And who was he, to do that to me?
I had to say something, to fill up the space between us with words, because what hung there now was too much for me to handle.
"Do you spend this much time with every patient?" I asked, pretending to busy myself with turning my wineglass to examine the glint of the wine in the candlelight.
"It depends on how far they make it through the process," he said evenly. "You must understand that nine out of ten are eliminated at screening. And of those who pass, a considerable number still decline the procedure."
I frowned at that, looking at my short fingernails rather than meeting that disconcerting gaze. "Are they all terminal? Like me?"
"Yes," he said. "Given the risks of the procedure, imminent death is a prerequisite."
I couldn't help myself then. I looked up to find him regarding me steadily. "Then why refuse it?"
"It is a choice of the last resort, Ms. Shaw," he said. "It comes with a ninety-nine percent chance of failure and death, as you noted so aptly last time we met. For many people, a certain death tomorrow is better than a near-certain death today."
"I don't think I'm going to die," I said. I didn't know where my conviction came from, but I was very sure.
"I want you to understand the gravity of your decision, Ms. Shaw. No one who makes this choice wants to die. Yet most still do. Once the procedure is begun, there is no stopping it. No turning back." The honeyed tone made the words almost soothing even though the meaning was blunt.
I shook my head. "Any chance is better than none." I stopped. "The procedure itself-is it so terrible? Is it an operation? Radiation? Chemotherapy?"
New plates were delivered, the old ones whisked away. I barely noticed the server's explanation of the spanakopita.
"It is over in a matter of minutes," Mr. Thorne said. He twirled a fork in his fingers, and it glinted in the flame of the candle. "Blood is collected, and simultaneously, you are given an injection. The substance consists of a blend of long-chain molecules which function in some ways like a hemotoxin."
Toxin?
"That doesn't sound good," I said. That was probably the understatement of the year.
He set the fork down. "The hemotoxic effect is necessary to prepare for a fundamental and irrevocable reordering of the metabolism of every cell in your body. If your metabolism can change quickly enough in the wake of the hemotoxin, the cells are converted to a new state, and you live. If not, you die."