Defect?

This story was originally published in the June 1991 issue of Analog Science Fiction and Fact, and it grew out of the third of four relationships I have been lucky enough to have (in this case, the fourth time seems to have been the charm). I did discover some defects of my own in adding this story to my book People First (iUniverse, 2004) -- in terms of awkward writing. Too much blushing, too much apologizing, and some other stylistic problems. Stan pointed out some of them in the first draft, but he was very kind in buying this story I have to say. I guess the fact that I'm noticing this now means that I have learned since then, and that I'm still learning :-) (to borrow an online symbol for a grin).

I have tried to repair the grossest offenses for this printing, and I hope you will enjoy the story. It may not have a "disabled" character in the classical sense, but I wanted to include it because women who share the chromosomal disorder that my third ex-girlfriend has have a hard time being taken seriously because they fall outside societal expectation for women. The lady in question has an unique condition known as Turner's Syndrome. It is a rare condition affecting women involving a missing or deformed second X-chromosome, and along with a common infertility, one sign of Turner's is very short stature. She is four foot six, and I am six foot one, but going out with her was an absolute delight since along with her quick wit and intelligence, she was exactly my size as I sit in the wheelchair, and neither one of us had to crane our necks to look up at the other. Slow dancing was also fun since she just weighs seventy-seven pounds and it was simple to just keep her in my lap (and safer for her toes). And... in private, it was so much easier to pay proper attention to all of her because of her small size.

The relationship may not have worked out ultimately (work relocation on her part and some practical issues unrelated to my disabilities), but we’ve stayed in sporadic friendly contact, and I will always be grateful for what we shared – including a wonderful week at Epcot.

Not unexpectedly while we were involved, I wanted to feature her in a story (each of my relationships has prompted a serious story -- two published in Analog), In this piece I changed her from a computer programmer to a doctor working on a way to prenatally detect and prevent Turner's. And in having a protestor railing against her research, I was able to vent my anger at parents who allow children to die because it goes against their religious beliefs to get them emergency medical care. When I wrote this story, a baby boy in Boston had just died from a simple condition which could have been easily treated, and several more died in Philadelphia because of their parents' refusals to get their babies immunized against measles.

Not unexpectedly, the story prompted several heated letters attacking my “hateful” portrayal of a belief system different than mine -- despite the fact that I was careful to explain how the fanatical anti-medicine rabble-rouser in my story had strong psychological reasons for his actions, based on his father's defensive reaction to the death of his brother. I answered each letter patiently, explaining myself and my own belief in God further; and at least two of those letter-writers were mollified by my responses and responded favorably. The others I never heard from again.

And yes, I probably was a bit biased in my story, but threaten those who can't protect themselves and you WILL raise my hackles. Hopefully this won't raise yours...

* * *

Defect?

by

F. Alexander Brejcha

"Dr Warner?"

"I said extra ketchup." She glared at the servo-cashier and then grabbed her tray as another packet popped out.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Dr. Warner, but it couldn't be helped."

She turned and looked up at the six foot man towering over her as she walked away from the counter and headed for an empty sun-washed booth by the window. "Late?"

"I'm Bob Meyer. Your lab assistant told me I'd find you here." He followed her. "Dr. Robert Meyer."

"So?"

"You called NanoSolutions and asked for a medical specialist to help you on a research problem?"

"Um, yes I did. I'm afraid I forgot. I expected you several hours ago and when you didn't show, I got tied up in double-checking some results ‑‑"

"And then you got hungry." The corners of his mouth twitched in a faint smile.

"Well, I hadn't eaten all day ‑‑"

"You're blushing!" He waited for her to sit as they reached the booth. "Why?"

She put her tray down on the table and settled into a chair. Then she zipped open the pouch of french fries and nibbled silently on a couple of them as she tried to think of an answer that wouldn't sound stupid.

He sat down and studied her across the table. "I don't mean to make fun of it. It's refreshing. Blushing seems to be a lost art these days."

"Hey, it's okay. I guess it is a lost art. But you see, it's something my mother taught me. Never fails to get the guys intrigued... Am I shocking you? Don't worry. It's just real hard to be formal and proper when sitting in a McDonald's nibbling french fries." She saw that he was suddenly the one blushing and grinned.

"Well, it seems that I'm not alone. Either that or there's a new contagious disease out there."

"No, I, well..."

"Relax." She forced herself to look serious. "You asked what made me blush. I'll tell you. I was doing karyotyping on a C.V.S. specimen ‑‑"

"C.V.S.?"

"Chorionic Villus Sampling. A sampling technique to study foetal tissue for genetic ‑‑"

"Okay, I know. It's just been a long time since I did any clinical work."

"Well, I was looking at the chromosomes ‑‑"

"Oh, I know!" He laughed. "Sorry to keep interrupting, but I'll bet I can guess." He reached for her french fries. "May I?" She nodded and he pulled out a couple of long golden strands. He laid them down side by side and pressed them close in the middle and spread the ends out. Then he took two more fries and repeated the pattern right next to the first. "Voilá, a female. Two X-chromosomes. Association complete, even if in reverse. Especially if you had the lab window open, which on a nice warm June day like this, I'll bet you did. The hospital's right across the street and there's nothing like the smell of french fries drifting in to tease your nose when you're hungry ‑‑"

"Popcorn!"

"You're right. That's worse. You don't even have to be hungry for that."

"Please! You're making this real tough." She eyed her hamburger pleadingly.

"My apologies. Eat. I'm going to order some, too, and if you don't mind, join you."

"Be my guest. You already have an appetizer. But I warn you, I don't eat and talk well at the same time, so please let me finish before we get down to business."

"No problem. I'm getting hungry looking at your food."

She studied him as he got up and grabbed the fries from the table, munching on them as he went over to order. She had almost forgotten that he was at least six feet tall. While he had been sitting across from her, they had been almost eye to eye and she had felt entirely at ease -- he had been so casual and accepting of her. He was also quite good looking, she decided. He had wavy brown hair that was slightly wind-tousled and soft grey eyes that had met her own directly when they had been laughing together about the smells. And he had a really nice mouth and a sexy smile.

She unsealed the burger pouch and pulled out the hot sandwich. While she waited for Meyer to return, she chewed on the hamburger and fries absently, washing them down with sips of lemonade.

He was soon back with his order and they ate silently, eyes meeting and then dancing shyly away.

When he saw that she was done, he pushed his tray away and leaned back, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "I started to explain why I was late. Well, I was trapped by a bunch of protesters outside our offices. Some religious fanatic has them all riled up about interfering in 'God's designs'. Big guy named Gabriel..." He was frowning. "They really jam my nerves when they spout on like that. Sorry. But that's why I was late. What did you need help with? Something to do with the C.V.S. sampling?"

"Exactly. What do you know about Turner's Syndrome?"

"Turner's Syndrome... it rings a bell, but there are so damn many orphan diseases that I can't remember them all."

"It's a congenital disorder... a birth defect, if you will. I hate that term, even if it's technically true. It's limited to women and is the result of a missing or deformed X chromosome... God! I feel like I'm back herding interns again. Anyway, the primary signs, symptoms, whatever, include impaired sexual development requiring estrogen supplementation, infertility and stunted growth. And I see your eyes going wide there. What's up?"

"I couldn't help wondering if ‑‑"

"If I have Turner's? Sure do. It's no... big deal. I'm four-foot-six and seventy-eight pounds, in case you wondered. And don't worry about asking any questions. I don't mind. And since growth hormones sometimes causes problems later on in Turner's patients, I guess I'm don't mind being small, either. But I still maintain I'm not defective --"

"Not in the least. It's starting to ring some bells now. There are... two types?"

"Uh uh. Three types. Classic, like mine --"

"You're a classic, huh?"

He smiled and she looked down, feeling her face redden again. "Afraid so. All us Classics are missing the second X chromosome totally." She had saved a few long fries and cleared an area of the table to lay down a duplicate chromosome model to his earlier one.

She looked up. "As you said. Voilá, a normal female gene with two X-chromosomes." She removed one pair of fries. "Here's a sample of my problem. Only one X-chromosome in a cell."

"Mosaic Turners also have some like that, don't they? Some normal and some single-chromosomal ones?"

"Exactly. I have a confirmed sample in my lab. The one I was talking about."

"What's the third kind?"

She replaced the second pair of fries, but then took a bite out of one of them. She laid the tattered remainder down next to the single fry. "Isochromosomal Turner's. In these, the cells divide abnormally and all or a portion of one of the chromosome arms is missing or deformed. A little simplistic, but close enough for now. I'll send you material if you give me your e-mail."

He pulled out a business card and passed it over. "Any major complications with Turner's? I don't remember."

"Other than those I mentioned, not really. Personally, I just have to take an estrogen supplement. Some Turner's have more problems. But for most, the medical angle isn't the issue, usually. It's the way people look at us like we're little kids. It's gets to be a drag when you're always being patronized. And it's real tough to get a decent date... But hey!" She straightened and grabbed the last fries and twisted to dump them in the trash. I don't have time for moping."

"You're right, Dr. Warner... may I call you Barbara?" She nodded. "Well, Barbara, as much as I'm enjoying this, there was a reason you called me. So let's do this right. Hi, I'm Dr. Robert Meyer from NanoSolutions... Bob. I understand you're looking to adapt our experimental nanorooters for your own research." He gave her a wide grin and took her automatically extended hand and gave it a carefully gentle grip.

She squeezed his hand back deliberately, seeing his surprise. His own grip tightened in response to a more normal handshake as she explained. "I had an older brother who felt it was his inalienable right to torture the shit out of me. I had to work out in self-defense."

"But I'll bet nobody else dared try it. I have a younger sister and I seem to recall something similar."

"You got it. But you're right. I called you for a reason." She tucked her legs up under her and sat Indian-style so her legs didn't dangle. For a second she picked at a loose stitch on her jeans as she brought her mind back to the reason she had called him.

"I've been studying Turner's for almost three years -- since Winter '99 when I got this job -- trying to come up with a way of preventing it. But I have a problem. The critical period when cell damage occurs is from conception to the sixteenth day of gestation and in order to prevent Turner's from developing, we have to catch it during that period. But C.V.S. isn't possible until nine weeks and amniocentesis not till fourteen weeks or so, so both of these tests are too late."

Bob leaned forward and propped his chin on clenched hands. "Let me guess. You want to use nanorooters to scan and then sample real early. With microscopic scanners, we can study foetal cells right away with no risk of damage, and then sample just as safely later on."

"You catch on quick. That's it. To start with."

"You don't expect to use this on the woman who's sample you ‑‑"

"No, I know it's too late to help her. By now, her baby is close to ten weeks old and she probably won't even survive. Less than two percent of these Turner's foetuses go to full term because of fluid buildup in the tissues." She felt her eyes burn and hoped Bob didn't notice. "But I'm almost finished getting a testing program together, and once that's done, we can use samples from this child and her father to try to develop ways of repairing chromosomal damage. And we'll use samples from any other Turner's girls who show up in the meantime. We can't possibly do anything for them, but it'll give us base-line data on foetal cells and a chance to refine the techniques."

He pulled out a small pad and jotted down a few notes. "Go on."

"Well, what I need from you are nanorooters that will go into the individual cells with parental chromosomal material and integrate it with that of the damaged cells to repair them." She shook her head. "It still amazes me when I think about what those microscopic robots can do. I see papers all the time now on cases where they're used for heart-surgery from the inside and spinal-injury repairs."

Bob's nodded absently. "Yeah, amazing" His pen tapped the pad. "This ought to be interesting. And it shouldn't be too difficult. We're already using nanorooters for genetic analysis and gene-splicing with animals, so we've had a little practice." He looked over at Barbara curiously. "Do you have human studies approval? We'll have to have it since we'll be needing further samples."

"Finally. It took a while, but I just got the green light from the research committee. I think they got sick of me. I've been a bitch. I had a hard enough time just getting permission to screen the samples." She saw the shadow of a frown on Bob's face. "What's wrong?"

"What's the prevalence of Turner's?"

"It used to be around one in 2,500 or so births, but it's on the rise. Now it's up to one in 1,500. Why?"

"And you said the first sixteen days are the critical ones?"

She nodded, getting irritated as he kept ignoring her questions.

"So, how many cases do you think we'll be able to prevent? Ultimately. That's assuming we get this technique refined, of course. Remember, first you have to find out in those first sixteen days that a pregnant woman, who may not know she is pregnant, is carrying a Turner's child. More like in the first week if any repair work is to be possible."

"And there's another question I've been ignoring: who will pay for all the testing and development work that will be needed?" She saw where he was heading. "I was lucky to get a grant to pay for the pilot-research, but what about after that's done?"

Bob nodded, and a faint smile played on his lips.

"What the hell are you grinning about?"

"Relax, Barbara. I just want to point out something."

"What do you mean?"

"Can you take some constructive criticism?"

"Sure."

"Good. I don't want to be negative. It's just that you've lost sight of what it is you're doing. And what you could be doing. You're screening for one type of birth defect, and trying to figure ways of detecting and correcting it while it's still early enough to do some good. Right?"

She folded the burger and fry pouches together, activating the enzyme Dizposa-Strips and then reached back to drop them into the trash can behind her. Bob was waiting patiently as she turned back to him finally.

"You're not just talking about Turner's, are you? I've been so focused on my own problem that I've been missing the fact that there are a lot of other birth defects out there. Worse ones, too!"

"Exactly. If you want to get anywhere... if we are to accomplish anything, we've got to go after birth defects as a whole. Turner's will be easy to correct if we put our heads together. The others will be harder, but what we learn from this will help. We have go at it from a broad base so we can drum up a media campaign to encourage regular pregnancy and foetal cell testing. With that, we can improve our chances of detecting and testing a large percentage of early pregnancies. If they're used regularly, the new test kits give an indication within only a few days of conception --"

"They're also cheap, accurate and idiot-proof now. But can we make that kind of broad claim?"

He leaned towards her. "For marketing purposes we'll have to. We'll explain that during the research stages, Turner's will be the primary focus. Then we'll go on to say that what we learn from that will be applied to other congenital disorders. But in the beginning, we'll have to lay a wider claim down --"

"With a good use of qualifiers."

"Right." He flashed her an exaggerated look of innocence before getting serious again. "In that case, we should be able to lock in some decent funding..." His voice trailed off and his eyes unfocused a moment. "I'll bet we can get some major support from a maker of pregnancy kits... I know! We'll hold a bidding. Let them bid for the rights to be the sponsor of the testing and research. It would be great advertising. There are at least three manufacturers of test kits out there." He scribbled down a few notes on his pad and looked back up.

"I may also be able to swing in a grant from Gene-Tech Laboratories. One of our divisions is working on a contract for them over at their Columbus Boulevard plant. Let me get back to my office and start making some calls while you get permission to contact the parents of our subject... the girl we'll be studying." He nodded and snapped his pad shut. "I'd better get going, though."

Barbara reached out and touched his arm lightly. "You know? I think we'll work well together."

"I think so too." He put his hand over hers for a moment, covering it warmly. Then he let go and stood up. His face was carefully neutral, but she swore there was a speculative glint in his eyes as he waved goodbye and disappeared.

She tried not to laugh at the irony of it. Why was it invariably the basketball-player types who were attracted to short women? Men closer to her own size always seemed to be on the prowl for tall women.

She shook her head and put away her reaction to Bob as she got up to head back to the hospital. It was time to find out who the parents of the Turner's child were.

¶

"What was that name?" Barbara sat in her office the next morning staring at the phone-image of a young administration clerk. She thought she had heard him wrong. It couldn't be!

He repeated the name: "Gabriel, Victoria Gabriel. She said it would be all right to release her name. But we'll contact her for you." His image leaned close. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know. Do you have any information on her husband?"

"His name is James Gabriel, that's all I know. Apparently they are separated."

"Okay, thanks. Go ahead and contact Mrs. Gabriel. When you get her, though, let me tell her why I'm calling." She gave the clerk her cellular number and disconnected, wondering about the name. It was a pretty unusual one and it had stuck in her mind. Was it the same Gabriel who had been protesting outside NanoSolutions?

She turned to her terminal feeling a bit guilty.

Before she had finally yielded to her parents' desires for her to follow them into medicine, her major had been computer science. She'd been good, but it had bored her. Now, as she turned her terminal on, she appreciated her earlier training. She thought back to her hacking experiments in school and muttered a soft apology to the air.

The Medical Records' master file was first. Tracking down Mrs. Gabriel was easy. But James Gabriel's medical records were non-existent. Finally, she got a line on him through his wife's records. But everything was keyed to other, outside, databases.

So, the next step was to branch out.

At first, she was clumsy and got kicked off system after system, but soon enough the old tricks came back. She gradually built up a picture of Gabriel, beginning with driver's license and passport. And a change of address only a week old. He and his wife had separated that recently? Because of the child? More and more interesting.

She checked further, looking over his vital statistics, and suspected she had the same Gabriel Bob had complained about. His records gave his height as six foot three and with a weight of two hundred forty pounds. That would fit with Bob's description of a 'big guy'. Not surprisingly, he worked in construction. And he was between jobs since his union was on strike. Time on his hands, and a tight financial situation. It all seemed to fit.

Armed with more information and key-words, she branched out into other systems and built up a picture of the rest of Gabriel's family to learn more about the forces that had molded Gabriel: the potential father and the man.

His parents had been Christian Scientists who did not believe in medicine; only in faith-healing. His father had been a reader, and now everything made sense. Studying further, she discovered that Gabriel's younger brother had died because his parents had refused to get medical help when three year old Peter had developed croup following a bad case of flu. The croup had progressed to epiglottitis and the boy had choked to death. With a hospital only minutes down the street!

James Gabriel had been only four at the time. His father had continued with church work after Peter's death and Barbara cringed as she pictured what that must have meant.

If the death of a son had not swayed the elder Gabriel's faith, he must have buried himself in church doctrine to avoid accepting blame for Peter's death. He had probably brainwashed James to accept the church and nothing else. And he had probably made sure to emphasize the evils of medicine to his impressionable, four year old son!

No wonder the grown-up James Gabriel was out there protesting against NanoSolutions. And it made sense now that he and his wife had separated. As an expectant mother, she had probably decided that wanted all the benefits of modern medicine for her child -- which would have gone against all of her husband's beliefs.

Barbara shut off her terminal and twisted back and forth on her chair slowly, trying to think how she would approach someone like him. It wouldn't be easy. She would have to prepare herself.

Then a call from Bob interrupted her. He asked her to come over to his office. He had some good news, he told her. From his excited expression and voice, she suspected he had managed to track down some strong support for their project.

Putting the problem with Gabriel away for the moment, she grabbed her keys and locked up the lab. Bob had told her the coast was clear and Gabriel's protesters had not shown up that morning, so she should have no problems getting in to see him.

¶

Late-morning traffic in West Philadelphia was snarled as usual, and as she crawled along Walnut Street, she saw a crowd up ahead. A group of sign-bearing protesters were gathered outside the scrubbed red sandstone monolith of NanoSolution's main building.

A slight churning started in the pit of her stomach and she decided that maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to come over here. Obviously Gabriel's protesters had just been sleeping late. She looked over to see if she could get out of the turning lane that led into NanoSolutions lot, but traffic was jammed and no one would let her into the next lane.

Then one of the protesters spotted her and pointed, and the whole crowd turned and started towards her, signs held high under angry faces. Her hands tightened on the leather lacing on the steering wheel. As she shifted on the booster-cushions under her, she muttered a quiet prayer that once she got to the lot there would be a security guard there to help her. She drove on, her stomach-churning moving into high gear as the protesters surrounded the car. But they parted in front of it as she pulled into the lot, no one touching it. Feeling a bit more secure, she parked in one of the visitors' spots. Swallowing nervously, she opened the door and got out.

Momentary confusion battled with hostility on the faces of the protestors as they got a look at her.

She stepped forward and they began to give way. She had to smile and her fear eased. For once, her size had an advantage. But then a tall figure wearing a plain brown robe pushed out from behind and confronted her.

"Who are you and what is your business in this Devil's lair?" She barely reached his waist as he stepped forward and blocked her way to the front door. He knelt and stared at her, curiosity and revulsion alternatingly flashing across his face. "And what manner abomination are you? You're no dwarf, but a woman in a child's body." His voice was a booming challenge that rang out over the parking lot.

"With a charming line like that, you've got to be Gabriel," she shot back. "I don't exactly appreciate that crack about a child's body, though. I may not get a job as a Maidenform model, but I think I'm pretty obviously a woman. As for who I am, I'm a doctor researching a way of preventing birth defects. And I am here because NanoSolutions is helping me."

Gabriel rocked back on his heels. "You? You're in league with this tampering with God's will?" He rose, towering over her and stepped closer, forcing her to back off. "How dare you interfere in His plan and corrupt His creatures?"

As he moved in, the others crowded around and she was suddenly scared again. She had blown it. She should have known from what she had found out that he would react like this. And he was getting the rest of the crowd worked up.

Then a tall, broad-shouldered figure broke through the press of people, grabbed her hand and pulled her out from in front of the mob before anyone knew what had happened. She was quickly whisked inside the cool hallway of the main building, more carried than anything. As the heavy glass door hissed shut behind them, the protestors' angry muttering was cut off. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Outside, Gabriel's people were almost invisible on the other side of thick smoked glass and she relaxed.

She felt something cold touch her face and jerked back until she realized she was just brushing against the leaves of a huge Philodendron. Feeling a little silly about being scared by a plant, she realized she was gripping someone's hand fiercely and looked up at her rescuer -- only to see Bob looking down at her with a big grin on his face.

"Sir Lancelot, at your service, mademoiselle." He bowed formally and with his free hand swept a non-existent hat off his head with a flourish.

She laughed and curtsied in return. "Thank you, good sir."

"Just doing my bit to rescue a fair maiden in distress. You really do have quite the grip, you know. Do you always hold..." He stopped, his face reddening slightly as he changed the subject. "Why --"

"Oh no you don't." Barbara kept a grip on his hand. "Finish your question." She grinned maliciously, seeing his face turn a distinct red that matched the rosewood paneling of the wainscotting in the hallway.

"Do you always hold your men so tight?" he finally got out, not meeting her eyes.

She giggled. "You're damn right. All of the many, many men that come trooping in and out of my life..."

Bob's hand tightened around hers as she fell silent. He turned her around to face him. "I'm sorry. I guess I pushed the wrong button --"

"No, don't apologize. It's not your fault. It's just that your question hit home." She studied the ornate horn buttons on his jacket for a moment. "You see, there have only been three men in my life..." She turned away, leaning against the cold wall behind her as she looked out through the heavy smoked glass of the door at the marching figures outside. They seemed so far away. Only a muffled cadence from their chanting filtered in. "Just three. One took off when he found out I couldn't have children. And the one before that met a nice, tall model and decided that he preferred dating someone he wasn't ashamed to be seen with."

"And the first?"

"He was a sweet man. It was my last year of residency and he was one of the surgeons in the shock-trauma unit. I was in medicine, not surgery, but we met at a dinner and started seeing each other. It was a good match. He was only five foot three. Then in '95, he went to Lebanon as part of a medical response team and he was killed. In an accident. The chopper that was taking him from the carrier to Beirut had a malfunctioning tail-rotor and it crashed..." She shook her head. "I don't believe I'm telling this to a perfect stranger --"

"Well, I don't know if I'm perfect. But I'm okay. And I care."

"Thanks." She relaxed and studied his face. His eyes were concerned and interested.

"I'm sorry if I seem to be prying, Barbara, I guess I'm just a little surprised. Only three? I mean you're young --"

"Not that young, but thanks. I'm thirty-five."

"But you're attractive, intelligent, accomplished... I can't understand why --"

"Why I've only had three lovers? Getting kind of personal, aren't we?" She chuckled. "No, that's okay. For some reason, I don't mind talking to you about it." She looked down briefly. "What was your first reaction when you saw me? Even if somebody obviously described me to you."

"Point taken. But once I thought about it, I realized that it was stupid."

"Yes, but you thought about it since you had to deal with me. Now you're starting to see me for what I am. Maybe it's just my bad luck, but most men I run into don't hang around long enough to think about it. And in school I was a joke. I had to work twice as hard as everybody else to be accepted. I couldn't be an average kid with a social life. I had to be a brilliant one. Then I had an excuse to be different. But when I couldn't always be as good as the real top students, I started feeling bad about myself. That's a hard habit to break. It also makes it easy to hold back from even trying to get close to anyone. It wasn't until my dad finally talked me out of computer science and into medicine, that I realized that that's what I was good at and wanted after all. I'd been fighting it because my parents were both doctors and they were pressuring me to follow them into the family practice. But once I started pre-med and went on, my grades went straight to the top and stayed there."

She laughed. "Of course then, when I felt better about myself, I was so busy I didn't have time to get out much... But, enough about that. I didn't mean to rattle on."

She realized they were still standing by the door holding hands. She started to pull her hand free.

Bob resisted and brought her hand to his mouth briefly to brush it with his lips before letting go. "Their loss..." He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --"

"Will you stop apologizing? It makes you sound insecure. Now, you didn't mean what? To kiss my hand? Or didn't mean to come on to me?"

Bob didn't answer for a moment, but looked around until he spotted a low bench by the opposite wall, between two other tall potted bushes. He went over to sit down, motioning her to join him. As she approached, he looked at her seriously from the same level. "I guess I am a bit insecure. Did it seem like I was coming on to you?"

She shook her head. "Not really... well, maybe a little. Not that I mind, mind you. Are you trying to come on to me? I don't mean that in a tacky way. Are you trying to get close to me? I get the feeling you are."

"Well, I really would like to get to know you better. You're pretty impressive, lady! I made some calls about you after I got back here and found out that you've got a hell of a rep. As a researcher, and a doctor. Your work on multiple sclerosis at Hopkins is text-book material. And your --"

She cocked her head and studied his face. "You're stalling. What are you worried about? By now I'm sure you've read up a bit on Turner's and you're probably not worried about my comment about," she smiled suggestively, "impaired sexual development --"

"No, that's not it! Hormone therapy takes care of that... And, yes. I did read up a bit. But that's not it. I guess... part of it is that you're so petite and I'm --"

"And you're a big man. Relax." She hopped up on the high bench next to him and curled her legs under herself. "I'm not some little frail, delicate flower that you have to worry about. Mike, the second guy I was involved with, was about your size. We had a very nice, and pretty physical relationship going for several months until he decided he felt too embarrassed to be escorting me around and being mistaken for my father."

Bob still looked uncertain.

"What else?"

"I guess you had better chalk it up to being afraid to try. You see, I've been alone most of my life, too."

"Yeah? How do you mean?" Sitting next to him, it was the most natural thing to lean in just a little so her shoulder rested against his. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smiling down at her gently.

"First, because all through school I was a fat nerd with glasses. Honors straight through, but totally incompetent in any attempts to develop any relationship. Whenever I tried to ask a girl out -- assuming I was able to get up the nerve -- I was nicely refused. So I know a little about being alone. Which is strange, because I made friends with women easily enough. Probably more easily than with other men. But I was never able to try to take it further. That went on through school, though as a prospective doctor, I was a little more acceptable. Even as a fat nerd."

Barbara twisted to look him up and down to survey him with a teasing smile. "Well, you don't look half-bad now. How long since you slimmed down?"

"Oh, a while now. About five years. But I've been so busy with work, and what I do is so esoteric that meeting women is still next to impossible. I'm still a nerd. A highly paid one, mind you. But the type of woman that seems to come on to me doesn't interest me --"

"You're hanging out in the wrong places."

"Probably. But until I met you, I had not been able to find a woman who does interest me --"

"How hard have you tried?"

"Lately, not very. It's a lot easier not to try, and then fool yourself into thinking that maybe she would have said yes if you had tried."

"So, are you trying, now?"

"Yes." He sounded almost defiant. "I know we just met but I've always been good at judging people. I don't have a lot of really close friends but those I do have, I connected with right away and they'll stand by me if I need help. I've yet to be wrong about a person's basic worth --"

"And what do your instincts tell you about me?"

"That you're as good a person as you are competent. You care. I saw your tears when you were telling me about that Turner's baby you found and know you can't help. I've already found out about your abilities and accomplishments. Also, you're brave, if a bit stubborn. You came here, after all, in spite of the crowd outside." He shifted to nudge her with his shoulder. "And you have a good sense of humor. That's a lot of good things right up front. Sort of a predictor, if you will. It definitely makes you a lady I want to get to know better. I'll even risk saying it to your face."

His face wore such a look of nervous expectancy that she felt compelled to lean closer. Suddenly she found herself kissing him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. His arms crept around her and pulled her close, strong and comforting as they held her. Inside, a rational corner of her mind was protesting, but she ignored it.

Then glass exploded around them and the calm was shattered by a ringing alarm bell and a metallic crash.

A brick lay on the floor beside them and they looked out the shattered front door to see Gabriel approach, his face livid with anger. The harsh sun and angry voices that invaded the hall were a shock after the quiet half-light that had ruled it before the brick had interrupted their kiss.

"You're all devils!" the tall figure called out over the alarm bells as he stood in the doorway, half-hunched to look in. The doorway was blocked now by a metal grille that had snapped in place when the glass door had been shattered. But Gabriel carefully avoided touching any part of the grill, door or building.

Barbara and Bob rose as one and Barbara saw anger matching her own come over Bob's face as he reached up to silence the alarm and approached the doorway. "Listen, you, I don't know what you think you're doing. You're sure as hell not going to stop us. But I'll tell you what will happen if you do: people will die! We're using technology to repair injuries, help crippled people walk again and thanks to Dr. Warner's research, we'll be using it to prevent birth defects. Where the bloody hell is the sin in that?"

"If God had --"

"If God had meant you to tell time, you wouldn't need a watch!" Barbara snuck around in front of Bob and pointed to the gold digital watch strapped to Gabriel's wrist. "And your church has major holdings in print and electronic media, so you're obviously not against all technology." She stepped forward and grabbed the metal bars to glare out at him. "So, why is what we're doing against God's will? We're trying to ease pain and suffering and help our fellow persons. That's in line with your own church doctrine. We're not building weapons or trying to hurt people, so what's wrong?"

Barbara felt Bob's warmly reassuring presence behind her and reached back to grip his hand gratefully. "Bob, can you open the door, please?"

After a moment of reluctant hesitation he nodded and reached up to key in another combination on the alarm panel. The metal grate slid silently up out of sight.

She stepped gingerly past the jagged spears of glass that still bordered the steel frame of the door. Bob followed her closely out onto the driveway.

Gabriel squinted as the sun caught her white linen dress brilliantly.

"Mr. Gabriel." Barbara moved closer to him. "I'm not putting down your faith. I believe in God, too." She nodded as he raised an eyebrow. "But I can't believe in a God who is so petty and cruel that He, She, or It would rather see unborn children born into crippled and twisted bodies, or good people die from damaged or sick bodies when we can prevent that by using the technology that our own, God-given brains conceived of. What do you think?" She took a guess. "And don't answer in your father's words." She stepped closer and saw him retreat, eyes wide with surprise.

"What do you know about my father?"

"I know how your brother died. And how your dad probably brainwashed you so badly trying to defend himself that you have no choice but to stand here protesting." She pointed back over her shoulder. "With the resources in there we can develop ways to save lives and keep children from being born with crippling, disfiguring or embarrassing problems. Is that evil?"

Gabriel's fellow protesters were silent, looking to their leader for their cue. But Gabriel seemed confused by her challenge. He waved at his followers. "Back! I must deal with this evil creature myself." They retreated and he turned back to her and settled to sit cross-legged on the dusty pavement with a heavy sigh.

She was shocked to see the fanatical expression melt away, leaving a weary look of pain on his face as he spoke quietly.

"Why do you bring up the past?"

"Then you are Victoria's husband?"

He nodded. "Who are you? One of her... doctors?" His face twisted briefly.

"No, but I've been studying your daughter. Why did you leave?"

"Vicky doesn't believe --"

"Is that why you left?"

"Yes. I will pray for both of them. God has charged me..."

"Personally?"

"Well, of course not. But I have to see that His will and that of the Church are carried out. Why do you think I carry on like a lunatic? People need charisma and dazzle to listen. Advertisers discovered that decades ago and were careful to sell the 'sizzle' instead of the steak. But the steak got sold, too. So, I carry the word in my own way --"

"By deserting your wife and unborn child?"

"I told you. I pray for them and if God sees fit, he will return them to me."

"Is this the same God who thinks it's okay to let our loved ones -- innocent children especially -- die or be born disfigured?"

"It is not for me to question God's word."

"I'm not asking you to. Only to think about how people might have misinterpreted what God wants done. And how to do it."

"Why?" Gabriel leaned forward intently and studied her face. "There's a reason that you're asking this. What's wrong?" Cold fear was suddenly clear on his face. "Please, tell me."

She moved close and touched his shoulder gently. "I'm sorry, but your daughter has the same condition I have. The worst part is that, without your help, she has little chance of surviving through to birth. We can't cure her or prevent her from having some of my problems, if she survives, but we can at least give her a better chance of being born healthy. Without your help, she has less than a two percent chance of being born, at all."

He crumpled, sliding to one side, supported only by one arm. "How do you know?"

"I work at the hospital and I have been testing cell samples from all pregnant mothers seen there, including Victoria. I've been looking for a child with the same problem I have so I can try to develop a way of preventing it." She glanced back at Bob. "It, and other birth defects."

"You said 'daughter', before. It's a girl then?"

She nodded.

"Less than two percent..." He stopped, eyes haunted. Then he spoke mechanically. "If she is meant to d-d-die, then it is God's will ‑‑"

"That's your father talking!" Barbara grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Do you think your daughter deserves to die? Do you really think God would rather see an innocent, unborn child die when there's a way to save her? This is a child you and your wife want and love, not an embarrassing accident who might be neglected and abandoned if born. Even though you're separated, that's obvious."

With a tender ease that revealed that his strength was carefully kept in check, Gabriel freed himself and rose, towering over her again. "Please... Doctor, you must give me some time to think about this. I am a man of faith, and I can't just ignore what I've lived with my whole life. Do you understand?" His face was a mask of uncertainty and pain.

"I guess so, but this --"

"Please! I know there is probably much more you want to say, but not now. I need to think."

She looked at him, seeing moisture forming in his eyes and she nodded. "Of course." She reached into her belt-purse and pulled out one of her cards and handed it over to him. "Here's my card. When you're ready, put it in any Reader and it will give you my complete bio and references. You'll see that I'm serious in my concern for helping people. Then use the card to call my office, or just come in and I'll explain the truth about what we are doing. And what the problem with your daughter is. If she makes it to birth, it's really not that bad. It's just insensitive people who make it hard sometimes. And if you'll give us permission to help, we'll be able to give her a much better chance of surviving. That much we can do for her, I think. We should be able to learn enough that we can help make sure she lives. And you'll be helping countless other children." She reached up to touch his arm gently. "I am sorry I can't promise more. But in the meantime, go home and think. And call your wife, please. You need to talk to her. I'd like to see you both at the same time when I go over your daughter's problem."

There was a long silence, and then a soft: "Thank you... doctor --"

"Barbara."

"Thank you, Barbara." He turned to Bob. "I'm sorry about the brick. Some hot-head in the back threw it. Now please, go back inside."

She wanted to say something, but Bob's hand on her shoulder stopped her as he eased her back towards the building to leave Gabriel standing there alone to face his confused followers.

Barbara grabbed Bob's hand and together they reentered the cool hallway of NanoSolutions.

- end -