absolutely sure it won’t interfere with my responsibilities on the unit. Would you mind if I visited with them sometime and held the decision until afterward?”
“Room 713. Seventh floor, Hassenfeld Research Tower. You’re excused from rounds to head up there now.”
Susan accepted the invitation, from curiosity and from the need to escape the scrutiny. She had no intention of deliberately failing, or refusing an invaluable opportunity, just to appease people jealous of her good fortune. She had always followed the responsible course in the past, and she intended to do so the remainder of her life. “Thank you, sir. My patients are stable, with nothing new to report.” With that, she headed off the unit, accompanied by a key-carrying nurse who wished her well at the outer door.
Susan had never been to the research towers. Few residents ever got the opportunity to participate, and those who did were nearly always chief residents, who dedicated an extra year to learning and teaching. The elevator doors opened to the mingled odors of cleaners, cedar chips, and the distinctive musk of rats. Through the years, researchers had genetically modified the rodents to approximate nearly every human disease state. Also, few protestors worried about the humane treatment of rats the way they did for primates, dogs, cats, and other cuter critters.
The cinder block walls of the older research towers barely resembled the patient areas, where paintings covered every wall and glass-encased craft projects and collectible toys filled every alcove. Here, the furnishings remained sparse, the rooms containing solid lab tables and light metal chairs that moved easily through the confines as needed.
Susan stopped in front of room 713. Labeled PSYCHIATRY LABORATORY, it gave no hint of the stunning brilliance inside, looking no different from any other room on the floor. Through the leaded glass window, Susan caught a glimpse of a desk covered with papers and a spattering of chairs, but she would have had to crane her neck to see the entire room. Not wishing to get caught bobbing around like a spy, she knocked.
“Come in,” a friendly voice called.
Susan opened the door. The smells of rubbing alcohol and burnt paper wafted through the crack. Pushing the door all the way open, she entered, letting it spring closed behind her.
Room 713 closely resembled all the other research facilities on the seventh floor. Four large desks, pushed together, filled most of the room, with several metal chairs left in various locations around them. A solitary wooden desk sat in a corner, apart from the others. A man sat on a plush rolling office chair in front of it. He had coarse brown hair that rose and fell across the top of his head like waves. Horizontal lines scored his forehead, and he chewed savagely on the end of an eraser.
At the opposite end of the room, a tall, skinny man held a burning piece of paper over one of the laboratory desks. He looked up, smiling, as Susan entered. He had unkempt auburn hair, a matching mustache, and a long, crooked nose.
As the man watched her, Susan focused on the flames creeping ever closer to his fingers. “Your fingers,” she finally called out, just as the fire reached them.
The younger man leapt to his feet, dropping the paper, where it burned to ash on the tabletop. The other man finally looked up as well, still apparently oblivious to his companion’s distress. “Can we help you?”
Susan stepped forward to greet him. Before she could speak, the skinny man said, “Don’t be absurd, Ari. That’s Susan Calvin. Don’t you notice the resemblance?”
Now the older man’s face split into a grin as well. “Susan Calvin.” He rose and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Susan hurried to clasp the hand of the man who must be Dr. Ari Goldman. She did not want to leave him standing long with his fingers in midair. He had a firm, dry handshake she attempted to emulate. “Yes, I’m Susan.” She tried to make sense of the taller man’s comment. “Have you met my father?”
“Many times,” Ari said, his voice as gruff as his appearance. “When there’s a robot study to be done, we get it. That’s why we chose you to help us. Figured you’d have the knowledge and the interest.”
Susan loosed a pent-up breath she did not even realize she had been holding. She appreciated they had not selected her solely because of her success with two patients. At some point, though, she would have to tell them she had developed an interest in robots only since meeting Nate and she knew very little about her father’s business.
“That’s Ari Goldman.” The tall man took over for his partner, who had neglected the introductions. “So, of course, I’m Cody Peters.”
“Of course.” Susan had seen only their names, never their pictures. “You’ve worked together for many years. Your names top an insane number of articles.”
Cody laughed. “Insane, indeed. Twenty years now, and he’s driven me there more than a few times.”
Ari’s brows rose. “
Cody Peters continued to smile but gave no other reply. Susan could already tell that, of the two, he would have the more irritating mannerisms. He was probably also the more fun. He walked over to one of the laboratory desks, produced a key, and opened a vault with it. He pulled out a test tube with a thick, greenish liquid and held it up to the light for all to see.
While he did that, Ari turned his attention to a door Susan had assumed was a closet. As he opened it, she could see a small room. A human figure stepped through, one she recognized immediately.
“Nate!”
Nate’s head swiveled toward her, and he grinned. “Susan!”
Still holding the test tube, Cody looked over at the pair. “Well, well, well. You already know each other. That ruins the surprise.”
“Of course they know each other,” Ari grumbled. “Why wouldn’t they? Her father probably put him together, piece by piece, in their living room.”
Susan laughed. “Nate and I met here, at the hospital. My father has never been very open with me about his work.” That needed to come out before the researchers expected her to act like an authority on robotics.
Nate added, “And she’s been either fascinated with me or in love with me ever since. She visits me a lot downstairs.” He smiled to show her he was only kidding. “And I like it.”
Ari ignored the teasing to explain. “Nate hasn’t gotten to show off his paces much, but we find him invaluable. We’re not the only ones, either. If people could get past their silly prejudices, we’d have a whole robot workforce and a lot to show for it.”
Cody cleared his throat, still hefting the test tube. “Do you know what this is?”
Ari gave Cody a quizzical look. “Of course I know what it is. It’s —”
Cody interrupted. “Not you, you moron. I’m talking to Susan.”
Ari scowled.
“Oh.” Susan glanced at Nate from the corner of her eye, hoping he could help her. When he did not, she admitted, “I have absolutely no idea.”
“It’s greenish liquid,” Cody announced.
Ari gave him another look.
Susan played along. “I can see that. I’m just wondering what’s in that greenish liquid.” She figured he must want her to guess. “Is it some sort of infectious bacteria? A fungus, perhaps?”
“Not even close.” Cody lowered the tube, placed it back into its vault, and relocked it. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s worth ten million dollars a vial.”
Susan still had no idea. “Um . . . designer narcotics? Liquid fame?”
Ari had tired of the game. “Say ‘diamondoid nanorobots.’ ”
Susan wasn’t wholly sure she could. “Diamondoid nanorobots.”
Cody snorted with enthusiasm. “We have a winner. Diamondoid nanorobots, the newest treatment for refractory mental illnesses.”
Susan could only stare. “Are you saying that greenish liquid contains itty-bitty robots?”
“Itty-bitty robots,” Cody confirmed, “with the ability to police chemicals and neurological connections. Injected into the spine, they scatter through the brain, recording electrical pulses and interplay, finding aberrant neural pathways, testing circulating blood and cerebrospinal fluid components, measuring quantities and locations of neurotransmitters. After a week or so, we remove the nanorobots and have them analyzed by computers. That
