Mickey Reichert - I, Robot - To Protect

Susan forced herself not to flinch. “Right here and now?”

Remington glanced at the playground equipment, the running children, the parents ringed around them. “I’m game, but do you really think three- and four-year-olds are ready for a sex ed class?”

Susan felt her entire face warm, and that surprised her. She sighed before she could stop herself. “Remy, I need to tell you something.”

He tensed but remained silent.

Susan got the idea he was bracing himself for whatever she might say. She looked up at him. He had his lower lip trapped between his teeth, and his eyes looked positively frantic.

Susan shook her head, laughing. The children’s calls and shouts had drowned out their conversation thus far, but she lowered her voice further. Somehow, silence seemed to appear in the most unlikely places when a person said something inappropriate. “You think I’m about to tell you I’m a transvestite, don’t you?”

Remington shifted in obvious discomfort. “Actually, I was thinking about an incurable venereal disease; but thanks for giving me something else to worry about.”

“It’s neither of those.”

Remington guessed, “Lesbian?”

“Nope.”

His voice became strained. “Cancer?”

Susan let him off the hook. “I’m a virgin.”

Remington studied her face. He did not appear shocked, just more tightly braced, as if he waited for the other shoe to fall. Finally, he said in a strangely squeaky voice, “That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’m a genetic woman with all of the working parts.” Susan swiftly amended her statement. “Well, they’re working as far as cycling and all. To my knowledge, there’s only one virgin who’s ever given birth.”

Remington cleared his throat, then spoke in his normal voice. “A virgin, huh? Well, that’s nothing bad.”

“In some circles, it’s considered a major achievement. After all, I’m twenty-six years old.” Susan did not want Remington to get the wrong idea. “Not that I haven’t had opportunities, of course. I mean I started dating in high school. It’s just I’ve always felt a person should be in love before making love.”

“And,” Remington started carefully, “you love me?”

“I do,” Susan admitted, then wished she had phrased it any other way. She did not want him to think she was rushing him into marriage when they had barely even managed a second date.

Remington did not seem to notice. “And I love you?”

“Are you asking me? Or telling me?”

“Haven’t I already told you?”

Susan recognized a pattern. “Why do we keep answering each other’s questions with another question?”

Remington grinned and gave the obvious answer, “Why not?” Then the smile disappeared, and he drew her back to him. “Seriously, Susan. I’m a man; I’m always ready. But I’m not going to push you into anything. I can wait as long as you need.”

“I’m ready,” Susan said, then realized the folly of her words. She glanced around the park. “Well, not immediately, of course. Tonight, though. We’ll barricade ourselves in my bedroom.”

“Ooh-kay.” Remington did not seem wholly comfortable with the suggestion. “But what about your father?”

“He can find his own date.”

“Funny.” Remington rolled his eyes. “I just mean, will he be all right with our spending the night together in his apartment?”

Though she had never tested him, Susan felt certain John Calvin could handle the situation. “He’ll have to. When he asked me to stay with him, he knew I was a grown woman. And I pay my share of rent.”

To Susan’s surprise that did not put Remington at ease. When he did not explain why, she pressed. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” he said softly, “I have a lot of respect for your dad, and I want him to like me.”

“He does like you,” Susan reassured him. “And he’s aware that twentysomethings have . . .”

Remington remained quiet.

“What?” Susan demanded.

“Well, parents and kids are funny about that. I mean, I know my parents must have done it at least three times and probably a lot more, but I don’t want to imagine it. Or know it’s happening. I’d rather just pretend they grew us in the cabbage patch; you know what I mean?”

Susan understood, though she did not share his sentiment. She wished her father would date rather than moon over a woman he had lost so long ago, even if she was Susan’s own mother. “I know what you mean, but I don’t see it as a problem. I’ll talk to him first, if you want.”

Remington’s cheeks took on a reddish hue. “This may sound ridiculously old-fashioned, but do you mind if I talk to him?”

Susan gave him a pointed look. “You want to ask my father if you can . . . have sex with me?”

“Well, actually, I thought I’d phrase it more as you asked me to stay over, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t have a problem with it before I agreed to do it.”

“Oh,” Susan said facetiously. “Make me look like the slut.”

Remington did not rise to the bait. “By now, he surely knows you don’t invite men to sleep over every day.” He gave her a wide-eyed look. “You don’t invite men to sleep over every day, do you?”

Susan put as much sarcasm into her voice as she could muster. “Sure, I do. Then I poison their toothpaste.” She added, as if fielding the thought for the first time, “You don’t suppose that might be why I’m still a virgin?”

“Could be.” Remington rose. “No time like the present.”

Susan also stood. “You’re going to ask him right now?”

“No.” Though he had gotten up with vigor, Remington seemed hesitant to take the next step. “But I do want to talk with him a bit. I think I’d like to get to know the man a little better before I ask if he minds terribly much if I steal his daughter’s virginity.”

“It’s not stealing if I give it to you.” Susan took Remington’s hand and led him back toward the building.

When Susan and Remington returned to the Calvins’ apartment, they discovered John Calvin striding from his bedroom in dress clothes, his fingers on his Vox. When he spotted the pair, he removed his hand, smiling. “Ah, there you are. I was just going to call you. I’m heading in to work.”

“Work?” Susan paused halfway to the living room chair. “I thought you couldn’t go. Structural damage.”

“I’m not actually working. We’re just having a short meeting, taking a look at the damage. That sort of thing.”

It occurred to Susan that, with her father gone for hours, it might obviate the whole issue of Remington’s needing to sleep over. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs and a lump forming in her throat. A mixture of excitement, relief, and fear washed through her.

“Can we go with you, sir?” Remington said, then corrected himself. “John?”

“I’m not a knight of the realm,” Susan’s father said jokingly.

Susan might have grinned at the realization that her father did not kid with just anyone, so he must like Remington; but she found herself too surprised by the neurosurgeon’s request to consider that long. “You want to go downtown? Near the bomb site?”

“I think it might do us both some good. Plus, I’d really like to see the place where Nate was built, and those nanorobots.”

Susan could not help remembering she had initiated the exact same trip the day Payton had hijacked their bus. “I’ve been wanting to see where you work, too, Dad. I can’t believe I’ve never gone before.”

John Calvin toed his usual line. “Kitten, it’s boring. There’s nothing there but a bunch of middle-aged guys and some laboratory benches covered in tangles of wires.”