How It Ends: Part 1 - The Evaluation

by Scott C Lyerly

  “You’re one smug son-of-a-bitch.”

  “It’s your turn to watch your tone,” said the younger man.

  “I’ll use any tone I damn well please. I’ll use any language I damn well please. I sit on this board. Not him. And you have no place to direct my tone.”

  “I can’t argue that. But I won’t let this turn so ugly that our working relationship can’t be salvaged.”

  “He is correct,” said the gaunt man. “We need to maintain a certain level of decorum. Let us approach this from a different perspective.”

  “What perspective?”

  “Eric, can you tell us about the problems? Never mind their size. What problems have turned up? What have been the solutions?”

  Eric breathed a deep sigh. Clear the head. Relay the facts as requested. Be objective and removed. Cold. As ice.

  “There have been a few programming bugs that we have had to work out,” Eric said. “Small issues, mainly. They primarily involve storage capacity in the hard drives and the ability to take in new information about new clients. This has caused some hiccups in the code.”

  “And the solution?”

  “We’ve rewritten some of the base code. It has been streamlined and optimized. We’ve added storage capacity internally to the robots. We’ve also added failsafe programming to back up to the central data storage facility by remote if necessary.”

  “What else?”

  “Some issues regarding physical appearance. Initially the robots wore little. This unnerved many patients. Now they have a specific dress code and wardrobes have been made available to them.”

  “What else?”

  “Two of the five prototypes were originally fitted with holographic faces. The original holographic projectors did not work. This was a problem on the part of the holographics manufacturer. We’ve switched vendors. That’s the last of the major issues.”

  “These corrective actions appear sound to me. Any other concerns for anyone?”

  “Several,” the thickset man said.

  “What would ease your mind?” the younger man asked.

  The thickset man sighed. “Very little.” He sounded tired, defeated. “Am I the only one who sees the dangers of letting a project like this go into production? Am I the only one who sees it as, oh, I don’t know, abhorrent in some way?”

  The gaunt man looked across the table at the younger man, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “What’s on your mind?” the younger man asked.

  “The whole program. The whole program is on my mind. I find…”

  He stopped. Eric waited. He wasn’t sure what the thickset man would say next or where his thoughts were heading.

  “Go on,” the gaunt man said, sounding with his deep voice and soft delivery like an undertaker.

  “I find myself increasingly uncomfortable with this program.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not natural. It’s just not natural. Machines working on humans. It’s not right somehow. I can’t really describe how I feel.”

  “Machines have been operating on humans for years. You’ve never heard of laser treatments, robotic surgery, things like that?”

  “Computer-assisted surgery is one thing. A thinking machine is completely different.”

  “Machines are a part of everyday life,” the younger man said. “It’s what we do here. Our bread and butter.” He said what Eric was thinking. Eric hadn’t wanted to speak. He was worried that if he did he might cause the situation to revert to where it had been. At the moment it was in a place he had not foreseen and did not want to disturb. The thickset man seemed on the verge of caving in to his two colleagues. Eric recognized this. To speak now would be to watch this inch by inch measure of progress vanish.

  “I know that. Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Of course you do. You’re on this board. You know what we’ve done, what we’ve set out to do. This is something we’ve worked very hard to make happen. It’s what our company was built upon. To deny this is to deny ourselves.”

  “I know this.”

  “So why deny what we are?”

  “I do not deny it. I do not deny that we, us, this company and the others like ours, we have all contributed to the way our society is. We are all weavers, as it were, of its fabric. I do not deny it. But I am concerned by it. When is it enough? When will it no longer be in our best interests? I’m sitting here, listening to this pompous prick sneer at me and tell me all about his pretty little machines and how they are doing exactly what we program them to do and how he is only doing what he was hired to do which is to make money. Yes, Eric. You’ve made lots of money for this company. I won’t deny that, can’t deny that. I’ve benefitted from it as well. But where is the point where we stop, where we reach the end of what we should do? Can you tell me what that point is?”

  He stopped talking suddenly as if a mute button had been pressed on a larynx control. His mouth remained open but nothing issued forth. He shut it for lack of anything else to say.

  The younger man looked at him and then at the gaunt man and then at Eric and then back again.

  “Would you feel better if we had an external evaluation performed?” the younger man asked.

  The thickset man turned slowly toward him as if coming slowly out of hypnosis.

  “An evaluation?”

  “Yes.”

  “An independent third party evaluation?” the thickset man said, the light returning to his previously dazed eyes. Eric understood then that this was his plan the entire time.

  “We don’t need an evaluation,” Eric said. “I can provide you with copies of all of my status reports and internal evaluations. I’ve got all the technical documentation, the release notes, the debug reports. I have everything you may want to review.”

  “If I wanted those I would have asked for them,” the thickset man said. He nodded. “Yes. I like that idea. If a third party does it.”

  “It’s not a bad idea, actually,” the younger man said. “Don’t pout, Eric. If the program is working as well as you claim, then an independent review should show that.”

  He turned to the gaunt man.

  “What do you think?”

  “I have no wish to hound Eric,” the gaunt man said. “He’s proven himself a resourceful intelligent and profitable member of the executive management. But if an independent review is the will of this committee, I will not object.”

  “It is,” the thickset man said.

  “Let’s take the vote to be sure. All in favor?”

  Two said Aye. The gaunt man added his Aye.

  “Very well,” the younger man said. “We’ll set up an independent review of the robotic physician program. NYU has a number of robotics professors that are highly qualified for this. We will contact one of their professors. Eric, you will provide the list of currently practicing robot doctors available to be reviewed. With only five it should be a short list. We’ll go through it and select one at random.”

  “Very well.”

  “That’s it for today. Thank you.”

  * * *

  The moment he returned he barked at his valet model “Get me all the logs for the five robots in the physicans program.” The robot, a valet model but one Eric used as his personal administrative assistant, began searching through the company’s document retention sites for Eric’s request.

  Eric spent the rest of the day reviewing each of the five robots’ performance logs, looking for any legitimate reason to remove one or more from consideration for the evaluation. Page after page of detailed analysis of diagnostic sessions, emotional sensitivity training, conversational mechanics uploads, anything and everything that these robotic doctors had undergone since entering their beta phase.

  Any robot would do. They were all perfect.

  The light from the setting sun slanted into the windows of his office and struck Eric across the face. He stood looking out the window with his back to his office. The building was ta
ll enough that he could see the river. The Hudson spread before him in a dizzying display of light reflecting off the water.

  The end of the day neared and still Eric waited impatiently for the board’s decision. The sooner this process began, the sooner he would be vindicated.

  The sun sank. Eric watched it.

  He turned back to his desk when the sun finally disappeared under the horizon. The phone rang on his desk. He picked it up.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve made our decision, Eric,” the younger board member said.

  Eric looked at the computer screen on his desk. Five numbers. Five robots.

  “Robot 781907356. Robot name: Kilgore.”

  “Kilgore it is.”

  “I will pass the information onto NYU. We’ll let them select the specialist. You need to prep the robot.”

  “I will. Can I make a request?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s one professor there I have a poor relationship with. Brian Coleman. Although I don’t like the idea of this review, if it must happen, then anyone but him.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. Eric felt compelled to speak.

  “We don’t want a bad review because of bad blood, do we?”

  “Very well. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  The line went dead. He hung up the phone. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. But there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

  Chapter Four

  The phone rang on Sidney’s desk. He picked it up.

  “Yes? Oh, hello, Dean Whittaker. What can I do for you? ... I have classes, obviously, but nothing I can’t get someone to cover. Otherwise I’m fairly free. ... Certainly. I’m always interested to hear about opportunities. Okay. I’ll see you at two-thirty.”

  Sidney hung up the phone. He fingered the time of his meeting with Dean Whittaker in his handheld. He ran his finger down the rest of the day and flicked through the pages to review the remainder of the week. Yes, he was free.

  * * *

  Sidney took a deep breath. He was not a man prone to tremble in the presence of power. Dean Whittaker was another story. The Dean of the College of Robotic Studies at NYU held considerable power both within the university and without. This man had decided futures of many of the former associates of the university. Sidney hoped another decision might be forthcoming.

  Dr. Sidney Hermann, Associate Dean of the College of Robotic Studies, NYU.

  Sidney wiped his palm on his pants. It was moist. He didn’t want to greet Dean Whittaker with a moist hand. He didn’t think that alone could be a career ender, but why take the chance?

  Sidney was in his late-forties with dark short hair. He’d begun to bald three years ago and the crown of his head was now just visible. He was doughy and carried most of the weight in his midsection. He had thick short fingers inflexible but strong. He had jowly cheeks like a walrus with a mouth hidden somewhere. He had bright brown eyes as curious as a five year old in a toy shop. His clothing was as ill-fitting as his skin. A loose suit draped on his bulky body with bits of fabric sticking out here and there. Try as he might to clean up his appearance before his meetings he invariably arrived in a shambles.

  He walked up the grand staircase in the main administration building for the Robotics College. He puffed and puffed. His hands were moist again. So was his brow. He fished for a handkerchief in his pants pocket, then his suit pocket, then his jacket pocket and failing to find one anywhere he used the underside of the arm of his jacket. It left a moist mark that Sidney hoped would be hidden when he met with the dean.

  He walked down the hall until he came to the dean’s office. He opened the door.

  Shirley sat at the receptionist’s desk typing on the computer’s keyboard.

  “Good morning, Dr. Hermann.”

  “Good morning, Shirley.”

  “Dean Whittaker is running a bit late. Would you mind sitting down and waiting?”

  “Certainly.”

  Sidney sidled up to one of the chairs against the wall. It was a plush chair with royal blue fabric. He eased into the chair but found it difficult to do without making the chair groan under his weight. He felt like a circus elephant posing on a three-legged stool, nervous that the chair might not hold him.

  He had not brought anything to read so he was left to make circles on the far wall with his eyes. He fidgeted and shifted in the chair every few minutes. He was not comfortable.

  Twenty minutes later one of the two large wooden doors behind Shirley opened. Through it stepped Dean Whittaker, smart in his blue suit with a razor-sharp part in his steel gray hair.

  “Sidney.”

  Sidney struggled out of the chair. He cursed his body.

  “Dean Whittaker.”

  He extended a hand which the dean took. Sidney flinched a bit when he realized his hand was moist. The dean seemed not to notice.

  “Come in, won’t you?”

  They entered the office. Sidney marveled at the plushness of the ornately designed rug on top of which sat the Dean’s expansive desk. The desk was empty save for a monitor which was currently off and a piece of paper. The Dean motioned Sidney into a chair and Sidney took it, an act that was much like spilling himself into it more that it was sitting. Dean Whittaker took his chair on the other side of the desk.

  “How are the courses going this year, Sidney?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “And the student body?”

  “Not bad. Not as bright or agile as last semester’s crop, but still, there are some rough jewels in there. A couple of people we might be able to groom for the industry.”

  “Good.”

  Dean Whittaker paused before going on.

  “Do you think there would be any issues with the student body if a substitute took over for you for a few weeks?”

  Sidney was caught a bit off-guard but tried not to show it. A few weeks? Earlier it was a few days. Sidney had a natural kind of paranoia that tended to take over when things did not go exactly as he expected them to. He began to perspire openly. Shit, he thought. What’s going on?

  “Sir?” he managed.

  Dean Whittaker smiled. “Nothing to worry about, Sidney. I just have something else in mind for you.”

  “What would that be, sir?”

  The dean sat back in his chair. He crossed his hand on his chest. It gave him a thoughtful air that Sidney felt he didn’t need.

  “Have you ever been associated with Denlas-Kaptek?” the dean asked.

  “Associated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meaning have I ever done work for them?”

  “Yes. Consulting, quality assurance testing, high level programming design flows, et cetera. That sort of thing.”

  “No. I’ve never been involved with them.”

  “Have you ever done any third party testing for them?”

  “Do you mean testing their product for a consumer group?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “No.”

  “Good. How familiar are you with their product base?”

  “From a consumer side? I make a point of trying to stay current with the trends in robot manufacturing.”

  “No, I was thinking more from a technical one.”

  “Not terribly. I know the inner workings of their lower level designs pretty well, but the upper level stuff they keep pretty well hidden. Robotics is a nasty business, really. Cutthroat. There’s a lot of safeguarding against industrial espionage. Almost to a point of paranoia.”

  “M-hm, m-hm.”

  Sidney narrowed his eyes. The dean was gazing at the side wall of the highly polished office. He seemed to be lost in thought. Sidney knew better. He knew the dean was paying attention. To everything.

  “If I may ask, Dean Whittaker, what’s all this about?”

  “Well, Sidney, I have an opportunity in my hands. I just need to determine who to give this opportunity to. It’s really a choi
ce between you and Coleman.”

  The dean’s eyes flicked to Sidney just as Sidney made a sour face but straightened it out almost immediately. Dean Whittaker saw it.

  “I know he’s not your favorite person.”

  “He’s not my brand of people, really.”

  “Yes, I know. But he’s incredibly intelligent. Something of a celebrity at this college.”

  “Is that why we put up with his indiscretions?”

  Something in the dean’s face changed. Sidney lowered his eyes. He had made a mistake. He was never a tactician. The dean’s voice grew cold for a moment.

  “We put up with a great deal from many of our professors, including those who haven’t published a research paper in four years.”

  Sidney said nothing. The Dean had said nothing false, so there was nothing for Sidney to refute.

  The Dean looked back at the wall. The coldness was gone.

  “But no matter. I’ve considered you both. I’m leaning toward giving this opportunity to you.”

  “What opportunity?”

  “Denlas-Kaptek had specifically requested not to give this to Coleman. They came up with two names, yours and his, and stated assertively that it was not to be him. Some would cower before a company offering such an opportunity. Think of how much we could learn in the process of evaluating this robot. This is one of DKI’s most cutting edge programs, with access to the inner workings of the robot laid bare for you to render judgment. This will make you a celebrity in your own right. When you really analyze the facts, there is no other organization on the east coast as well-positioned as we are to perform this task. And when complete, we will be the first choice of corporations like DKI to provide such a service in the future.”

  The Dean paused. Sidney held his breath. He pictured the Dean like a TV cartoon with dollars signs in his eyes.

  With a deep breath—one that Sidney felt was either the Dean coming back down to earth or resigning himself to the fact that his only real choice was sitting before him—the Dean went on.

  “I’m evaluating the best candidate to send to them.”

  Sidney wanted to speak but knew better than to push too hard.

  The Dean gazed at the wall for a long minute before continuing.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Sidney. A packet is going to come to you directly from DKI. In it will be the technical and specs for a robotic doctor known as Kilgore. You will read them over, then contact a man named Eric Breckenridge at DKI. He’s a senior vice president. He will give you the specifics as to where you are going.”