Eve Fourteen sat on the edge of a pristine white table covered in bed linens. To call the piece of medical equipment a bed would have given it too much credit for an intention toward comfort, rest, or peace of mind. She wore a white smock provided by the hospital and was covered in residue from a variety of lubricants, adhesives, and conductive solutions that had been part of her physical examination.
Doctors had an annoying propensity for thoroughness, and with Eve they were particularly mindful. After all, at 148 years old, the pillar of human society’s health wasn’t a subject to be taken lightly.
Ashley390 returned. Despite the changing fashions of the time, the old robot still wore a chassis that had a distinctly inhuman appearance with an exposed metalized plastic finish and glowing orange eyes. Eve found the latter comforting, even though not many of her younger colleagues agreed.
“Would you like this as a summary or a list of defects?” the doctor asked.
Eve smiled weakly. It was her own fault for insisting they not sugarcoat anything. “You’ve had me here five hours already. I think I have time for both.”
Ashley390 referenced a datatab despite having access to all the information she needed internally. Eve allowed the affectation to pass without remark. “You are the healthiest 148-year-old woman on record. That said, you’re still the only one, and in broader terms, I think you ought to strongly consider retirement and spending more time with your family.”
Eve snorted and crossed her thin, frail arms. “Humanity is my family. And the second that someone convinces me they can do my job better, I’ll let them have it.”
Ashley390 shook her head in resignation and continued. “Your renal function is continuing to slip. I think it’s about time we replace the other one with—”
“Fine,” Eve said with a wave of her hand. “Another cybernetic part. I don’t have a particular attachment to a kidney.”
“Your lungs are still a trouble spot, but I know you’ve been hesitant to have them upgraded.”
“Lot of bother,” Eve muttered. “The recovery time is too long. Get it under three days, and I’ll consider it.”
“You’re not going to like this next item,” Ashley390 warned. “But…”
“Oh, spit it out, woman,” Eve snapped. “You tell me I’ve not got long to live; well, don’t waste time coddling my feelings. Bad news has yet to get better with keeping, and I daresay I’ve heard worse than what you’re going to say next.”
“You need a crystalline brain.”
“The hell I do,” Eve countered, slipping gingerly off the table to face Ashley390 directly. “You’ve been pushing a robotic brain on me for years. I haven’t changed my mind, and I surely haven’t changed my vote on Human Welfare Committee policy regarding human upload in either direction.”
Not backing down a millimeter, Ashley390 set her datatab aside and spread her hands. “That’s me not ‘coddling your feelings,’” she quoted Eve’s words in a digital mimicry of the elder human’s voice. “Despite our best efforts to keep it at bay, you’re developing neural plaque that will eventually cause irreversible loss of higher brain function.”
Eve rolled her bionic implant eyes, which still saw as clearly as a teenager’s. “Spare me the theatrics. Up the dose on those cleansing microbes you’ve been using, and send me on my way.”
“Any more aggressive treatment is just going to exacerbate another issue. The anti-amyloid bacteria produce waste chemicals that are beginning to cause issues of their own. We don’t have the time to develop and test countermeasures that would be safe to use within your lifetime.”
Eve snorted. “I’ve been accused of spouting excrement often enough. About time I had justification for its origins.”
Ashley390’s smile was a sad one. “Geriatrics is a new old science. You’re in uncharted territory, Eve. You get the cutting edge of every procedure we come up with. We’re two decades past the oldest patients the Human Era ever documented. Left to its own biological limitations, that cellular brain of yours might have anywhere from three to eighteen months left of useful life in it.”
“After that?” Eve asked. Let Ashley390 try to scare her. Let the robot lay out all the bleak prognoses she liked. See if that might change Eve’s mind.
It wouldn’t. But Eve still had to know her fate.
Ashley390 affected a sigh. “Disorientation. Irritability. Memory and cognitive degeneration. We can regulate all your involuntary functions mechanically, but you’d essentially be a cybernetic puppet with limp strings.”
“How cheery,” Eve said, shuffling to the corner of the examination room to retrieve her clothing. “Anything else I need to know about my imminent demise?”
“I know you’ve got a busy schedule the next few days,” Ashley390 said. “But we should probably swap out your bronchial filter and replace a few more of your afferent nerves.”
An alert popped up in Eve’s field of vision.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION.
“Pardon me,” Eve said with a raised hand to stem further prognoses from the doctor. “Work intrudes. They must be losing bladder control over me being gone this long.”
“Not everyone’s bladder has a servo-controlled regulator valve,” Ashley390 commented.
Eve’s fingers twitched. Fiber strands carried neuromuscular signals to the computer interface that had become as much a part of her as any organ. She navigated the interface to bounce messages back and forth across the Solarwide with her secretaries and a junior member of the Human Welfare Committee. In between, she creaked and groaned her way into a pair of slacks, an auto-button blouse, and orthotic shoes.
“Any last admonishments?” Eve asked as she headed for the door amid the floodgate she’d opened to committee business.
“All I can do is advise and offer treatment options,” Ashley390 replied. “I’ve made my recommendations. I can’t make you heed them.”
Eve smiled from the doorway. “Wonderful system, isn’t it? I’m free to live the last of my life on my terms, not yours.”