I, Robot To Protect

could digest every medical textbook, every journal, and use that vast store of knowledge to examine patients and come up with appropriate diagnoses. They could use hearing and vision far superior to our own, memory storage areas we could only dream of, and unthinkable speed to do the jobs we take for granted every day.”

Remington returned to his soup. “I don’t see thinking robots happening any time soon. Maybe not ever.”

Susan delivered the coup de grace. “They already exist.”

“What?”

“My father works with them. I’m telling you, they exist. And, tomorrow, I’ll prove it.”

Remington looked skeptical, but he did not challenge her. “How about tonight?”

Now it was Susan’s turn to sputter out, “What?”

“If such a thing exists, I want to see it as soon as possible.” Remington’s green eyes sparkled. Clearly, the rush stemmed from interest rather than mistrust. “How far do we have to go?”

“Just to the hospital.” Susan had no intention of spoiling the surprise by announcing that Remington had already met a thinking robot. She wanted him to get to know Nate as human before divulging the secret. She only hoped she could get Nate to play along. “I suppose tonight’s fine. Just because I don’t have call again doesn’t mean I can’t stay at the hospital all night, does it?”

Remington laughed. “I get it. How about tomorrow morning? Rounds start at eight o’clock, but I can meet you anytime before that.”

Susan’s rounds did not begin until nine a.m. Most of the psychiatry residents came in at eight o’clock to review patients ahead of time. She wondered how the neurosurgery residents managed to get in some work time before rounds and guessed they probably rounded first and saw patients afterward. “Let’s make it seven o’clock. We’ll meet the same place we did tonight.”

“All right.” Finished with his soup, Remington sat back.

Susan worked to catch up, concentrating on the food rather than on conversation.

Remington allowed her to finish before bringing up another subject. “I really would like to sincerely apologize for the way I treated you when we first met.”

Susan pushed aside the soup bowl and gently dabbed her face with her napkin before returning it to her lap. “You already apologized for that. I was under the assumption this dinner made up for it.”

“Does it?” The tone of Remington’s voice, the expression on his face, made it clear the answer mattered.

Susan did not dither. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have agreed if it didn’t. Now, should I apologize to you for, as Kendall Stevens put it, verbally castrating you in response?”

A slight red tinge touched the center of Remington’s cheeks, but he smiled. “Please don’t apologize for that. I liked it.”

The server took the empty soup bowls and spoons, while Susan gave Remington an incredulous look. “You . . . like . . . being castrated?”

“Verbally castrated,” Remington clarified. “I like that you stood up to me. Not many women would do that, especially not with such speed and accuracy. You’d have made a damn fine surgeon.”

Susan’s voice gained the flat tone of rising anger. “You’re coming close to insulting me again.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that in a ‘surgeons are better than internists’ way. I meant it in a ‘surgeons are dickheads’ way.”

“So . . . I’m a dickhead.”

The neurosurgery resident buried his face in his palms and tried again. “I’m not saying you are a dickhead. Just that you’d make a good one. I’m trying to say you have . . .”

“Balls?” Susan inserted.

“I certainly hope not.” Remington mocked being scandalized, his eyes as round as coins. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten that, on the PIPU, he had suggested she might have sixteen of those anatomical appendages. “How about chutzpah?”

Susan accepted that as inoffensive. “Chutzpah it is. I even like saying chutzpah.” She emphasized the guttural “ch” as she repeated the word. “Chhhhhutzpah.”

“Chutzpah is the only thing that impresses surgeons, and then only if it’s backed up by competence. And that’s what I like about you. You have both in spades.”

It amazed Susan how quickly Remington had turned what started out as an insult into the ultimate compliment. “Are we back to the celebrity of getting the greatest neurosurgeon in the world to return my call? Because it wasn’t that big a deal. All I did was demand he treat me with a little bit of respect.”

“And therein lies the magic.” Remington raised his hands as if preaching. “Most surgeons have this idea the world exists to serve them and that anyone beneath them should behave in a servile manner. And most do. So, when someone dares to stand up to them, they take notice. If it’s backed up by ability, they respect. If it’s all air, they attack. One false move, and you turn from equal to prey in an instant.”

At that moment, the food arrived. The server placed their selections on the table, along with rice, glasses of water, teacups, and a pot of steaming tea.

“Most surgeons,” Remington said, “are simple to understand.” He ladled rice onto his plate, followed by dollops of chicken broccoli and house lo mein.

Susan took smaller portions of the same food. “Are you simple to understand?”

Remington only nodded until he swallowed a bite of food. “For the most part. I have a bit more insight into what I want for my future, though.”

“Oh?” Susan pressed.

“I want a woman who can and will challenge me, not a young puppy whose only attributes are bleached- blond hair, round buttocks, and enormous breasts. I want to come home from work and share my day with a wife who not only has a life of her own, but can help me when I’m missing something that could save or lose a life.”

Susan smirked. “You don’t like breasts?”

“I’m a man. I love breasts, but they have to be attached to an intelligent woman for me to want a relationship.” Remington ate some more. “So many of my older colleagues marry for nothing but looks and willingness to obey orders; and, at fifty-five, they have no problem trading their forty-year-old spouses for two twenty-year-old mistresses.”

Susan had food in her mouth and, so, did not reply. She wondered if the same thing applied to female surgeons and supposed it did. Otherwise, he would have used the word “wives” instead of “spouses.”

“They don’t understand why their love life has gone stale, why they lost the excitement. So they try to find it in younger and younger men or women, never realizing what they actually seek is some emotional and intellectual stimulation, not kinkier sex.”

Susan cut to the chase. “Are you asking me out on another date?”

Remington chewed thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. Was that a psychiatry trick?”

“Not really. I’m just good at recognizing a description of myself. Average looks, and too smart for her own good.”

Remington dropped his chopsticks. “By whose description? I find you very attractive, and I believe I told you so when we first met.”

Susan recalled. When their fingers had accidentally touched, he had said, “I’ll take any excuse to hold hands with a pretty woman.” “I thought that was just a line.”

“Then I’ll say it again.” Remington took Susan’s empty left hand and clasped it briefly in his right. His gaze found hers and held it, expressing all sincerity. “I find you very attractive, Dr. Susan Calvin.”

Susan did not know what to say. She could feel her face warming uncomfortably. “Thanks, Remy. I don’t imagine I have to tell you you’re a handsome man.”

Remington reclaimed his hand. “Of course not.” He smiled broadly. “I’m a surgeon. I know I’m perfect.”

Susan laughed and ate, trying for ladylike grace as she did so. The chopsticks didn’t help.

Remington used his like a professional, handling individual grains of rice without difficulty. Susan wondered if that came from experience or naturally fine motor skills. She wondered if the decision to enter surgery had as much to do with hand dexterity as temperament.

“So, your father collects guns.”