at her expense.
“You’re not very bright, are you?” she said.
“No. But why do you ask?”
“Because for a guy who would like to get more of what he had last night, you’re not doing a very good job of wooing me. You’re too busy criticizing my vocabulary. I should smash this gelato in your face.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve smeared sticky stuff on my face.”
“But it might be the last. Keep it up, doctor.” Candy was smiling, too. She could give as well as she got.
“Fair enough. Please continue. Help me to see the miracle.”
“The fact that a machine like Casey possessed the ability to protect the life of something as insignificant as a spider is a miracle unto itself.”
“How is that a miracle? Casey was just behaving according to his programming. According to its programming. Your satellite phone behaves according to its programming, but is that a miracle?”
“Well, my phone isn’t rescuing spiders, but yes I would say my phone is a miracle, too.”
“How?”
Candy withdrew her phone from her purse and held it up. “This little thing allows me to call anywhere in the world. It sends a signal to a tower someplace, then the signal goes up to a satellite, then to probably a couple other satellites, depending on where I’m calling, like China or Japan or Australia, someplace on the other side of the globe. And then the signal goes back down to earth to a tower, and that tower sends a signal to the phone which belongs to the person I’m calling. That person answers, and we’re able to have a conversation despite the fact that that other person is cooking dinner or something, and I’m here in California, spreading sperm on my boyfriend’s face. For example. That, to me, is a miracle.”
Danny thought about it for a few moments. “I’ll admit that it is impressive technology. And it’s a lot of fun to talk to a person making dinner while you’re playing with sperm. But I’m not sure it qualifies as a miracle.” Before Candy could protest, he added, “But I’ll give it some thought. You may be right.”
Candy crunched on her waffle cone but did not protest.
Danny and Candy paused before a display window looking into a jewelry store. Inside, a robotic jeweler sat at a workbench, its hands manipulating a gold ring, to which it carefully mounted a dazzling diamond. The window display showcased jewelry of all sorts: rings and necklaces and bracelets. All of it made by hand. The hand of a robot.
Danny turned to Candy. “So I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
Candy turned to Danny and smiled.
A dark figure stepped out of a shadow. The silver blade of a knife glinted in his hand. Bloodshot eyes bulged in a face scraggly with several days’ worth of unshaven scruff. “Give me your money. All of it. Now.” He stabbed the air a few inches from Danny’s chest as a warning.
Danny turned to face the man, situating himself between Candy.
“Just take it easy,” said Danny.
“No. Shut up. Give me your money. Now!”
“No.”
“I said give me your money. I’ll cut you. I’ll stick this in your neck. I’ll cut her, too.”
“No.”
The scruffy man stared at Danny. His red, watery eyes narrowed.
“This is what’s wrong with the world today,” said Danny, “no consequences!” Danny heard his voice rising, but it was distant, as if coming to him as an echo from somewhere up the street. “People think they can do whatever they want, take whatever they want, and no one will stop them. You want my money, you’re going to have to take it. You might cut me or stick that blade in me, but I’m going to break your neck. I used to be in the special forces, and I’ve killed scum like you with my bare hands.”
The scruffy man lunged. The silver blade flashed in the neon lights.
Danny reached for the man’s wrist.
The blade sliced across Danny’s forearm. A red line appeared, and blood poured out, dripping onto the concrete between the two men.
Danny seized the man’s wrist and wrenched it as hard as he could, twisting the man’s arm. Danny stepped forward and drove the knuckles of his right hand hard into the man’s throat.
A coughing, choking sound erupted from the man’s mouth.
Danny drew back his arm and thrust his hand forward again, slamming the meaty heel of his palm into the man’s nose.
The man’s nose crunched and his legs collapsed. He fell to his knees.
Danny seized the back of the man’s head, locked his fingers around as much hair as he could find, and drove his knee as hard as he could into the man’s face. Blood spattered from the man’s nostrils, and then from his mouth.
Danny seized the hand still clutching the knife, pulled hard on the man’s wrist and arm, and forced him to the ground.
Danny dropped his knee onto the back of the man’s head and took the knife. He leaned forward and spoke into the man’s ear. “I should stick this knife in your heart, you son of a bitch. Do society a favor. But I won’t. While you’re waiting for your face to heal over the next eight weeks, I want you to think about what you could’ve done differently in your life, how this could’ve been prevented.”
A tall, burly man in a blue silk shirt, shorts, and flip-flops appeared at Danny’s side. The man flashed a badge. “LAPD. I’ve got it from here.”
Before Danny had time to withdraw, the cop had the scruffy man’s hands cuffed behind his back and used one knee to pin him to the ground. He withdrew a phone and made a call. Then he turned to Danny and Candy. “I’ve got a unit on its way, to pick up this poor bastard. I saw the whole thing. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I knew I shouldn’t have worn flip flops. But I’ll vouch for you, this guy instigated. You’re both in the clear. I’ll have an officer take your statement. But it better be at the hospital.”
“Why?” Danny asked.
“You’re bleeding.”
A deep gash ran about three inches down the inside of Danny’s left forearm. Rivulets of bright red blood covered his hand and dripped profusely onto the concrete.
“Looks like he got me.”
“Not as bad as you got him,” said the cop. “He’ll be drinking his dinner through a straw for a couple months.” The cop shifted his eyes to Candy. “Are you alright, Miss?”
Candy looked at the blood on Danny’s hand, at the knife he was still holding. “I’m alright.”
Sirens. Coming closer.
A black-and-white squad car appeared on the street. Followed by another. Minutes later, two ambulances arrived. And then fire trucks.
Candy stood in awe as the scruffy man was loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.
A crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, mostly robotic, looked on. Red and blue lights from emergency vehicles flashed across their metallic faces and bodies.
A uniformed police officer came forward with a large plastic bag and had Danny drop the knife into it.
A paramedic applied a large square of gauze to Danny’s bleeding forearm and assisted Candy and then Danny into the rear of the second ambulance.
~
Danny and Candy were escorted into the emergency room at Blessed Trinity Community Hospital. A nurse led them to an exam room, and Danny sat on the bed. The square of gauze on his arm was now soaked with blood.
Candy sat in a nearby chair. “You never told me you were in the special forces.”
“I wasn’t. But the guy with the knife didn’t know that.”
“Then how did you know all those moves?”
“He had a knife. You were in danger. I had to stop him.”
Candy rose from her chair and took Danny’s face in her hands. She looked deep into his eyes. Then she pressed her lips to his and kept them there.
The long blue curtain suspended from the ceiling whisked open on its metallic track. A man wearing a white lab coat over baby-blue scrubs held a transparent digital clipboard. A stethoscope hung about his neck.
Candy’s lips remained pressed to Danny’s mouth.
The physician continued reading the rest of Danny’s file. When he’d finished, he looked up at the kissing couple. “I was told somebody in here is bleeding.”
Candy withdrew her lips. She smiled at the doctor. “Sorry. It’s not every day a man saves your life.”
“Indeed. I just paid a visit to your attacker, Mister Olivaw. He looks like he tried to stop a train with his face. Nice work.”
Danny studied the doctor, trying to discern sarcasm or honesty in the man’s tone.
“I mean that sincerely,” said the doctor. “He tried to take something that didn't belong to him. He got what he deserved.” He came forward and shook Danny’s hand. “I’m Doctor Perkins. I’m actually a big fan of your work.”
“You are?”
“I’ve read your book. Robotics is kind of a hobby of mine. In fact, would you mind an autograph?” Dr. Perkins tapped the clipboard a few times and handed it to Danny, along with a short stylus he’d popped out of a top compartment.
Danny looked at the clipboard and saw the cover of his book in ebook format. He signed his name across it, then returned it to Dr. Perkins.
Dr. Perkins grinned sheepishly. “Thanks. Now, let’s make some repairs.” He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed the gauze from Danny’s arm. The clotted blood pulled away with the gauze, and the gash began to bleed again. Dr. Perkins sprayed the wound with two quick squirts out of a nearby bottle, then stuck his finger into the wound.
“That’s a dual sterilitic analgesic.” Dr. Perkins’ gloved finger moved around under Danny’s skin. “Sterilizes while it numbs.”
“Thanks.”
“Well,” Dr. Perkins removed his finger, “it doesn’t look like he did anything more than cut the epidermis. I’ll have you patched up in a minute. Now, would you prefer a zipper or sutures?”
“What’s the difference?” asked Candy.
“A zipper is easier for me to apply and heals faster but leaves a scar. Sutures are a needle and thread, like we’ve been using for hundreds of years. They hurt a bit but my subspecialty is plastic surgery, so I can all but guarantee no scarring.”
Danny considered it. “Scars are kinda cool. Pain and fear leaving the body and all that. But I think I’ll go with the sutures.”
“Good choice. And more fun for me.” Dr. Perkins withdrew a suture kit from a drawer, tore it open, and donned a mask and eyeglasses fitted with magnifiers that looked like small microscopes. “Now, the most important thing is that you be absolutely still.” He poked the small black fishhook-like needle through Danny’s skin. “Did you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It means you’re alive.” Dr. Perkins sprayed the wound with two more quirts of the analgesic.
“If you’re a good boy and don’t move a muscle,” Dr. Perkins droned from behind his surgical mask, “when we’re all done here, I’ll give you a lollipop.”
“Oh, good. I love lollipops.”
“Everybody loves lollipops,” Dr. Perkins added. “By the way, this is a special type of suture thread. They used to use cat guts back in the day, but we’ve managed to improve upon that a bit. This is made from the stevia plant. It will dissolve in about two weeks. So you’ll never have to see me again.” Dr. Perkins’ voice was soft, his tone soothing. “Unless of course you decide to tangle with knife-wielding muggers in the near future. So, what did Mister Drinks-His-Dinner-Through-A-Straw say when he attacked you?”
Danny tried to remember. “I’m not sure. He asked for money.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said ‘No’.”
“And then what happened?”
“He demanded money one more time. He said he would cut me. Then he would cut Candy.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice, was it? So how did you get cut?”
“He lunged forward with the knife. I tried to get out of the way but it seems I only partially succeeded.”
“Judging by the reconstructive surgery I’m going to be doing on his face, I’d guess that it was at that point you disarmed him.”
“That’s correct.”
“And how did you disarm him?”
Danny glanced at Candy, who sat in the chair. She raised her eyebrows, equally confused as to Dr. Perkins’ line of questioning.
“I struck him in the throat with my knuckles, then used the heel of my palm to smash his nose. That dropped him to his knees. I grabbed the back of his head and drove my knee into his face. The first move was to cut off his air supply. The second move was to cause more pain and to blind him with his own tears. The third strike was to disorient him with a blow to the head. I then secured the hand with the knife and manipulated it until he was forced to the ground, where I took the weapon from him.”
“That’s some real Chuck Norris shit,” Dr. Perkins said, very softly under his surgical mask. “You a Navy SEAL or a Ranger or something?”
“Me? No. You think I was too rough on him?”
“You mean are the cops going to charge you with excessive use of force?” Dr. Perkins chuckled to himself. “I wouldn’t think so. But if they do, call me. I play golf with one of the best defense attorneys in Beverly Hills. But personally, I think you did the right thing. Hopefully pizza-face in Exam Room Three will seek a new line of work. My dad used to be a sharecropper in Alabama. After a few summers of helping him do that, and seeing how much work and how little assurance there was of a steady income, I decided to take a different path. I spent twelve years in school learning how treat and hopefully heal people. Now I have a big house and a fancy sports car, and my wife and kids and I vacation two months out of the year. But the other ten months, I’m busting my hump, either here or at my office. I’ve done okay for myself, and it wasn’t easy. But it was certainly worth it. The American Dream is alive and well for anyone with the courage to pursue it. Rather than demanding it with a knife.
“And now that our nice little chat has reached its logical conclusion, and you have been sufficiently distracted from what I’ve been doing, my work is done.”
Dr. Perkins peeled off his gloves and lowered his mask. “All better.”
Danny inspected his arm. The wound had been closed with an almost imperceptibly thin strand of material. The two flaps of his skin were joined together as if they’d been fused.
“Here, don’t forget this.” Dr. Perkins slapped a thin, skin-like rectangular adhesive bandage on Danny’s arm. “Keep that on for the next couple weeks. It’s water-resistant so you can wear it in the shower. Stop by the nurses’ station on your way out, they have some documents for you to sign.”
Dr. Perkins shook Danny’s hand. “It’s been a real pleasure sewing you up this evening, Doctor.” He shook Candy’s hand as well. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two lollipops. “Here. As promised.”
Danny and Candy thanked him and accepted the candy.
Dr. Perkins walked with Danny and Candy toward the nurses’ station, then whipped back the curtain around Exam Room Three. “Okay, Mister Doesn’t-Play-Well-With-Others, let’s have a look at what’s left of your face.” Dr. Perkins began pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves.
Danny locked eyes with the man who’d attacked them. He was handcuffed to the bed and two cops stood nearby, one human, one robo. The attacker’s face was a purple and blue mass of swollen tissue and dried blood. A white tube of gauze had been inserted into each nostril. The man raised his right hand and extended his middle finger.
Dr. Perkins turned to Danny and Candy. “Some people never learn.” He grinned and donned a surgical mask.
Then Candy and Danny were out of view and on their way to the nurses’ station, and an hour later, at last, they arrived at Candy’s, where they both collapsed onto the sofa. There they sat side by side, enjoying the silence.
Read next chapter:
