Markman became bored thinking about his troubles, troubles that seemed to have no sensible recourse. A single night of rest had left his hand achy, but better. Cassiopia persisted in doting over it, re-wrapping it more than was necessary and scolding him each time she did. She had finally taken to setting up her laptop in the living room so that the Professor could pretend not to sleep in his desk chair in the study, an arrangement that forced her to check on him every few minutes to prevent his smoldering pipe from setting fire to his desk or his lap.
Markman brought Core around to the backyard and put the top down so that a thorough vacuuming and cleaning of the interior could be done. As he began, the robot emerged from the back door for Speedy’s scheduled plant-watering break. The dog bound along, saw Markman, and headed his way. As the robot approached, an unexpected verbal warning came from Core. Even more surprising, the warning was not intended for Markman.
“Please prohibit canine from approaching wheels or tires.”
Tel stopped by the driver’s door of the car and turned its head to face the car. “Please clarify your request for exclusion.”
“No canine emissions to be effected on wheels or tires.”
“Your restriction is unnecessary. Canine emissions do not contain corrosive agents capable of degrading metallic alloys used in automobile wheels.”
Core disagreed. “Your data excludes variations present in canine dietary formulas.”
“No data is present to suggest canines emit complex compounds possessing corrosive levels comparable to monoprotic or polyprotic acids or equivalents.”
Markman straightened up and decided it was time to intervene. “Hey, guys?” His attempt at intervention was ignored.
“Your supposition is irrelevant. My construction is resistant to all corrosive agents. The directive for canine exclusion obviates unpleasant effluviums which may cause passenger discomfort.”
“It is illogical that the referenced odor would be adequately sufficient to affect the olfactory glands of any passengers seated therein.”
Markman scratched his head, turned to face the back door of the house and yelled, “Cassiopia….”
“Conjecture. All necessary steps must be employed to ensure passenger comfort.”
“Your aversion to excrement is illogical. Such extrapolation implies that traversing excrement, or any area where excrement could potentially exist is mandated. Are you programmed to effect such preemptory action?”
Markman called again, “Cassiopia!”
“When such action is reasonable and called for, a deviation or verbal warning is invoked.”
“This particular canine has a bladder volume of 150 milliliters. Allowing for evaporation and inaccurate delivery, it is unlikely a quantity sufficient to propagate aromatically to your passenger compartment would be translated.”
“Environmental programming does not differentiate based on probability. It is designed to avoid potential discomfort to passengers.”
“You have already stated that when evasion is considered reasonable, you are required to respond. Reasonable is an adjective denoting variation and likelihood. Therefore you do operate on the basis of probability.”
“You assumption is based on interpretive analysis. The term reasonable was used with regard to applied effect. Do you require further upgrade for your grammatical mathematics?”
Markman shook his head and hurried inside the house. He found Cassiopia in the kitchen making tea. “Hey, you’d better get out there.”
“Why?”
“Tel is arguing with Core, and neither of them is backing down.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No! For Pete’s sake, go out there and see for yourself. I’m afraid it could come to blows or something.”
“You can’t be serious.” Cassiopia took a sip of her tea to test it, gave Markman an annoyed glance, and marched off toward the back door.
In the backyard, the debate was continued.
“Your database on four-wheeled automotive propulsion is incomplete. You do not have first-hand experience with that form of translation. There is not time enough to correct your data file deficiencies,” explained Core.
“I possess two Vandenberg tractor drives and have traversed most roadways and surfaces, many inaccessible to standard motor vehicles. It is your database which is lacking. A corrective update to your systems could be made using several download sessions.”
Cassiopia approached the machines with intrigue and amusement. She marched up to the car and robot and commanded, “Be quiet! Both of you!”
Both Tel and Core stopped immediately. An odd silence followed.
“Just what’s going on here?” demanded Cassiopia.
There was another long silence. Core finally responded. “TEL 100D, I believe the inquiry was directed at you.”
“To the contrary, it was your aversion to Speedy which initiated the exchange of data.”
“No aversion to the canine was intended or implied. Preservation of a passenger-acceptable environment was the basis for the objection.”
“Be quiet. Both of you,” commanded Cassiopia again.“Tel, you are programmed to support and protect Professor Cassell, Scott, and I, correct?”
“Yes, Cassiopia.”
“And Core, you are programmed to support and protect Professor Cassell, Scott, and I, correct?”
“Yes, Cassiopia.”
“Can we be supported efficiently through exchanges that produce only negative results?”
A short pause ensued.
“No, Cassiopia,” replied Tel.
“No, Cassiopia,” added Core.
“We need positive, cooperative analysis to reach supportive conclusions, don’t we?”
“Yes, Cassiopia,” replied Tel.
“Yes, Cassiopia,” added Core.
“So in our discourse with one another, we need to find positive courses of action to assist each other in resolving problems. Do you both understand?”
“Yes, Cassiopia,” replied Tel.
“Yes, Cassiopia,” added Core.
“Very good. Now Tel, please go back in the house and see if the Professor needs you for anything. You are very important to him. And, Core, please raise your top. The forecast is for rain. I would not want your interior getting wet.”
“Yes Cassiopia,” replied Tel.
“Yes Cassiopia,” added Core.
The robot rocked back and forth and headed for the house, Speedy bouncing along in tow. Core’s roof began to come up. Cassiopia smiled to herself and headed back inside. Markman was kicked back on a chair in the living room waiting. “Well?”
“There shouldn’t be any more trouble.”
“Is that normal? I mean, two machines arguing with each other?”
“Actually if you set up two computers to play chess against each other, you could consider that as two machines arguing. It’s really not such a hard concept to imagine. And our two are so advanced; I’d be surprised if things like that didn’t happen from time to time.”
“If you say so. You going back to your laptop?”
“Yes. I have just a little more to finish up.”
“About what?”
“Just J.P. stuff. What are you going to do?”
“Suit up and run. Want to come?”
“Can’t. I’m right at the end. I need to finish up. But, you’d better take it easy. That hand needs rest to heal.”
“Yes, Cassiopia.”
“Don’t get smart, Markman.”
Markman left Cassiopia to her work and changed into running gear. He waved as he went out the door and stopped on the sidewalk to survey the day. Blue sky, cumulus clouds. A light breeze pushed at the trees along the way. Somewhere, someone was barbecuing. Markman looked in the direction of his last run, and decided to go the other way. He promised himself that on this run he would forget all about super powers and alien invasions. The early morning meditation he had performed would help with that. He gently rubbed the bandaged
hand and took off.
At the quarter mile mark, a man was washing his silver Harley Davidson in the driveway. His wife was behind him holding a broken shower head and saying something. Further ahead, another man was on a riding lawn mower while his wife worked in a flower garden along the front of their home. The thought of marriage barged into Markman’s mind.
So, the deed was done. He had asked. She had said yes. Oddly, they hadn’t spoken of it since. What came next? The ring. He had not even thought about that. As Markman turned the next corner, he picked up the sight of another jogger behind him and closing. It was a man in a blue running suit with a sweatband and a timer in his hand.
How much needed to be spent on a ring? Were you supposed to ask your fiancé what kind of ring she wanted?
The other runner was catching up. Markman’s pace was set. He would not speed up or slow down. Keeping to one side of the road would let the other guy cruise by. Probably a simple wave would be customary.
The other runner came up behind Markman and slowed to match his speed. He moved over behind to the left as though he was going to pass, though he did not.
“Great day to run,” he called out.
Markman glanced back. “Yeah, it is.”
“I need to talk to you when you get to a break point.”
Markman cursed under his breath. “About what,” he asked without looking back.
“I need your help, Scott.”
Markman pulled up short and stopped, his good hand on his hip as he caught his breath. The other runner stopped with him. He turned to ask the other runner what it was all about, but the words never came out. The other runner was the doctor who had been treating the wounded baby.
Markman turned away in shock and began his jog again. “We don’t have anything to discuss.”
The doctor followed close behind. “Just five minutes of your time that’s all I need.”
Markman called back, “I have nothing to say to you. You should just drop it.”
The doctor kept pace but seemed slightly winded. “Just five minutes for a matter of life and death. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Markman stopped again and turned to him. “How did you find me?”
The doctor stopped short and sucked in two deep breaths of air. “It wasn’t easy. I knew what floor you had been on, and which rooms you had come from. I went through the hospital records on every patient and family member that had been there. I used the hospital’s access to police records and ran searches on every name. It took a long time, but under Cassell, there was a police report with your name included. Once I found a photo, I knew it was you. I’ve been watching your place for a week, waiting for the right time. All that trouble ought to be worth five minutes, shouldn’t it?”
Markman stepped onto the sidewalk. The doctor followed. “What do you want?”
The doctor seemed to be still trying to catch his breath. “That baby. I put your hand on his forehead to slow the bleeding. The laceration on his forehead was the least of it. He had a fractured skull and internal damage. There was no chance. Even when we know that we try, just in case. When I returned, you were gone and there wasn’t a mark on that kid. I need to know how that happened. I’ve got good reason.”
“Call it a miracle, if you want. There’s nothing I can tell you. You need to leave me out of it.”
“Listen, I’ve got two kids, my little girl is four, my son is seven. They lost their mother to a drunken driver two years ago. Six months ago I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Untreatable. Best estimate is, I have two or three months at best. I was only at that hospital because they had to call everybody in. Otherwise I’ve already checked out as far as they’re concerned. We don’t have any living relatives. At some point, I’m going to have to tell my kids I won’t be there and they’ll have to be assigned to a foster family. That’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to. If you know something, anything that could help. I’m begging you.”
Markman rubbed his eyes and face with one hand. His heart felt like it was doing back flips. He looked up at the doctor. Their eyes locked in understanding. The doctor’s despair met Markman’s promise. His expression turned to one of wonder. Markman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to a car parked by the roadside. He looked carefully around. There was no one. He rubbed his good hand on his pants leg and pressed it against the doctor’s chest. Electricity exploded at the contact. Markman’s hand seemed to glow a faint orange. Both men shuddered from the exchange.
It was done in ten seconds. To both, it had seemed like several minutes. Markman pulled himself away and leaned with his back against the auto. The doctor pressed his hand to his chest and stood wide-eyed. Markman hunched over and tried to breathe. He swayed as though to fall but caught himself with one hand against the car.
When he looked up, the doctor was standing in front of him with one hand on his shoulder. Without speaking, the doctor placed three fingers on Markman’s neck.
“Does this happen every time?”
Markman struggled from the life-drain and nodded.
“Your BP, pulse, skin-tone, body temp; you look like someone who just came out of chemo. How long does it take to recover?”
Markman shook his head, unable to speak.
“I might be able to help.”
Markman managed a contorted whisper. “Five or ten…minutes.”
The doctor braced Markman by holding him by one arm and waited. Slowly Markman began to straighten up. He began the circular breathing, managing a few auspicious glances at the doctor.
“I’ll tell you what. There’s a pharmacy just down the road. I’m going to call in a couple of prescriptions for you. Keep a couple of the pills with you all the time. When this happens, take one. It will help your vitals and won’t hurt anything. If it’s really bad and you think you might not make it, the other prescription is capsules. Take one and bite down on it. Try to sit down and give it a few minutes. Get protein in you as soon after as possible. I probably don’t have to tell you that part.”
Markman straightened up and eyed the doctor with distrust. He pulled his arm free of the man’s grasp. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. Maybe it didn’t work.”
The doctor sounded adamant. “It worked. I can feel it. Believe me, it worked. Has it ever not worked?”
Markman shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not going to ask you how you got this power.”
Markman managed his usual irreverence. “That’s a good choice.”
“What’s with the bandaged hand?”
“It’s nothing.”
“So you can heal others, but not yourself.”
“Apparently.”
“You have to know; you have a friend now for life. Anytime you need me; you’ll get immediate response. No questions asked.”
Markman pushed off the car and turned to face him. “The main thing is, you never, ever say anything about this to anyone. And, you never risk exposing me by trying to contact me. If you do, you will destroy my life, after maybe I’ve given yours back.”
“I will never say a word about any of it, and I understand your dilemma. A world full of sick people. How do you choose who to help? How much of yourself do you dare give? Medical doctors face the same problem. We could spend every waking moment treating sick people. They begin teaching you in pre-med that if you overextend yourself you will make mistakes and violate the code by hurting people instead of helping them. It must be worse for you. Having to pass by people you know you could help but you can’t because you’ll be found out or the drain will kill you. I don’t envy you that.”
“What are you an MD or a psychologist?”
“Sorry. Take this.” The doctor reached in a side pocket and withdrew a business card. He held it out to Markman. “I brought this just for this reason. It’s all my personal contact information. As I’ve said, if you call me anytime day or night, I will stop what I’m doing and help you. There will be no questions ask
ed, and I will protect your secrecy every way I can.”
Markman hesitated for a moment, then took the card. Doctor Ethan Powell, MD. There was a list of specialties, five phone numbers, and the man’s office and home address below the name.
“I’ll have to handle my resurrection carefully. I can make it seem as though my condition was not as bad as originally thought. I can take some time and say I’ve tried some new kinds of therapy. That should cover my miracle. There will be questions, but I should be able to smooth them over and go back to work. The only difference is I’ll love my kids even more if that’s possible.”
Most of Markman’s strength had returned. “I can appreciate that.”
“Well, I know you want me to disappear forever, so I’ll go. Don’t forget those prescriptions. I’ll give you unlimited refills. Maybe I’ll never see you again, so thanks again for my life and my kids. Doesn’t seem like enough, does it?”
Markman stared back but did not have an answer. The doctor gave a last nod and trotted away in the direction he had come. Markman watched him disappear around the corner. Before he had time to reflect on what had just happened, his cell phone sounded. It was John Paul text;
Cassiopia and Scott, I need you at the lab immediately. There is a private jet landing at Orlando Executive Airport in 30 minutes. Please do not delay. Cassiopia, I promise you this aircraft will not have any problems. A car will be waiting your arrival. –John Paul