To Obey

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Chase glared. “You’re quite the know-it-all, aren’t you, Dr. Calvin?”

  It was clearly a rhetorical question, so Susan did not bother with an answer. In the past year, she had finally learned it was often better to keep her mouth closed than to risk escalating the situation with some comment, wise or not. As she watched a vein jerk and throb in Chase’s neck, she realized she needed more time to hone her technique.

  When Susan did not answer, Chase continued, “I have spent the better part of my life studying and learning about the vegan lifestyle, far longer than you’ve been alive. You’re not going to convince me it’s anything but the healthiest, most natural, most compassionate, and most environmentally friendly way to eat.”

  Susan sidestepped the worthless argument. Even assuming every word he spoke was bare truth, it did not change her approach to the situation. “Mr. Aberdeen, I apologize if I’m repeating myself. I’m not suggesting there’s anything wrong with eating vegan, nor am I asking you to give up your lifestyle. I am simply stating Jessica needs B12 supplementation in her diet, and it would be in your best interest to do the same with your own.”

  Chase lowered his head, the movement bringing images of striking snakes to Susan’s mind. No longer loud, his tone went flat, dangerous, indicative of barely controlled rage. “Dr. Calvin, I will be removing Jessica from your care immediately and treating her nori deficiency as I feel appropriate.”

  Susan set her jaw. “I can’t allow that.”

  His face became a sneer. “And just how do you intend to stop me?”

  Susan did not flinch. “With every medical and legal option at my disposal.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched from the room.

  The request for her to visit Dr. Mitchell Reefes’ office did not surprise Susan; only the fact that an hour and a half had passed since her encounter with Chase Aberdeen did. She had spent most of the interim researching her options in regard to Jessica. The best course of action clearly involved Jessica herself. If the woman expressed the desire to remain at Winter Wine Dementia Facility, her demand for autonomy would take priority over her father’s wishes. Susan believed she could talk Jessica into staying, but doubted her influence could counteract the pressure Jessica’s lifelong caretaker could assert. Confused and accustomed to obeying her father, Jessica would likely cave to his demands.

  Under normal circumstances, Susan would do almost anything to avoid creating a rift in any family, especially one where one member remained so obviously dependent on another. In this case, however, she suspected Jessica would have done far better had someone ripped her free of the unhealthy relationship with her father in childhood. Regularly supplemented, Jessica had a chance to regain some of the neurological deficits lost to her chronic B12 deficiency. Thrown back into her previous state of existence, however, she would ooze into a dementia that might not prove nearly as amenable to treatment a second time. To complicate matters, the injected B12 would remain in Jessica’s system long after supplementation, so her decline would not happen quickly. Chase could credit his nori for her improvement and blame the gradual slide back into dementia entirely on heredity.

  Lost in her thoughts, Susan found herself at the office door all too soon, knocking peevishly.

  “Enter,” Dr. Reefes said coolly.

  Susan did not bother to brace herself before entering. Whatever her feelings for her attending and his competence, she felt certain she had the words to explain her position and convince him of its righteousness. Whatever else, he was a trained and studied doctor. Surely even he would not condemn a woman to brain death when the solution was so simple and close at hand.

  Reefes gestured for Susan to sit in the chair in front of his desk, and she complied. He wore a pair of half-glasses she had never previously seen on his face, and he peered at her over his oversized computer and the straight-cut top of the lenses. “I discharged Jessica Aberdeen.”

  Susan’s blood ran cold. She could not believe what she had heard. “What?” She did not allow a hint of emotion to enter her tone.

  Reefes twirled his glasses by one stem. “I said, I discharged Jessica Aberdeen to her father’s care.”

  Susan kept her voice flat. “You can’t do that.”

  He leaned forward. “I can and I did, Susan. This is my facility, and I have every right to do so.”

  Susan had to believe Reefes was baiting her, that he had only told her this lie to measure her reaction. She clarified, heart pounding, “I didn’t mean you physically can’t do it. I meant you morally can’t do it. At best, it’s misfeasance.”

  The glasses stilled in Dr. Reefes’ hand. “Are you, a second-year resident, actually accusing me, an established professional, of medical malpractice?”

  Susan wished people would stop putting inflammatory words in her mouth, even ones as true as this. “I used the term ‘misfeasance.’ That is not the same as malpractice.”

  Reefes leaned across the desk. “Enlighten me.”

  Susan dutifully explained, taking care to avoid the second-person pronoun “you.” “When someone takes an inappropriate action, it is misfeasance. For malpractice to have occurred, someone’s failure to follow generally accepted professional standards must cause a breach that is the proximate cause of harm.” She met his smoldering gaze. “When Jessica slips back into a demented state, as she will, and we can’t extract her from it the second time, only then malpractice will have occurred. Until that moment arrives, releasing her into the care and custody of an idiot is simply misfeasance.”

  Reefes stared at Susan for a full minute before speaking. “Mr. Aberdeen is correct. You are a mouthy know-it-all.”

  “Thank you” did not seem an appropriate response, so Susan remained quiet.

  “As Mr. Aberdeen, who you so glibly refer to as an idiot, has assured me, he will fully supplement his daughter’s diet with foods containing the appropriate nutrients, in this case B12 and calcium, I see no harm in releasing her to his care. We have no evidence she’s losing these nutrients through her gastrointestinal system. Correct?”

  Susan spoke through gritted teeth, forcing herself to answer only the question on the table. “Correct. Her deficiencies are wholly dietary. But—”

  Reefes stalled her with a raised finger. “The standard of care would be several more days of injected cobalamin, but I am certain we have reasonably replaced her stores so oral sources can provide her with an adequate daily supply. There was absolutely no reason to insult and belittle Mr. Aberdeen.”

  Susan made a thoughtful noise. “And those dietary sources of B12 would be?”

  Reefes frowned. “I assure you, Mr. Aberdeen has the situation well in hand. He’s studied the various nutrients in all types of exotic plant sources, and he was able to show me studies proving certain varieties of seaweed and algae contain more-than-adequate amounts of cobalamin.”

  Susan had reviewed those studies and seen the flaws in them. “There have been studies demonstrating nori tests positive for vitamin B12. Unfortunately, further studies have demonstrated most of that activity comes from inactive cobalamines and corrinoid analogues not bioavailable to the human metabolism. Dried nori doesn’t contain any active B12 or analogues, which suggests the source of the cobalamins found in the nori in the study was probably bacterial contamination.”

  “The exact source doesn’t matter.” Susan noted Reefes did not argue about the research itself. Likely he had not read it, only the bit Chase Aberdeen had shoved under his nose.

  “No,” Susan admitted. “Unless the eater takes the unprecedented step of washing it!” She was angry now and finding it harder to hold her tongue. Even the robotic mind-set ceased to help. There was nothing in the First Law preventing a robot from hollering at an impossibly dense human being. “Or if the particular nori being eaten wasn’t lucky enough to become contaminated with B12-producing bacteria.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me! I’m your superior.”

  Superior moron. Susan kept the evaluatio
n to herself, tired of arguing with people who seemed incapable of logical thought. “Jessica could have been entirely normal, with a life all her own. Instead, she’s saddled with a father insistent everyone in the world must behave exactly as he does, despite proof it’s damaged his daughter’s brain. Why do some people feel their viewpoint is valid only if they inflict it on as many people as possible?”

  Mitchell Reefes did not look amused. He had replaced his glasses during Susan’s tirade and stared at her again over the tops. “Susan, you’re being every bit as rigid as you claim Mr. Aberdeen was. There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. I believe that’s from the Bible.”

  Susan had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. “That’s from Hamlet, sir.” She wanted to continue, to explain that when Hamlet said those words to Horatio, he was attempting to justify the reality of a ghost that might or might not exist only in his mind.

  Susan’s comment served only to further irritate her superior. “Susan, when you grow up”—Reefes emphasized the last two words, clearly intending to offend—“you will realize ‘getting more flies with honey than vinegar’ is not just a folksy saying. It’s often better to indulge your patient’s beliefs, no matter how unscientific, in order to maintain her confidence and get her to listen to your advice when she might otherwise discard it.”

  Susan knew the best thing to do now was to practice what he had preached, to thank him for his great advice and to leave the room with a shred of dignity intact. But her conscience would not allow her to leave until she had rescued Jessica Aberdeen from irrevocable insanity. “Sir, I really do appreciate your advice. I want to assure you I don’t go around haranguing people about their points of view, no matter how irrational. However, I did take the Hippocratic oath, and I feel bound by it to ensure that my embracing of another’s mind-set, whether tacit or aloud, causes my patients no harm. It was exactly this type of mute acceptance that resulted in the deaths of several thousand babies and toddlers at the turn of the century, when pediatricians avoided warning about the significant dangers of co-sleeping because it ‘offended’ some parents.”

  “My wife and I co-slept with our children until they each turned six. They turned out perfectly fine.”

  Susan could not help saying, “Anecdote and scientific proof are two very different things.”

  The throbbing in Reefes’ neck increased, and his eyes narrowed appreciably. “I know the difference between anecdote and proof. I was merely pointing out—”

  There was no legitimate way to finish that sentence, so Susan left him to struggle without assistance.

  “That…that…making bold statements can…offend the very person you’re trying to convince.” It was disingenuous. Had that truly been his original point, he had no reason to point out the outcome.

  Susan remained silent, seeking the words to save Jessica without digging herself a deeper hole.

  “Susan.” Reefes leaned across his desk, rubbing his eyes with thumbs shoved over the glasses, slipping them down his nose a bit. “I spoke with Manhattan Hasbro.”

  Susan went utterly still. Dr. Reefes had no right to do that. She had done nothing wrong.

  “They informed me you’ve been under an extreme amount of stress this past year, over and above your residency duties.”

  Susan waited for the other shoe to fall.

  “Because of that information, I’m not going to dismiss you from this rotation.” Reefes paused, apparently waiting for appreciation he was not going to receive. When Susan remained silent, he continued, “I am, however, going to suggest you take the rest of the day off and evaluate whether or not you’re really temperamentally suited to being a doctor. Not everyone is, and there’s no shame in it. No shame at all.”

  Stunned, Susan could not find words she dared to speak aloud. She could not believe this lazy lummox, who scarcely deserved the title of doctor, was lecturing her on her suitability. Replies crowded her mind, but as none of them would do anything but worsen the situation, she swallowed them. Doing so left a bitter taste in her mouth and a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The First Law of Robotics popped into her head, and the simple morality of the Laws struck her once again. If I walk away, Jessica will come to harm. Yet, she realized, nothing I say now will change that. It will only wind up harming both of us.

  Without another word, without acknowledging Mitchell Reefes’ suggestion, Susan left the room and Winter Wine Dementia Facility.

  Chapter 10

  Susan rode the glide-bus home, her thoughts so invested in Jessica Aberdeen’s predicament she missed her stop and had to ride the complete cycle a second time. When the doors finally hissed open at the west edge of Tompkins Square Park, she exited in a fog of rage and despair, jaw set, fists clenched, mind overflowing with thoughts that ranged from the quiet peace of an afternoon nap to barbarous and bloody murder committed upon the person of Dr. Mitchell Reefes. If Chase Aberdeen happened to get injured in the mayhem, so much the better.

  Sunlight streamed through the myriad skyscrapers, glinting off metallic surfaces and enhancing the direct rays already spilling through what remained of the park’s sacred elms. Susan had never before noticed how blinding that reflective cacophony became, probably because she left for work before sunup and rarely came home prior to twilight. As a medical resident, she worked most weekends, too. She usually spent her downtime sleeping or, when possible, interacting with John Calvin.

  Thoughts of her father finally brought some inner peace, and Susan found herself smiling for the first time in hours. John would still be at United States Robots and Mechanical Men, performing the job Susan now knew had less to do with paperwork and more to do with the development and construction of robots. She looked forward to spending time with him that evening, discussing the information Nate had given her, and it bothered her that she had missed the opportunity to have these conversations with her father in her youth. He had always dodged questions about his job to focus fully on the trials and achievements of his only child. Even now, he never volunteered information. When she wanted to know something, Susan had to figure out what to ask and press him directly.

  Glad to find herself finally capable of concentrating on something other than her confrontation with her attending, Susan suddenly realized the reason she spent so much time with Nate. She liked him, of course, and he had helped her through some difficult moments. It had never previously occurred to her she might also appreciate that Nate handed her topics of new conversation with the father she adored. The positronic robot had opened the door to glimpses of John Calvin she would not otherwise have had, and it had brought the two Calvins, always close, even closer. I’ll have to remember to thank him the next time I see him.

  Tompkins Square Park was strangely full this Thursday afternoon. Children’s laughter and squeals rang over the underlying buzz of myriad conversations. They swarmed the playgrounds like ants over a discarded candy bar. She could scarcely see the grassy spaces for the masses of adults on blankets and towels, some conversing, and others lying silent in the sunlight. As Susan walked down Ninth Street toward her building just off Avenue C, she found herself winding through hordes of pedestrians, far more than she ever remembered encountering on a weekday in the past.

  At first, Susan’s mind dismissed it as the difference between walking home at 2:00 p.m. rather than 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. However, it soon became clear this could not explain the teeming masses of people, which continued past Avenue B and outside the park. Most of the crowd seemed set on going in the exact same direction as Susan. She considered what might make the day so special. Monday was the first, which makes today the fourth. She finally understood. It’s Independence Day, and normal people not enmeshed in residencies have the day off.

  At length, Susan found herself irrevocably entwined in a jam of people, unable to make any forward progress or see over the vast sea of human heads. Every few moments, someone would push his way backward through the crowd, s
aying, “Excuse me” repeatedly, to head in a broad tangent around the milling people. This allowed Susan and the others a bit of occasional forward motion. One block, Susan reminded herself. Then I’m home and out of this nightmare.

  Another step down Ninth Street allowed Susan to catch sight of multicolored lights strobing off the metal and concrete surfaces ahead, alternately striping the spectators in shades of patriotic red, white, and blue. A news helicopter swept over their heads, low enough to ruin conversation in a broad area, creating a massive breeze that stole ball caps and ruined hairstyles. What is going on? Susan had seen her share of Macy’s fireworks shows, but she could never recall anything July–Fourth–related happening so early, particularly so close to home.

  Only then it occurred to Susan to tap her Vox. She flashed through news feeds until she came to the one matching the logo on the newscopter, a black silhouette of a galloping horse. Finding hearing difficult, she muted the sound and read: “…a breaking story. Police have cordoned off a Lower East Side apartment complex in Alphabet City. Our eyes in the skies see no structural damage to the building, but a crowd has gathered. Police procedure, and ambulances standing by, suggest the possibility of a death or serious injury to at least one occupant of the building at Ninth Street and Avenue C. More details when they become available.” The feed launched into commercials, and Susan tapped it off her Vox.

  Susan recognized the location immediately, and a chill spiraled through her. Home. Her thoughts went immediately to her father, and the realization that he should be nowhere other than at work sent a wave of relief through her. With that concern firmly pushed from her mind, she considered the lot of their neighbors. A few were home-bound, and several others had retired years earlier. One of those elders might have suffered a medical complication that required emergency services. Susan had just started considering the plight of individual neighbors when something nagged at the edges of her thoughts. She rarely watched police dramas and knew little about their procedures, but she felt fairly certain they did not cordon off an entire apartment building to evacuate a myocardial infarction or cerebral infarct. A single ambulance with an experienced crew of EMTs would perform the job admirably.