How It Ends: Part 1 - The Evaluation (4 page)

“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 tall 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.

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 choice 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.”