“A very good thing you told me, Counselor. I think—and Dr. Rosenthal thinks—that we would never have pulled this patient through if we hadn’t taken extraordinary precautions to keep her from knowing her sex. In view of the patient’s relation to the donor. Close, that is.”
“Close. Close for both of us. Doctor, I am not exaggerating—if I had been as little as twice Eunice’s age—and she not married—I would have done my damnedest to marry her. And the same, I feel certain, goes for old Johann. So I knew what a shock it would be to him—worse than simply learning that she had been killed.”
“Car accident?”
“Nothing so innocent. Killed by a mugger. Psychopath probably but the point is immaterial as Johann’s mobile guards caught him almost in the act and killed him. That’s how she was saved—her body was saved, I mean—because they rushed her to a hospital hoping to save her.” Jake Salomon sighed. “It does help to talk.”
“Good. How did Johann Smith’s guards happen to be so Johnny-on-the-spot, yet not quite?”
“Oh. The poor darling tried to save ten minutes. She was a blood donor—AB-Negative, and—”
“Oh! Now I know why ‘Miss’ Smith has seemed vaguely familiar. I saw her once, I’m now certain, giving blood to a patient I had been called in to support. A lovely girl, with a warm disposition, friendly, who dressed in, um, exotic styles.”
“Erotic styles you mean, let’s not use euphemisms. Yes, Eunice did. She knew she was beautiful and did not mind sharing her beauty. Played up to it.”
“I wish I had known her.”
“I wish you had, Doctor; your life would have been richer thereby. If she had a call to give blood, Johann’s guards were under orders to drive her. Protect her. Pick her up at her door, escort her to the car, deliver her, wait for her. But this was an emergency and she lives—lived—nineteen levels up in one of those beehives in the north end. Vehicle lift, sure—but not able to lift the sort of armor Johann owned. Owns. So the poor darling decided to save ten minutes and used the passenger elevator without waiting for escort. And that’s where she was jumped. Killed.”
“A pity. I suppose she didn’t know that we can always stretch a patient an extra ten minutes if we know a donor is on the way.”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t—but it is characteristic of Eunice Branca that she tried to hurry.”
“A pity. You can put your shirt on. How old did you say you were?”
“I didn’t say. Seventy-two is staring me in the face.”
“I’m amazed. You seem to be younger—internally I mean, not necessarily your face—”
“So I’m ugly. I know it.”
“I think ‘distinguished’ is the accepted term. You seem much younger, physiologically. Say twenty years.”
“So I take my hormones.”
“I’m not sure you need them. Go home if you wish. Or stay. If you stay, I’d like to put a monitor on your heart. Professional interest.” (And to make damn sure you don’t conic out, old fellow—sometimes a heart stops for no good reason, after a shock such as you have had.)
“Uh…I am tired. Could I skip dinner and go straight to bed? With maybe a twelve-hour dose instead of eight?”
“No trouble.”
Soon Jake Salomon was in bed and asleep. Hedrick ate, looked in on his patient, left orders with the night watch to call him if the displays exceeded certain tolerances, went to bed and to sleep; he never needed the drugs he prescribed.
Despite sedation, Johann Smith’s dreams were troubled. Once the old man in the borrowed skull muttered, “Eunice?” (I’m here, Boss. Go back to sleep.) “All right, my dear. Just wanted to know where you’d gone.” (Quit fretting, Boss. I’m here.) Johann smiled in his sleep and then slept, quietly, no more bad dreams.
9
The morning nurse bustled in with a tray. “Good morning, Miss Smith! How are we today?”
“I don’t know how you are, but I’m hungry.”
“Good! Hot oatmeal this morning, dear, and orange juice and a boiled egg—and we’ll soak a little toast in egg so that it will go down easily. I’m going to tilt the bed up a touch.”