“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.”
Even as Sidney reached out his hand and grasped Mrs. Carroway’s outstretched arthritic one, he found it vaguely disconcerting that the robot had lied. Was it even possible for a robot to do so? Wasn’t it in the programming that they could not lie? Were robots programmed to lie when the situation warranted it? He made a mental note to research this point later that evening.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Carroway.”
“Thank you.”
Anita shook her hand silently.
Dr. Kilgore’s face adopted a concerned and supportive expression. How empathetic the robot looked. It portrayed the emotion better than most humans.
“Mrs. Carroway,” said Kilgore, “I realize how difficult a day today will be for you and your husband. I can be with you the entire time, if you would like.”
Mrs. Carroway simply nodded. The robot continued.
“As I stated a moment ago, Dr. Hermann is observing today. The answer to the next question I will ask you is completely within your control, and we will not be offended by your response. Would it be possible if Dr. Hermann and Miss Lory observed us this afternoon? I can assure you that they would remain completely in the background, would not intrude in any way. They would be willing to depart at any time if you were to decide later that you wished for greater privacy.”
Dr. Kilgore’s eloquence moved Sidney. He made a second mental note. Explore the depth of the emotive response protocols programmed in this particular model. Go back to the schematics.
Mrs. Carroway gave Sidney and Anita a rather dark look. Her deeply sunken eyes blazed at him. The fire faded and she closed them heavily. She nodded her approval. She’s too tired to fight anymore, thought Sidney.
* * *
Kilgore ushered them into a private room. The usual medical equipment stood in corners, mounted to the walls. There were the obligatory attempts to make the room cozier than it was. A happy blurry watercolor on one wall. A vase of fake fabric flowers on the nightstand. Underneath were the sharp antiseptic smells and above were the fuzzy buzzing fluorescents.
In the center of the room was the big roller bed. It had the many controls required for a hospital bed. Occupying the bed was an emaciated old man with hard gray stubble on his gaunt ashen cheeks. Tubes ran in and out of his arm and his nose and his neck. The big catheter bag hung below the bed yellow and heavy.
Mrs. Carroway went to her husband and stroked his head gently. His eyes fluttered open. His mouth moved gently. There was no sound.
Dr. Kilgore moved forward and stood next to Mrs. Carroway. Sidney and Anita took a spot in a shadowed corner. They were as out of sight as they could make themselves.
Dr. Kilgore’s smooth voice addressed the Carroways.
“Are you both ready?”
Mr. Carroway mouthed the word yes. Mrs. Carroway only nodded. Silent tears ran down her cheek.
Dr. Kilgore moved to the IV side of the bed. From the folds of his coat it pulled a needle full of a pale yellow fluid.
“Gregory, once I inject this, you will start to feel sleepy. Very shortly you will fall asleep. Once asleep, I will give you a second shot that will cause your heart to cease to beat. It is all very calm and painless. Do you understand?”
Mr. Carroway managed a labored nod.
“Let me please ask you once more, are you certain this is your final decision?”
The old man nodded again. He looked at his wife, who also nodded.
“Do you require any last time together, alone?”
“No,” answered Mrs. Carroway. “We’ve said our good-byes.”
“Very well.”
With that, the robot took the needle and injected it slowly into the IV. Mr. Carroway looked deep into his wife’s eyes. Mrs. Carroway returned his look. “I love you,” she said. I love you, mouthed her husband.
Sidney had never seen a human die before. Not in his presence. This is truly an act of kindness, he thought. The old man is at the end of his life. At least he could take control of his death. Die with a measure of dignity. Sidney thought he might be sick.
Anita made notes as fast as she could write.
Kilgore stood motionless next to the bed waiting for the flat line. Its holographic face was a look of sorrow. But it didn’t actually feel that emotion, thought Sidney. How can it offer such compassion without feelings?
Anita scribbled maddeningly. The pencil scr
atched across the paper. A foreign noise in the room. It carried more than Sidney would have liked. He looked at Kilgore. Kilgore had turned his head and was looking at Sidney. Sidney couldn’t read the expression. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Then came the final flat line.
* * *
Sidney was bent over his computer screen with weary eyes and sad heart. His back ached. Hunched over his computer typing his notes with his fingers pounding on undersized keys. He had sent Anita home earlier. Home or wherever she wished to go. He had an odd feeling that she was with Brian. There was nothing for her to do now other than type up her notes. She’d need her own computer. He typed his impressions of the day. There was not enough space in here for both of them. The space he worked in was tiny. A small nook in the back of the nurses’ station. It was the only place in the ward where he could both get a communications connection out and close the door. He clacked away on his computer, cursing occasionally at his thick fingers and narrow keys.
He checked his watch. After seven.
He stopped typing. His fingers froze. They didn’t hurt but he couldn’t move them. His head dropped into his hands. His eye s were wet with tears. What have we come to? What have we come to? He watched a robot end the life of a terminally ill man. Death shiny and metal and meticulously dressed. Death without conscience. Death without guilt. Death without emotion. These were laid on top of him. These things that Kilgore could not feel he felt. Empathy was not the right word. What was? He was the only one that felt it. Kilgore did not. Mrs. Carroway had her own grief to comfort her. Anita was too fascinated to feel death. Too giddy with her position of assistant to feel beyond her giddiness. Who was left to feel for the dead? Here in the corner is a man uncluttered. Here is a man with a cup of emotion only half full. He is the one to carry this burden. Someone must and everyone is accounted for. Except him.
Sidney held his head in his hands. He sobbed.
* * *
Sidney was in the middle of cataloguing Mr. Carroway’s symptoms. He had wiped his eyes and blown his nose. He was back to work.
A sharp knock rapped against the closed door. It startled him.
“Yes,” he called.
The door swung open and framed the finely dressed steel body of Dr. Kilgore.
Fight or flight.
Why is that in my head? Sidney thought. Something about Kilgore standing between him and the only way out of the office caused his heart to beat faster. Calm down. It’s a robot. Nothing more. It has no feelings to hurt. It has no emotive processor. It’s just a machine.
“Dr. Kilgore,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The robot floated into the room. The spectral image of death. The door swung shut. An automatic hinge. Snick. Sweat broke out on Sidney’s brow.
“Do I make you nervous, Dr. Hermann?” asked the robot.
Why did it ask me that? How can it know that? He began to sweat under his arms.
“Excuse me?”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because your heart rate increased when you saw me standing in the doorway. You began to perspire when the door swung shut behind me. Upon asking you about your level of comfort when in my presence your body temperature increased and your perspiration output increased.”
Somehow I keep forgetting it’s a machine designed to diagnose, thought Sidney.
“Truth be told, Dr. Kilgore, you startled me somewhat by knocking. I was deep into my computer. I’m taking down notes.”
“For your analysis of me.”
That was not a question.
“Yes,” he said.
“Perfectly understandable, Dr. Hermann. I have witnessed humans in various stages of sudden fright. To be honest, I find it a fascinating field of study. You may be surprised to learn that I have a deep knowledge of horror movies, which I also find fascinating as a phenomenon. The idea that humans would willingly scare themselves in this manner is intriguing.”
Horror movies? thought Sidney. You mean the kind where you’re trapped in the house alone with a killer and there’s no way out? And let’s be honest, sanctioned or not, Kilgore was a killer.
Something else struck him.
“Can you really be fascinated?”
“To an extent. I have certain programming embedded in my learning center that allows me to be curious. This artificial curiosity compels me to observe, research, and conclude. It is part of the constructed ability to learn.”
Sidney had taken up his pad and had begun scribbling down notes. He forced himself to set aside his misgivings over being alone in a room with the robot. Time to compartmentalize.
“What other things have you been curious about that have led to deductively reasoned conclusions?”
“I would be happy to sit and give you a more extensive catalogue of my experiences at a different time. For now, however, I am concerned about your response to me when I entered the room.”
“You startled me. I thought we established that.”
“Then why has your fear grown? Specifically after I entered and the door shut behind me?”
How do I approach this? thought Sidney. Perhaps the direct approach.
“The truth, Dr. Kilgore?”
“Please.”
“I am nervous being in this room with you.”
“Why?”
The robot’s voice was the same low soft tone it had used since Sidney met him. He knew it was meant to convey a type of comfort but he found it almost patronizing. That really couldn’t be, could it? This machine was not able to summon the emotion to be patronizing. Unless it had been programmed to do so. He felt that was unlikely, knowing what he did about this model’s engineering.
“Dr. Kilgore, during the procedure I had the sense that you were, well, angry. Or at the least irritated. To be honest, being trapped in a room with a robot that’s upset with me is not what I would describe as a stress-free event.”
“You know I lack the capability for anger. I cannot become angry. I cannot be angry. I cannot truly understand what anger is beyond a technical definition.”
Sidney nodded.
“I know these things. However, one of the things you need to understand about humans is that, even when we know something to be true, there is another part of us that may question this knowledge. Such questioning can often lead to fears. And fear, rational or not, is extremely powerful.”
“This is an interesting concept. Is this what people mean when they refer to a gut feeling?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“And your gut feeling about me when I entered the room and closed the door was to become frightened?”
Sidney swallowed. He didn’t like this line of questioning. He had trapped himself in it. He wondered how far the robot would pursue it.
“Yes, Dr. Kilgore, it was.”
The robot said nothing. Its artificial face stared at him seated while he waited for a response. A single bead of sweat formed slowly at the base of his hairline. Right at the ridge of his right temple. It gathered weight and trickled down his cheek. He tried to hide it but he felt that the robot’s holographic eyes may have spotted it and followed it as it rolled down the side of his face. It made him more nervous.
“Dr. Hermann, I have no wish to make you uncomfortable. In fact, any deliberate attempt to do so would cause an immediate shutdown of my power system. Therefore, I will open the door and leave you to your work.”
The robot twisted the doorknob in his gloved metallic hand. It swung open silently. Sidney blessed the wave of cool air that washed into the room and over him. The robot hovered out the door.
“Dr. Kilgore?”
“Yes, Dr. Hermann?”
“I appreciate your understanding.”
The robot shook its head. Another programmed response. And this one was a reaction to a statement the robot obviously found false. How amazingly complex.
“I do not understand as you su
ggest it,” it said. “This is an emotional response that is based in compassion and empathy. I have neither of these qualities. I go merely to relieve you of my presence. Since I make you uncomfortable I am concerned that my behavioral inhibiting programming could trigger and shut me down.”
With that it left without looking back.
Sidney watched Kilgore go. His heart beat even faster than when the robot was in the room. He may have just witnessed the first step in artificial intelligence evolution. A being programmed without emotions but with the concept of self-preservation. Did the robot just act in order to save itself?
Chapter Six
Three weeks to complete the collation of notes and data and technical descriptions and other analysis. Two more weeks to research additional items in library texts. Four weeks worth of writing. Another two days to format the report. Then submit to Denlas-Kaptek for their review.
Sidney had met with Anita several times over the course of the week while they worked through the meat of the report, shaping the raw data into something usable, something readable. She spent weeks buried in the library stacks cultivating material for the report. They huddled into his smallish office and spread their papers out along his desk and on the floor. They hung schematics on the walls with tape. The door was always closed. When he left for the day he locked the office door and double-checked that he had actually locked it.
Her eyes wandered over page after page. Each one said CONFIDENTIAL at the top. Sidney asked her if she understood what that meant. She said she wasn’t an idiot. He countered that he didn’t mean the word. He meant the responsibility of viewing them. As easily as he had handed them to her to read, he could just as easily take them away. She might never see such confidential documents again. She quickly said she understood and they never talked about it again.
Sidney held the finished product in his hand, a smartly-bound collection of papers one hundred fifty pages thick. He couldn’t keep the smile from spreading over his face. He looked across his cluttered desk at Anita, who was smiling in return.
“Want to take a look at it?” he asked.
“Sure do.”
He handed it across the desk and Anita took it carefully, like an ancient artifact from a bygone age. She opened it, careful not to break the crisp binding. She thumbed through the pages.