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