Chapter 19
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 your self. 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
barbequing. 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. Farther 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 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
pant’s 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 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 a 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 asked, and I will protect
your secrecy every way I can.”
Markman hesitated for a moment,
then took the card. Doctor Ethan
Powell, MD. There were 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
happen, his cell phone sounded. It was
John Paul text.
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