Med-bots and multi-bots, such as Jekyll and Zhivago, were adept at managing trauma. Most of the initial medical programming had been battlefield oriented. Raul soon had two large IVs, and his bleeding was controlled. In less than forty minutes, the artery and vein were repaired; the femoral nerve was under repair and would take longer. The rather overactive, depleted, and abused testicle had been replaced in its baggy home, where it would have a longer period of rest than the owner preferred but less than it deserved. The delivery system remained somewhat tumescent, most definitely out of the ordinary when viewed with the data of hundreds of millions of injuries cataloged in the database of his physicians. Had they been human, they might have stood in awe. As it was, it became a random entry into a database.
Savanna, Cyrus, and Maricia stood in the chaos of the Recreation area, looking down at Suresh ten minutes after Raul and company had left the room. Ivanna was adjusting his larynx so he could breathe without obstruction. Then the four of them lifted him onto a stretcher. They moved toward the elevator.
“I think he was taking his meds,” Maricia stated.
“We can run a drug level,” Ivanna offered.
“Where are you going to put his locator?” Cyrus asked no one in particular.
“Between his scapulae,” Maricia replied. “That’s where we put them in prisoners.
“You and your lingo,” Cyrus complained. “Scapulae?”
“Wing bones. It is still possible to get them out, but it requires two people. We can also encase it in a mesh that will activate an alarm if breached. This will not happen again, guaranteed.”
“I would not underestimate this guy. We need to get to the root of the problem,” Savanna said. “You should go check on Raul, Mar.”
“So I can cut the other one off? Both he and I are better off if I stay away.”
“OK. If you feel like you want or need to leave, go ahead. Ivanna, what can be done about Parambi’s head?”
“If by that you mean his psychiatric condition,” said Ivanna, “there are a couple of options if his medications are not fully effective. Without a Psychotropion, probably the best is a stereotactic neurosurgical procedure or series of procedures that minimally affect intelligence while altering emotional and cognitive connections within the frontal and temporal lobes. We can do limited brain functional imaging on board, with a little reconfiguration and isotopes we can create in the particle accelerator engine. Jekyll and Zhivago can do the procedure with low risk, once we have the data. Another option is to try to construct a Psychotropion-like device. I would need to assess the assets on board to find material that might be usable. The result, however, will not be a reliable machine. It could make things worse.”
“I vote for the frontal lobotomy. Even if it decreased his IQ by twenty points, he’ll still be the smartest one on board.”
“It is not a lobotomy, Maricia,” Ivanna corrected.
“I know that, but it’s similar in effect, and I like the way that it rolls off the tongue.”
“I like the surgical approach,” added Cyrus. “I don’t like the idea of using up resources for a project that may fail.”
“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy,” Savanna quipped.
“That is such an old joke,” Maricia chided.
“Let’s get him upstairs,” Savanna said. “We can decide later about how to screw with his insanity.”
“I’d like to be the one that drills the holes in his head,” Maricia said after Suresh was on the gurney.
“I bet Lucinda will outbid you,” Savanna replied.
“I’d like to drill holes in her head as well.”
“Copy that” came from Cyrus.
“That will not be necessary,” Ivanna stated flatly.
“Sarcasm, Ivanna—anger’s ugly mother,” Savanna defined.
They entered the lift. Ivanna asked, “Are you angry with Lucinda?”
“Oh, I am livid.” Maricia was quick to answer.
“Lucinda made a mistake that affects all of us and our mission,” Savanna said. “Raul made a mistake. We all make mistakes, some bad, some terrible. We could all be convicted at some point, guilty of fallibility.” The elevator door opened, and most of the entourage walked as Ivanna pushed the heavy load with apparent ease into the medical bay adjacent to the trauma surgery in progress. Cyrus continued on the lift up to CAC, holding the bridge of his nose as if trying to stifle a migraine as the door closed. “Any mistake a robot might make,” Savanna continued, “which, at this point, is unlikely, can be traced back to a specific human writing code badly. Errors in human programming are not so easily traced.”
Maricia went to a small adjacent office and sat down, placing her head in her hands.
“Experience is not considered programming,” Ivanna responded to Savanna.
“It’s not in code, zeros and ones. It’s random and starts early in life and never ends.”
“Perhaps one could program humans to make no mistakes,” Ivanna said.
“To err is human,” Savanna said. “To be error-free would be boring. Sometimes we love people for their flaws, not despite them. Besides, some mistakes turn out positives.”
“Parents raise their children to conform to ideals they espouse. I was raised with secular values. On the other hand, Cyrus was raised among Persians with a Zoroastrian influence: good thoughts, good words, good deeds. While we had vastly different programming as children, when we became young adults, a different set of influences affected our development. None of this was truly intentional. It is relatively random and extremely variable. So I characterize most of human programming as chaotic and idiosyncratic.”
“Pilots are not known for their thinking. You are unusual.”
“And I’m probably way off course. I need to get back to the bridge,” Savanna announced. “Take care of the locator, and we’ll deal with the psychosis later.”
She stopped on her way out to check on Maricia. Her head rested on a table. “Are you going to be OK?”
She waved without raising her head or eyes, without a verbal response. Savanna walked to the stairs, asking why she spent time blathering with a robot that undoubtedly knew more about human development and history than she ever would. Those damn med-bots look and act so human.