by Tom Andry
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I spent the majority of the day upstairs sipping the doctor's scotch. After about an hour and no hint of a buzz, I finally questioned Butler. Turned out the good doctor abhors alcohol and keeps on hand synthetic substitutes, which mimic perfectly the taste without the deleterious effects. He had the real stuff too, but Butler had been ordered not to give it to me. Seems Ignaro not only didn't want me drunk, he wanted me alert. Butler had been spiking my drinks with caffeine all afternoon. He didn't have much going on that day and was working all afternoon in his lab on God knows what. I practically gave myself a blister using the rotary phone as I checked in with Khan way more than was necessary to see how the rest of the patients were doing. So far, everyone we were tracking was still around and moving. I let him know that we'd definitely be finishing tonight and to pass that on to our people in the field.
Khan was happy to hear it. The good doctor had given him news about his condition a few days after his experiment. Something to do with electrolytes or some such thing having to do with salt and water. I even looked it up on the Network and couldn't find anything on it. Medico, of course, was all excited. Said that Khan's body was shutting down to protect itself and that the long sleep was necessary for his body to replenish itself. Other bodily systems were as fast as his legs but apparently not this one. Medico had devised some supplements that he could take to counteract the effects as a stopgap measure. He was supposed to be working on something more permanent. Early experiments by Khan with the pills had been promising. His parents were ecstatic. I was less so, but then, I was the one who would be losing an assistant.
I spent some time pacing around the doctor's house and lab, though I didn't learn anything useful. I found out how to switch off the hologram in the freezer that hid the stairway. I could walk through it if I wanted, but I just about killed myself missing the first step when I tried. I discovered that the force field paired with the Butler hologram was fairly weak. It could serve drinks and carry groceries, but it couldn't, say, catch a man who was about to break his neck falling down a set of stairs. I saw the Doc's daughter a few times, mostly playing alone or with Butler. She asked me about Assistant but I didn't know when the Doc would be done with it. I tried to scope out the security systems, just to get an idea of what he had, but everything was so foreign, so alien to anything I'd seen before, it was pretty much useless to me. Ted would have given his pinky to get his hands on nearly any of it, I'd have bet.
Finally, the doctor bounded up the stairs, Assistant hovering behind him. While the bio-mechanical robot had spent all day with its skin and metal exposed, it was dressed in its trench coat and hat. Apparently, we were going out.
"What's the deal, Medico? We on the move?" I asked.
"Bob, excellent," the doctor put on his sunglasses, hiding his mechanical eyes, "yes, I must see a patient. A very fascinating case." He turned back to Assistant, which adjusted his glasses so they properly covered his eyes, and again faced me. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair, "you driving?"
"Eh? Oh, no. Nothing so mundane. Just step through here." He moved toward the kitchen, Assistant in tow.
Shrugging, I followed. I'd been in the doctor's kitchen a number of times over the last few hours. What I stepped into was definitely not the doctor's kitchen.
This kitchen was homey and warm. It showed evidence of use: utensils in large containers on the tile countertop, a toaster with crumbs on top, woodgrain cabinetry with floral accents. Nothing at all like Medico's kitchen, which looked like it was designed for a showroom floor instead of daily use, with black granite countertop, stainless steel cabinetry, and not a utensil or cooking implement in sight.
I looked behind me at a country-style breakfast nook. The table top and long bench seating was constructed of pine, the legs painted white. There was what looked to be handsewn cushions on the benches and fresh cut flowers on the table. On one bench was a stack of plaid fabric placemats and matching napkins ready for the next meal. There was a brand new contemporary highchair to the side, a fragment of wrapping paper hanging by a piece of tape from the seat.
"Um... Doc? Where are we?"
"Oh, thank God!" a voice behind me exclaimed. "Doc Arts, this way. The baby's coming!"
I turned around as a balding, slightly overweight man grabbed Medico's arm and led him from the room. Assistant followed close behind. I swallowed slowly, threw my jacket over my shoulder, and followed the clear sounds of a woman in distress upstairs.
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