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“No, indeed. You were just on the resort. Did he give you a tour of the Autotronics Arcade?”
“Briefly.” Eve’s lips quirked a little. “We had . . . a lot of ground to cover in a short time.”
Reeanna’s smile was slow and sly. “I imagine you did. But I hope you tried a few of the programs that are in place. William’s so proud of those games. And you did mention you’d seen the hologram room in the Presidential Suite of the hotel.”
“I did. Made use of it several times. Very impressive.”
“Most of that’s William’s doing—the design—but I will take partial credit. We plan to utilize that new system to enhance the treatment of addicts and certain psychoses.” She shifted as their coffee and dessert was served. “That might be of interest to you, Dr. Mira.”
“It certainly would. It sounds fascinating.”
“It is. Wickedly expensive right now, but we hope to refine and bring the cost down. But for Olympus, Roarke wanted the best—and he’s getting it. Such as the Lisa droid.”
“Yeah.” Eve remembered the stunning female droid with the sultry voice. “I’ve seen her.”
“She’ll be in PR and customer service. A very superior model that took months to perfect. Her intelligence chips are unmatched by anything on the market. She’ll have decision making and personality capabilities well beyond the current available units. William and I—” She broke off, chuckled at herself. “Listen to me. I just can’t get away from work.”
“It’s fascinating.” Mira dipped delicately into her trifle. “Your study of brain patterns and their genetic thrust on personality, and their application to electronics is compelling, even to a dug-in-at-the-roots psychiatrist such as myself.” She hesitated, glanced at Eve. “As a matter of fact, your expertise might lend a new angle on a particular case Eve and I were discussing.”
“Oh?” Reeanna forked up some chocolate and all but hummed over it.
“Hypothetical.” Mira spread her hands, well aware of the official ban of layman consults.
“Naturally.”
Eve drummed her fingers on the table again. She preferred Mira’s take, but weighing the options, decided to expand.
“Apparent self-termination. No known motive, no known predisposition, no chemical inducement, no family history. Behavioral patterns up to point of termination normal. No substantiated signs of depression or personality fluctuations. Subject is a sixty-two-year-old male, professional, high-end education, successful, financially solvent, bisexual, with long-term same-sex marriage.”
“Physical disabilities?”
“None. Clean health card.”
Reeanna’s eyes narrowed in concentration, either over the profile or the dessert she was slowly spooning into her mouth. “Any psychological defects, treatment?”
“No.”
“Interesting. I’d love to see the brain wave pattern. Available?”
“Currently classified.”
“Hmm.” Reeanna sipped her latte contemplatively. “Without any known physical or psychiatric abnormalities, no chemical addictions or usage, I’d lean toward a brain blip. Possible tumor. Yet I assume none showed up in autopsy?”
Eve thought of the pinprick, but shook her head. “Not a tumor, no.”
“There are cases of predisposition that slide through genetic scanning and evaluation. The brain is a complicated organ and still baffles even the most elaborate technology. If I could see his family history . . . Well, to take a wild guess, I’d say your man had a genetic time bomb that went undetected through normal analysis. He’d reached the point in his life where the fuse ran short.”
Eve cocked a brow. “So he just blew?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Reeanna leaned forward. “We’re all coded in, Eve, in the womb. What we are, who we are. Not just the color of our eyes, our build, our skin tones, but our personalities, our tastes, our intellect, and our emotional scale. The genetic code is stamped on us at the moment of conception. It can be altered to a certain extent, but the basis of what we are remains. Nothing can change it.”
“We are what we’re born?” Eve thought of a filthy room, a blinking red light, and a young girl curled into a corner with a bloody knife.
“Precisely.” Reeanna’s smile beamed out.
“You don’t take into account environment, free will, the basic human drive to better oneself?” Mira objected. “To consider us merely physical creatures without heart, soul, and a range of choices to be made over a lifetime lowers us to the level of animals.”
“And so we are,” Reeanna said with a sweep of her fork. “I understand your viewpoint as a therapist, Dr. Mira, but mine, as a physiologist, runs down a different lane, so to speak. The decisions we make throughout our life, what we do, how we live, and what we become were printed on our brains while we swam in the womb. Your subject, Eve, was fated to take his life at that time, in that place, and in the manner he chose. Circumstances might have altered it, but the results would have been the same, eventually. It was, in essence, his destiny.”
