Free My Brother's Keeper by Charles Sheffield Page A

hospital room when a nurse had brought a vase of fresh-cut red roses and placed them on the table next to me. I had begun to tremble and perspire, and Tess was forced to run in and give me an injection.
    Lemons.
    The hell with it. I'd have time to think on the Underground, and if I didn't leave soon I'd be late meeting Tess.
    Lemon thoughts came close to spoiling the whole evening. I just couldn't get them out of my head. Tess noticed my preoccupied look after we had worked over the menu together and agreed to share a rack of lamb. Then I dithered over the wine list, not really paying attention to it, until Tess took over. She asked the wine waiter a couple of questions, and it became obvious that she knew wines better than I ever would.
    "I've picked one that's underpriced and underrated," she said, as the waiter nodded respectfully and left. "I know it'll be good. Do you think you should be drinking, though? Have you had any dizziness?"
    "I'm fine." I didn't mention the wine and brandy I had drunk two days before.
    She looked less sure. We sat there for a minute or two without attempting conversation. As I had learned during my first conscious weeks in the hospital, a lot went on behind that broad forehead. Sir Westcott wouldn't trust his most critical cases to just anybody. Tess didn't strike like lightning, on the first encounter; she grew on you, steadily, so that after a while you worried when she was off duty and kept wondering what she was doing.
    "All right, penny for your thoughts." She had been watching me closely, while I ate olives and paté. "Or are you going to sit there and brood all night without talking about it?"
    I looked down at the table for something I could draw on. There were only the napkins and the cloth, and I didn't think the management would like me to sketch on those. Finally Tess helped out with a paper bag that she found in her purse.
    I drew as accurately as I could (which wasn't very) and told her how they had been generated on the brain diagram.
    She sat there, head to one side, studying the oval figures.
    "Eggs?" she said at last, "Walnuts, lemons, balloons—they could be anything. I'd like to see the real thing. How were these placed relative to the anatomy chart?"
    "I can't describe it easily. They were down on the left, in a clear area near the front view of the brain. But you'd have to see it for yourself to know how they were positioned."
    "Well, I'm game for that. This could be important." She tucked the bag into her purse. "Where did you leave the diagram?"
    I shrugged. "Back at my flat—hanging on the bedroom wall."
    The frown lines came for a split second, then dissolved to a high-voltage smile. "That must be the worst line yet. Wouldn't it be better to offer to show me your etchings?"
    She didn't discuss that any further, but she didn't make an alternative suggestion. For the rest of the dinner I felt excited, happy, and more than a little bit nervous. I had noticed when we first met for dinner that she wasn't wearing her ring, and deduced that like her boyfriend it was protection against unwanted attentions in the hospital. Tess looked at me calmly, while I drank rather more wine than I should have and made a mess of bread crumbs by working over the basket of rolls on my side of the table. For the first time since the crash (I could think of it less and less as an accident) I didn't feel embarrassed at being seen in public. Tess certainly didn't seem to care about my scars, and she knew I had a lot more than would show to the casual inspection.
    In the taxi back to Shepherds Bush I worried all the way. First about what might happen, then about what might not. Brain injuries often cause other physical effects—I had read the literature Sir Westcott provided to me, and was all ready to fear the worst. And even assuming the best, there might still be mechanical problems. A good deal of interior rerouting had been done on me. If I did have plumbing difficulties, this would be one