I, Robot To Protect

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