“Yeah. I’m okay, Lisa.”
Lisa’s eyes oozed skepticism.
(She doesn’t understand. That I need to operate on Mrs. Sanchez. How can I make her understand?)
“I’m okay,” Rita repeated, as if saying the words out loud would make it so. She took a deep breath and nodded toward Mrs. Sanchez, lying on the operating table. “Let’s do it.”
Thomas joined them at the operating table, and the three of them set to work preparing Mrs. Sanchez, and the auto-surgeon, for what was to come.
SEBASTIAN
“But there are other robotic surgery systems already on the market,” Grant, the Wall Street Journal reporter, said. “How is yours different?”
“Those FDA-approved robots are terrific,” Montgomery replied. “We use one of them here at Turner. But they depend on the surgeon, who performs the operation by directing the robotic arms with joysticks from a control station. Our robot is unique because it doesn’t depend on the surgeon. Think of robots on car assembly lines, performing intricate series of preprogrammed movements. Instead of building cars, our robot performs surgeries.”
The crowd tittered as Dr. Linton stormed noisily from the amphitheater. He loped down the center aisle from the front row, arms swinging in wide arcs, muttering. Sebastian caught the words insanity and crimes against humanity as Linton passed him.
Montgomery squinted and smiled at the audience, his hands clasped in respectful repose until Linton had completed his exit, and the sniggers had ceased. He said, “Change is hard. Innovation is scary. BUT…”
He gestured grandly toward the device on the screen. “Robotics offers us the way forward. To make surgery safer.”
He pivoted and strode to center stage. “Consider: Unlike human surgeons, robots will never get tired. Their attention for every fine detail of every operation will never waver. Their hands will never shake from too many cups of coffee, or from even, God forbid, the ravages of old age!” He thrust out his right hand—its back wrinkled as crepe paper and dotted with the brown-spotted calling cards of excessive ultraviolet exposure—and made exaggerated quivering gestures.
Slick bastard.
Once the good-natured chuckles had died down, Montgomery said, “I’d now like to introduce you to Delores.”
The video screen image stopped rotating. Montgomery stepped to one side to afford the audience an unobstructed view.
“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Delores. Delores, say hello, please.”
“Good morning, Dr. Montgomery,” the 3-D image replied. The audience stirred. The feminine voice was pleasant and conversational.
“I’d like to tell you that her name is a witty acronym,” Montgomery said. “Like, Dynamic Elegant Original Robotically Engineered Surgeon. But we’re not quite that poetic. Delores is named after the great aunt of a senior engineer on the project, with whom she bears an unfortunate resemblance.”
There were a few guffaws. Montgomery smiled. “Delores processes the software code that we input into her system—the surgical plan—and then translates that code into a series of coordinated robotic movements. Delores, tell the audience about yourself.”
“Of course, Dr. Montgomery. I am an automated robotic surgical system, capable of performing surgery based on programmed sets of instructions.”
On the screen, the perspective zoomed in on the central cylinder.
“My central core houses a sophisticated onboard computer and guidance system that connects wirelessly to a secure server. My onboard system downloads the appropriate software for performing the operation. However, I am also capable of interpreting real-time input and adjusting my actions accordingly.”
“In other words,” Montgomery interjected, “Delores can automatically react to unexpected things that might happen during an operation.”
“Can the system be hacked?” Grant asked with half-hooded eyes. “Could somebody reprogram it? Make it perform a different kind of operation?” A sly grin. “Or worse?” Sebastian admired the back of her neck, which was very smooth.
Montgomery’s smile was indulgent. Sebastian wondered if Montgomery was getting tired of smiling. Shit, Sebastian’s cheeks were starting to ache just from watching the guy.
“In theory, Ms. Grant,” Montgomery said. “Yes. But our encryption algorithms were designed by an acclaimed University of California computer-science professor. A smart, persistent hacker might gain unauthorized access to Delores’s system within, oh, one or two hundred years.” He winked.
Bullshit. No system was hack-proof. Something Sebastian knew for a fact about Delores.
Because he and Finney had hacked it.
“Now,” Montgomery said. “Delores, please show us your feet.”
“Of course.”