How It Ends: Part 1 - The Evaluation (7 page)

“A function exists to allow robots external
digital communication on a case by case basis. It’s really nothing
more than an I/O switch that is set in the main data core and
passed to robots on an individual basis during their nightly data
load.”

Sidney’s head jerked toward Anita’s
notebook. She’d stopped taking notes, enthralled in the
conversation. The motion from Sidney snapped her back to her role.
She began to write as fast as she could, trying to catch the flow
of conversation with her pencil.

Kilgore appeared not to have noticed.

“In addition,” it said “websites need to be
approved for viewing by a review board and manually enabled to
allow a robot—any robot—access to them. Such is the case with
me.”

“Why?” asked Anita.

“Because there are certain websites that
have data or information that is directly relevant to the
operational integrity of a robot.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, sometimes Kilgore needs the web in
order to do his job,” said Sidney.

“Correct, Dr. Hermann.”

“I never knew that,” said Anita.

“Neither did I,” said Sidney.

Anita looked at him. A robotics professor
stumbling onto what sounded like a fairly common security protocol
in a robot. That struck her. Odd? Maybe. Disquieting? Yes.

Pencil to notebook:
Brian re: robot web
browsing override protocols.
He’d know if anyone would.

“Should we continue?” asked Kilgore.

“Sure.”

They began walking again. “Would you like to
review your background with me, Dr. Hermann?”

“What do you know already?”

“I know that you have a great depth of
knowledge about lower level robots, including histories, software
revisions, bug fixes, et cetera. Your specialty, however, is not in
the technical or even functional aspects of robots, but rather it
is closer to the history of robots, robotics, and the controversies
that have manifested throughout the Age of the New Machine. In a
lecture you gave at the University of Virginia, you referred to
these controversies as ethical matters, but then dismantled your
own argument, referring to them instead as matters of human
comfort.”

“It sounds like you’ve read it.”

“Listened to it, actually. It is available
in the guest lecture library at the University of Virginia
website.”

“Did you understand it?” asked Sidney.
It
was a strange question
, he thought.
In some ways
unfair.

Kilgore’s holographic projected face
frowned.

Maybe we give it too much credit for
comprehension
, thought Sidney.

“Perhaps I shall paraphrase you,” Kilgore
said. “It is not a question of the ethics of a robot administering
to the sick and elderly. Nor is it truly about the final act for
those patients who pass the requisite physical and mental tests,
that act being assisted suicide. It is not even about how very easy
it is for humans, beings with the illusively defined spirituality
of the soul, to simply pawn off this final act to a soulless
machine that does not have philosophical or religious issues. The
ethics at play here are those surrounding your—humanity’s—comfort
level placing the decision with machines. Are those patients truly
comfortable with a robotic doctor assisting them in making the
decision to die? Should a human be involved in the process? In
simpler terms, is it or is it not socially acceptable for a robot
to specialize in geriatric medicine and end of life care,
especially if such care suggests suicide as the best possible
alternative, if the intended recipients of such care are
uncomfortable with the practitioner?”

He comprehends very well
, thought
Sidney.

“Yes,” he said aloud. “That about sums up
what I was saying.”

The robot’s holographic face smiled and the
head nodded. “Very well,” it said. “How shall we proceed?”

Sidney shrugged.

“Do you have any feelings you wish to
discuss regarding this assessment?” Sidney asked.

“No. As we have already discussed, I was not
fitted with an emotive processor when I was constructed. I have no
emotions that require discussion.”

“If you have no emotions, how are you able
to interact with patients?” asked Anita.

“I have a lengthy series of protocols known
as reacts stored in a central repository that I am able to call at
any time as the situation suggests.”

“So, for example, if you were dealing with a
grieving spouse?”

“I would process the many options I have for
consolation in the case of such grief. My holographic projector
would then make the appropriate facial expressions and my posture
would reflect empathy.”

“Project. Reflect. These are interesting
words,” said Sidney. “They tend to deal in facsimiles of the real
thing, don’t they?”

“Of course they do.”

* * *

Sidney shadowed Dr. Kilgore for the rest of
the morning. Anita took notes. There were a number of visits by
elderly patients. Routine check-ups. Flu shots. Requisite visits
for a prescription renewal. Nothing stood out as an issue that
could not be done by a human doctor.

Sidney and Anita ate lunch in the cafeteria
in the lobby level of the building. She gulped a large cup of
coffee and bit through a stale danish. He sipped at a diet soda and
chewed noisily on a fat sandwich.

“How do you think it’s going?” she
asked.

“Alright.”

“That’s it?”

“Hmm,” Sidney mumbled through a mouthful of
food. He swallowed. “It’s going okay. But I don’t want to get too
far ahead of ourselves.”

“What does that mean?”

But Sidney didn’t answer.

They ate the rest of the meal in
silence.

* * *

After lunch Sidney directed Anita to
interview the nursing staff and a few of the human doctors in a
make-shift office in a corner of the geriatric floor. Most of the
responses were dull and repetitive. Praise for the work Dr. Kilgore
had done and its way with the patients.

The last interviewee was the head nurse.

She was a plump older woman with half-moon
spectacles perched at the end of her nose. Her down-turned mouth
gave her a sour expression. Anita sat with her and ran through a
pre-determined list of questions.

“Do you have anything you would like to
add?” Anita asked at the end of the interview.

The nurse sniffed with disdain. She said
nothing. But Anita picked up on it.

“What?”

“What what?”

“You seemed like you wanted to say
something.”

“Did I?”

“So, you don’t want to add anything?”

“Not really.”

Anita gave the nurse a strange smile and
made a note on her pad.

“Okay, then. If there’s nothing else—“

“What are the odds you’re actually going to
shut down this program with the death robot?”

Anita looked up at the nurse and cocked her
head to the side. That was a new one. Death robot.

“The death robot? I haven’t heard that
before. Why do you call it that?”

“What are the odds?”

“Of?”

“Shutting him down?”

Anita shrugged. “I have no idea. That’s not
why I’m here.”

The nurse sniffed.

“Why do you call it the death robot?”

“We all call it that. Everyone on this
floor. We don’t do it to its face, mind you, but that’s what we
call it.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? Because it’s a licensed
end of life caregiver. It can end a life.”

“End a life?”

“Yes. You know. Physician-assisted
suicide.”

Anita’s face blanked. She needed more from
this nurse. She took a chance and played dumb with the nurse.

“No, actually, I didn’t know that.”

“Well,” sniffed the nurse, “now I guess you
have something to write down.”

Anita wrote it down.

“How many of those has Kilgore
performed?”

“I don’t know,” the nurse said. Anita
suspected she did.

“And this bothers you? Its ability to do
that? Isn’t that a normal—well, maybe not normal—but typical
procedure that geriatric doctors are allowed to perform these
days?”

“Human ones, yes.”

“But not robot ones?”

The nurse turned her head away.

“So you have no problem using the term death
robot?” asked Anita changing tracks.

“No.”

“But not to it directly.”

“Someone slipped once and called Kilgore a
death robot to its face,” the nurse said. She wasn’t looking at
Anita. Her voice was cold and distant. “It stopped and turned its
head toward the person. That face changed into a snarl. It was so
life-like. The lips curled up, the flesh color turning red. It was
meant to be menacing. It was meant as a threat.”

The a-ha! moment. Anita understood. This
nurse was talking about herself. Kilgore had stared her down and it
had rattled her. Not that Anita could blame her. It would have
rattled her too and she studied robots every day.

“So you think Dr. Kilgore minds being called
a death robot?”

“I know it does. I know they say it’s only
because it has a protocol that runs when it hears the phrase.
Nothing serious, supposedly, just a face of indignation. But it
minds and I find that creepy. It claims the reaction protocol is
built in because of its conscious choice to specialize in geriatric
medicine and end of life care.”

“That’s an interesting phrase. Conscious
choice. Are those Dr. Kilgore’s words?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds about right. Sounds a lot like a
conversation we had earlier today.”

The nurse was silent.

“How conscious do you think that choice can
truly be?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Try.”

“Do you know anything about robots at all?
Do you know they have these neural net systems that allow for
knowledge to be learned? They’re built loaded with a certain amount
of basic knowledge and the rest is learned through—believe it or
not—schools?”

“Yes, I know. I’m studying robotic
engineering at NYU. This is the first time I’ve participated in an
evaluation of any sort. Kilgore is pretty much beyond my
expectations.”

“You should know better.”

“Better than what?”

The nurse refused to say any more. Anita
sighed.

“Did you have anything else you wanted to
add to this interview?”

Wordlessly the nurse raised herself from the
chair. She walked out of the small room.

* * *

At the end of the day came one of the cases
Sidney had been waiting to observe. At the end of the day came Mrs.
Edna Carroway. Drs. Kilgore and Hermann met her in the waiting
room. Anita stood behind them. The room had been set aside for
relatives of patients who were residents at the geriatric facility.
Unlike the general visitor’s lounge, which was a sparse featureless
room with mismatched furniture both torn and coffee-stained, this
room was warmer, softer, more inviting.

Mrs. Carroway was an old woman with a deeply
lined face. Recent years had seen more frowns than smiles. The
crow’s feet elongated down the side of her face. Her weary eyes had
the faded quality of the elderly. Long years of fighting the
inevitable. She was diminutive. Slight of build with sloping
shoulders that were warmed by a shawl.

Before they entered the waiting room the
robot gave Sidney and Anita the details of Mrs. Carroway’s
situation in its smooth even voice.

“Mrs. Carroway’s husband, Gregory, is
gravely ill. He has an aggressive form of cancer that has now
spread to his lungs, pancreas, and bladder. The cancer is stage
four. He is terminal. Chemotherapy has been unsuccessful and his
age prohibits the use of radiation. After careful consideration we
have therefore determined that the best course of action for Mr.
Carroway is physician-assisted suicide.”

Sidney nodded. Anita flipped through her
notes. Other than the last interview there had been nothing
interesting to report. Robots had been treating patients in
controlled tests for several months now. This robot diagnosing and
prescribing treatments for patients was nothing new. This
appointment might change that. End of life care. How could a robot
be as comforting as a human?

“Dr. Kilgore, we don’t want to intrude on
your patient. I would however like to observe the procedure. If you
would prefer we can watch by remote.”

Sidney inclined his head toward the nurses’
station. He wondered if the robot would pick up the subtleties.

“I will leave the decision up to you, Dr.
Hermann. Gregory Carroway has been in hospice care here for a
number of months. Privacy is one of the attributes that is lost
when one enters hospice care. He and his wife have grown used to
that. All manner of personnel come in and out of the room on a
regular basis. Nurses, doctors, even janitors. If it would make
your observations more precise, I welcome you into the room to
observe.”

Score one for the robot
, thought
Sidney.
Then again, it’s willing to compromise its patient’s
comfort and privacy. Score one for me.

“Of course,” continued Kilgore, “I must
consult with Mrs. Carroway before I give you full leave to
personally observe. I would not choose to cause her more discomfort
than she is already feeling at this time.”

Damn
, thought Sidney.

Drs. Kilgore and Hermann entered the waiting
room with Anita behind them. Edna Carroway stood from her chair
with the slow motion of brittle bones. She pulled her shawl closer
around her shoulders and using a plain wooden cane hobbled forward
to greet the robot.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carroway,”

“Hello, Dr. Kilgore.” Her voice was as frail
as her appearance.

“May I introduce to you Dr. Sidney Hermann
and Miss Anita Lory. They are specialists in the field of patient
care and comfort. They are accompanying me on my rounds to observe
patient care in our ward.”