Robin Cook - Mindbend

Back at the reception area there were still a few people waiting for room assignments. The gangplank, however, had been raised. Adam continued up two levels to what was called the promenade deck and went outside.

The change from air-conditioned coolness to the torpid Miami heat was a shock. Adam went to the railing and looked down at the quay. Stevedores were busy casting off the lines, freeing the ship from its mooring. The vibrations of the engines increased, and side thrusters moved the ship slowly away from the pier. From the stern Adam heard a cheer and then the noise of a Dixieland band.

Walking forward, Adam soon came to a teak barrier with a door leading to the bow. A sign cautioned: “Crew Only. Passengers Not Permitted Forward.” Adam tried the door. It was unlocked, but he decided not to test his luck by going through.

The horn blared again and at the same time the vibration of the ship changed. Adam guessed that the main screws had started to turn. Slowly, the ship began to move forward.

Adam met other passengers exploring the ship. Everyone was friendly and outgoing. A vacation mood prevailed.

Adam descended a deck and found himself surrounded by conference rooms of all sizes, ranging from a full-fledged theater to seminar rooms for less than a dozen people. Almost all the rooms were equipped with blackboards and slide projectors.

Amidships, Adam came to a door marked “Library.” He wanted to go in and look for a PDR, but the door was locked. Assuming that it would be open in the morning, he continued forward. Soon the central corridor ended at a locked door, which Adam guessed led to the crew’s quarters.

Descending another level, Adam came out on the main deck. He wandered past the store and the reception area and stopped to look into the main dining room. It was huge, with crystal chandeliers and large picture windows. At one end was a raised platform with a podium for speakers. On either side of the platform were swinging doors which apparently led to the kitchen. Stewards busy laying the tables were going in and out of the doors with their trays. A sign near the entrance stated that dinner would be served at nine o’clock.

Adam descended another level to the A deck where his stateroom was located. A number of cabin doors were open, and Adam could see the doctors unpacking and going in and out of each other’s rooms.

Walking down still another level, Adam found more conference rooms, a small gym, the ship’s doctor’s office, and an indoor swimming pool. Deciding he had explored the ship as much as he could, Adam made his way back to the promenade deck, where a noisy cocktail party was well under way.

Ned Janson spotted him and rushed him over to a group next to the pool. There was no way Adam could refuse, and soon he found himself drinking an ice-cold Heineken.

“Where the hell is Alan?” asked Ned over the babble of voices.

“In his room, sleeping,” said Adam.

Ned nodded as if it were expected and then started slapping his thigh as the band struck up “When the Saints Come Marchin’ In.”

Adam smiled across the table at Clair, who seemed to be enjoying herself, and then glanced around the party. It seemed a typical gathering of MDs. It was boisterous, physical-with lots of back-slapping, jokes, and booze. The minute Adam finished his beer, Ned thrust another into his hand.

Rather suddenly the ship began to pitch. Adam looked back and saw that the lights of Miami had vanished. The ship was now out into the Atlantic. His stomach did a flip-flop, and he hastily put down the beer.

The other doctors at the table seemed oblivious to the ship’s motion, and Adam wished he’d been able to find an anti-nauseant. Once again he wondered if the yellow capsule were for seasickness. He was tempted to ask but then decided he couldn’t stay in the loud, laughing group a minute longer.

He excused himself and quickly walked forward to a quiet spot by the rail. After a few minutes he felt better but decided to lie down for a while in his cabin. Closing his eyes, he felt OK, although the beer was still sloshing around in his stomach.

Jennifer and her father had gone for a walk in the field behind their house. She knew he wanted to discuss her pregnancy, and for the last half hour she had held him off with a barrage of chatter. Finally, turning back to the house, Jennifer decided it was time to face the subject.

“What do you think I should do, Father?”

Mr. Carson put his arm around her. “Whatever you think is right.”

“But what is your opinion?” asked Jennifer.

“That’s a different question,” said Mr. Carson. “Your mother really trusts this Dr. Vandermer. The mix-up with the amniocentesis samples was unfortunate, but I like the way he handled it. My feeling is that you should follow his recommendations.”

“Dr. Vandermer wants me to repeat the amniocentesis immediately,” said Jennifer.

“If he thinks there is a chance you might want to consider an abortion, then I think you should do it. Your mother and I don’t believe that a severely defective child should be brought into this world. It’s not fair to anyone, including the child. But that’s just the way we feel.”

“I suppose I feel the same way,” said Jennifer. “It just makes me feel so bad.”

Mr. Carson gave his daughter a squeeze. “Of course, honey. And your husband isn’t making things any easier. I don’t like to make judgments, but I don’t appreciate the way he is acting. He should be here helping make these decisions, not gallivanting off on some mysterious trip.”

They reached the screen door at the back of the house. They could hear Mrs. Carson in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“You’re probably right,” said Jennifer, opening the door. “I’ll call Dr. Vandermer and have the amniocentesis repeated tomorrow.”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is now being served.”

Adam woke from a sound sleep, and it took him several minutes to realize that the voice was coming from a small speaker in the wall of the cabin. He looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock.

Struggling to his feet, Adam felt the ship rolling as well as pitching. The idea of dinner wasn’t all that appealing. He took a quick shower, trying to maintain his balance, then dressed and left the cabin. He paused a minute and knocked on Alan’s door, but there was no answer. Either the man was still asleep or he had already gone to dinner. In either case, it wasn’t any of Adam’s business.

He noticed the ship’s store was open and went in to buy Dramamine, but the man behind the counter said they were out and would have to wait until morning to get more from the storeroom. Disappointed, Adam made his way to the dining room, where a steward asked if he was an obstetrician or an orthopedist. Adam told him OB and the steward led him to a table near the speaker’s platform.

There were five other doctors already seated. Adam was so busy remembering that his name was Stuart, he only caught two of his companions’ names during the introductions: Ted and Archibald.

The conversation was almost exclusively medical, although more about the profession’s economics than its practice.

Adam said little, preoccupied with his queasy stomach. As soon as he could, he motioned for the steward to remove his plate, wondering how the others could ignore the rolling motion of the ship. After coffee was served, a tall, dark man mounted the speaker’s platform.

“Hello, hello,” he said, testing the microphone. “My name is Raymond Powell, and I am your official MTIC host. Welcome to the Arolen Pharmaceuticals Medical Conference Cruise.”

Conversation ceased as people turned their attention to the podium. Powell gave a typical welcoming speech and then handed the microphone to Dr. Goddard, who was in charge of the actual medical program.