Susan forestalled Sharicka with a raised hand. “If Monterey wants something, she will have to ask me herself.” She turned her gaze directly on Monterey, her brows rising in slow increments.
Monterey was up to the challenge. “I want to see Nate again.”
Susan noted with satisfaction she had used a full sentence, and it surprised and pleased her when Monterey continued.
“You promised you would take me today.”
“I did.” Susan could barely contain her joy.
Monterey nodded vigorously.
Sharicka looked longingly at Susan. She seemed afraid to open her mouth again.
Susan had already set things up with Nate the previous evening, and he had promised to make himself available in the charting room. She felt certain he would not mind adding another child. “Of course you may come with us. As long as your nurse gives us permission.”
“He will! He will!” Sharicka said excitedly.
Susan knew she was right. Shaden had already proven himself the young girl’s staunchest supporter. “All right, then. You two get ready. I’ll let the nurses know where we’re going, get Shaden’s permission, and meet you here at” — Susan looked at her Vox — “exactly eleven oh eight hours.”
Sharicka got into the game, examining her bare arm with the same intensity Susan had her Vox. “Should we sinkonize?”
Impressed a four-year-old could come so close to correctly pronouncing “synchronize,” Susan rewarded her efforts by joining in. She consulted her Vox again. “It’s exactly eleven oh five and forty seconds.”
“Check.” Sharicka pretended to fine-tune a Vox, though such was unnecessary as they all self-adjusted to the world clock. She must have gotten the whole synchronicity routine from an old show or movie.
Monterey giggled at the interaction.
Susan turned and marched off, trying to appear as competent as an old-time spy whose very life might depend on how well she “sinkonized” with her partners.
When they came back together, Saranne keyed the three through the massive, confining doors of the PIPU and out into the main portion of the hospital. The girls remained silent as they walked with Susan, focused on anything and everything. Sharicka paid so much attention to the key locks that old fears resurfaced and Susan worried the little girl might attempt escape. She made a vow to keep a close eye on the child, to never once let Sharicka out of her sight or beyond a few steps. She felt certain she could outrun the chunky preschooler, so long as she did not give Sharicka too large a head start.
Both girls studied the walls of the regular part of the hospital, nudging each other and pointing to some of the more colorful or unusual paintings. People flowed through the corridors singly or in small groups, discussing everything from family members to duties, from hopes to sadness, from lunch to vomit. Gurneys rumbled past with clipped IV lines and personal charting screens that appeared blank to anyone who might glance at them from the hallway and required passwords to read. At last, the three arrived at the charting room. Susan had discussed bringing Monterey back sometime this late morning or early afternoon, and Nate had promised to do his best to be there when they arrived.
When Susan opened the door, N8-C was sitting in one of the plush chairs tapping away at a palm-pross. As they entered, he looked up and smiled. Susan wondered idly if he found the softer chairs more comfortable or if he simply emulated the things he saw humans do. The very thought struck her as odd. Usually, she found herself forgetting his origins, thinking of him as just another colleague/friend, like Kendall or Stony. “Good morning, Nate,” she called as she ushered her charges inside and closed the door.
Nate rose to meet them. “Good morning, Susan. Good morning, Monterey.” He gave Sharicka a quizzical look. “Hello, little girl I’ve never met.”
Sharicka dashed forward, took his hand, and shook it. “I’m Sharicka. Nice to meet you, Nate.”
Monterey waited until Sharicka had finished before sliding in and capturing Nate in an embrace.
Nate hugged Monterey back, but his gaze found Susan.
Susan just smiled and waited.
Monterey held on longer than would be considered appropriate in most situations, and Sharicka nudged the other girl’s arm with an elbow. “Let go, now. You don’t want to break him.”
Nate’s closeness muffled Monterey’s response. “Can’t break him. He’s a robot; he can’t die.”
Susan felt a smidgen of guilt for her deceit, but she had no intention of correcting the misconception she had started. If believing Nate indestructible spurred Monterey to talk, Susan would not disabuse her of the notion.
Monterey finally pulled away. “Thank you,” she said.
Nate merely smiled. “For the hug? I give those away to anyone who wants them.”
Sharicka cut in. “She means for fixing her. For helping her start talking again.”
Susan realized Sharicka might become a problem for Monterey. Like a well-meaning older sister who did all the talking for a toddler, she might delay Monterey’s verbal development.
“Is that what you mean, Monterey?” Nate asked.
Monterey nodded briskly.
Nate dropped to crouch at her level. “Because I didn’t do anything, really. You fixed yourself, Monterey. We just reminded you of your problem, and you worked through it.”
Susan could not take her gaze from the interaction, though she could feel Sharicka staring directly at her.
“I wanted to see you again,” Monterey explained. “Can you . . . take me to a park, sometime? With . . . Mommy?”
Susan considered Monterey’s words, expressing so much more than they said. Her use of the term “Mommy” instead of “Mom” or “Mother” or the trendier “Mym” that came from shortening “my mom” in text messages suggested she operated at a level far younger than her actual age. She had stopped speaking, and mostly interacting, at six. Passive exposure to movies, maturation of her brain and body, and the conversations from her mother and the medical staff would probably help her catch up quickly. But, for now, it made sense she might befriend a precocious four-year-old rather than another preteen. It also confirmed that her issues stemmed from her feelings about her father and their relationship to the accident.
Nate shook his head. “I’m sorry, Monterey, but I’m not allowed outside the hospital.”
The look on Monterey’s face showed more than disappointment. She looked scandalized. “Why not?”
Nate sighed. His gaze trickled upward from Monterey to Susan. “I’m not human, Monterey.”
“I know that.”
Susan thought she detected some defensive anger. This was not going to go well.
“I’m a tool, created to perform a service, like an MRI scanner. My work is inside the hospital. I’m not comfortable outside; and, worse, people are not comfortable with me.”
“I am.”
Nate grinned. “And I’m so glad you are.”
Susan intervened. It was easy to forget Nate had no actual training when it came to handling children or psychiatric cases. “Monterey, visiting Nate is a special reward you’ll get when you work hard at getting back to a normal life. We need to work on your relationship with your mother.”
Monterey froze in place. Sharicka stared at her, as if hypnotized by what the older girl might do next. Susan suspected she might actually lapse back into silence or, perhaps, fling an explosive temper tantrum. It surprised Susan to realize that she preferred the latter. In Monterey’s case, it seemed the healthier response.
But Monterey only turned Susan a partially suppressed smile. “I have to learn to sass her and slam doors?”
Susan could not help laughing as the words of their first meeting came back to haunt her. “You
