1.
       Sidney Hermann took the lift from level 3 all the way up to level 11. When the smooth metal door that shined a reflection opened, his image was replaced by that of another metal object. This one stood slightly shorter than himself, dressed sharply in a smart fitting suit and tie, over which was the white lab coat that was the hallmark of the medical profession. From the collar of the shirt and the knotted tie, a short metal neck extended upward before being supplanted by an egg-shaped head that was the perfection of a smooth surface broken by nothing. Sidney stared at the blank metal face for only a moment before it blinked and shimmered to life. The blank faceplate of stainless steel was replaced by the image of an older man with spectacles and a full gray mustache. A remotely projected image, thought Sidney. Amazing.

       "Dr. Hermann, I presume," the robot said.

       "Yes."

       Sidney stepped out of the lift and out of habit extended his hand. Halfway to the posture of an outstretched hand, he paused. The robot seemed not to notice Sidney's hesitation and extended a hand of his own. It was the first time Sidney noticed the hand, which was gloved in latex, but above the end of the glove shined a glimpse of metal before the rest of the arm disappeared up the French cuffed shirt. Sidney took particular interest in the cufflinks, which were a pair of antique cameos depicting Athena, the goddess of both war and wisdom.

       "Dr. Kilgore."

       Sidney grasped the metal hand in front of him. It was warm and relatively soft through the latex glove. It surprised him. An internally heated silicon hand, postulated Sidney. Many things had surprised him and he had only been on this level for a minute or so.

       "You have many questions, perhaps," asked the robot, "many if not all of which are regarding myself?"

       "Yes, I do," admitted Sidney. "How did you know?"

       "I have a significant amount of programming designed around facial pattern recognition. I would be a poor doctor indeed if I were unable to evaluate human expression. The programming actually covers full body expression recognition. The official A.I. tern that is used is 'cognitive expression recognition' or CER, but that is probably more information than you truly need."

       "Perhaps," answered Sidney, "but I must say, I find it utterly fascinating nonetheless."

       The meticulous metal being standing in front of him made Sidney a bit self-conscious of his own appearance. He was a young man, late-thirties, with a dark head of short hair into which baldness had begun to spread like a creeping sickness. He was a rather thickset man that carried most of the weight heavily in his midsection. His fingers were likewise thick and short, rather inflexible for a doctor, but very strong. His face matched perfectly his body, rather thick in the cheeks with a mouth hidden amongst the jowls. His eyes were bright and brown and as curious as a five-year-old in toy shop. His suit was ill-fitting, rather loose on his bulky body with bits of fabric sticking out here and there. His slovenly appearance, however, was largely hidden by the overly large white coat that he, like the robot, wore.

       The robot before him had no physical imperfections, unless the mere state of being of "robot" was to be considered an imperfection, which was indeed the case with some segments of society.

       "Well," said the robot, "perhaps you should simply begin at the beginning, as they say. Let us walk as we talk so as not to block the entrance to the lift."

       Drs. Hermann and Kilgore walked slowly down the corridor of the geriatric ward of the hospital. The walls were painted a rather innocuous beige, as is the case with most hallways in most hospitals. The trim was a light green color, the idea being that the light green was a soothing color to those in the ward, most of whom were there for end of life care.

       "Dr. Kilgore, have you been informed of my visit?"

       "Do you mean to ask whether I knew of the nature of your visit prior to your arrival? The answer is yes, the agenda for the next few days was uploaded to me last night during my re-power cycle."

       "So you understand the premise of this evaluation?"

       Receiving no holographic facial response, Sidney had some difficulty getting a read on how the robot was processing his questions. Then Sidney had to remind himself that Kilgore was not alive.

       "You have come to do a comprehensive study of the effectiveness of robotic doctors in the care and concern of the elderly and those at the end of their life, which in general is defined as having a terminal illness with a prognosis of six months or less left to live."

       "On the nose," said Dr. Hermann. "Did you say you were a doctor?"

       "I did. I have a medical degree from Brown University. I graduated magna-cum-laude and was a serious threat for valedictorian."

       "Interesting…."

       "But I am not human?" the robot asked what was on Sidney's mind.

       "Well, yes."

       "Is there a statute that requires all doctors to be humans?"

       "No, but…"

       "Then why would you assume I would not be a licensed medical doctor, just as you are?"

       "Perhaps because other medical robots do not consider themselves doctors, in the strictest sense. They are skilled in the administration of treatments for many major types of illnesses, but they are not doctors. They have no degrees, per se." Sidney paused. "I'm sorry if I've insulted you, Dr. Kilgore," he said.

       "Please understand Dr. Hermann, I myself am not insulted. I cannot be insulted as I do not have any feelings, merely a large number of specific pre-determined protocols to be called and executed for nearly any given situation. But perhaps this is an issue best explored as we begin a dialogue about me and who I am, in reference to your evaluation."

       Dr. Hermann was stunned by the robot beside him. Sidney couldn't even say the robot "walking" beside him as Dr. Kilgore did not move his legs to walk. Below his pant cuffs was…nothing. Sidney realized that the robot had been fitted with a set of anti-gravity generators, allowing Dr. Kilgore to float along effortlessly. Sidney marveled at the robot's ability to interact with humans, taking in the conversations, processing the words spoken, and most impressively responding to subtleties in the inflection of voices.

       "Dr. Kilgore, understand that I do know quite a bit about you, about robots, about the entire concept-not to mention controversy-regarding robots and their chosen professions. I have spent most of my career in the study of such matters. We tend to call them ethical matters, but in truth, their really more about comfort levels."

       The robot's elderly holographed face frowned. "I am afraid I do not understand your meaning." Maybe I give him too much credit for comprehension, thought Sidney.

       "In other words," said Sidney, "it is not about whether or not it is ethical for a robot, a non-human being to administer to the sick and elderly. Nor is it truly about the final act for those patients who pass the requisite physical and mental tests, the act of assisted suicide. It isn't even about how very easy it is for humans, beings with souls, to simply pawn off the final act for those with a right to die to a soulless machine that doesn't have philosophical or religious issues. The ethics at play here are those surrounding our-humanity's-comfort level placing the decision with machines. Are those patients truly comfortable with a robotic doctor assisting them in making the decision to die? Should a human be involved in the process?"

       "If I may restate your questions, Dr. Hermann," said the robot, "you are basically assessing whether or not it is socially acceptable for a robot to specialize in geriatric medicine and end of life care, especially if such care suggests suicide as the best possible alternative?"

       Oh, he comprehends. "Yes, "answered Sidney, "that about sums it up."

       "I see. Very well, how shall we proceed?"

       "Do you have any feelings you wish to discuss regarding this assessment?" asked Sidney.

       "No. I was not fitted with an emotive processor when I was constructed. I have no emotions that require discussing."

       Good start, thought Sidney. I'll need to make a note of that response.

       "Let me ask you, then," said Sidney, "if you have no emotions, how are you able to interact with patients?"

       "I have a lengthy series of reacts stored in a central repository that I am able to call at any time as the situation suggests."

       "So, for example, if you were dealing with a weeping widow?"

       "Then I would process the many options I have for consolation in the case of the grieving. My holographic projector would then make the appropriate facial expressions and my posture would reflect empathy."

       "'Project', 'reflect', these are interesting words. They tend to deal in facsimiles of the real thing, don't they?"

       "Of course they do. I am not capable of the real thing."

       "Well, let's not waste any more time discussing it. I would like to see you in action, Dr. Kilgore."

 

       2.
       Sidney shadowed Dr. Kilgore for most of the rest of the day. There were a number of visits by elderly who simply needed a routine check-up, flu shot, or requisite visit for a prescription renewal. Sidney took notes and documented his observations. So far nothing stood out as an issue that could not be done by a human doctor.

       Sidney took a break from observing Kilgore for a few hours in the afternoon. It was at this time that he questioned some of the nursing staff and some of the other human doctors. Most of the responses were dull and repetitive, largely praising the work Dr. Kilgore had done and his way with the patients.

       There was a single dissenter.

       The head nurse was a plump older woman with half-moon spectacles perched at the end of nose. Her tight gray beehive hairdo pulled her face backward, giving her a sour expression. Her nametag identifying her as Marge. Sidney sat with her and ran through his list of questions. Most were answered without incident until the last one.

       "Do you have anything you would like to add?" he asked.

       Marge sniffed with disdain, but said nothing.

       "What?" pushed Sidney.

       "What are the odds you're actually going to shut down this program with the death robot?"
Sidney cocked his head to the side. That was a new one.

       "The 'death robot'? I haven't heard that one before. Why do you call him that?"

       "We all call him that. Everyone on this floor. We don't do it to his face, mind you, but that's what we call him."

       "Why?"

       Marge gave him a look that Sidney couldn't decipher. He assumed she thought him an ill-educated fool, stupider than she expected.

       "Why do you think? Because he's a license end of life caregiver. Therefore, he can end one if warranted."

       "And this bothers you?"

       Marge sniffed again and turned away.

       "So you have no problem using the moniker 'death robot'?"

       "No."

       "But not to his face."

       Marge looked back at Sidney. Boy, she really hates this robot, he thought.

       "Someone slipped and called Kilgore a death robot once. He stopped hovering and turned his head toward the person who said it. That holographic imagery used to create the image of a man's face changed into what was described to me as a snarl. It creeped them out. It was so real and life-like; the lips curled up, the flesh color turning red. And the turn. It was meant to focus attention. But when the motion is by a robot, even a smartly dressed one, it was kind of menacing."

       Sidney now understood. This person Marge was talking about was herself. Kilgore had stared her down and it rattled her. Not that he could blame her. It would have rattled him a bit too, and he dealt with robotics every day. He decided to change the approach slightly.

       "So you think Dr. Kilgore minds being called a 'death robot'?"

       "I know he does," was the quick and venomous reply. "I know they say it's only because he has a protocol that runs when he hears the phase. Nothing serious, supposedly, just a face of indignation. But he minds and I find that creepy. He claims the reaction protocol is built into his 'conscious choice' to specialize in geriatric medicine and end of life care."

       "That's an interesting phrase," said Sidney. "'Conscious choice?' Are those Dr. Kilgore's words?"

       "Yes."

       "Hmm. What choice would that be, I wonder? And really how conscious can it truly be?" asked Sidney.

       "Dr. Hermann," snipped the irritable head nurse, "do you know anything about robots at all? Do you know they have these neural net systems that allow for knowledge to be learned? They're built loaded with a certain amount of basic knowledge and the rest learned through-believe it or not-schools?" Sidney found this woman's haughtiness and sense of disdain almost beyond measure. She despised not only the robotic doctor, but apparently humans specializing in robots as well. He tried not to become overly patronizing in his response, but he found it difficult to keep his own disdain for this woman from edging in.

       "Yes," he said, "I know a great deal about robots. They are in fact my specialty. My own degree is in artificial intelligence engineering and construction. This, however, is the first time I've run an evaluation on one of these highly advanced models. Generally my focus is on the lower level labor force. I must say, Dr. Kilgore is quite beyond my expectations and I found that rather a refreshing challenge. But let us not get too far off the topic. Did you have anything else you wanted to add to this interview?"

       Marge, thoroughly disgusted with the man in front of her, the robot doctor who had invaded her ward, and her entire life in nursing, shook her head with her nose raised upward. Sidney thanked her for her time and she raised herself from the chair and marched out of the small room where Sidney had set up his make-shift office.

 

       3.
       At the end of the day came one of the cases Sidney was specifically waiting to observe. At the end of the day came Mrs. Edna Carroway. Drs. Kilgore and Hermann met her in the waiting room set aside specifically for relatives of those patients who had become residents at the geriatric facility. It was more comfortable than the general visitors lounge, which was a sparse featureless room with mis-matched furniture both torn and coffee-stained.

       Mrs. Carroway was an old woman with a deeply lined face that recent years appeared to have seen more frowns of sorrow than smiles of joy. The crows feet were elongated down the side of her face and her weary worry-worn eyes had the faded quality so many elderly had after many long years of fighting back the inevitable. She was a diminutive person, slight of build with sloping shoulders that were warmed with a shawl.

       Before they entered the room, the robot filled Sidney in on the details of Mrs. Carroway's situation in his smooth even voice.

       "Mrs. Carroway's husband, Gregory, is very very ill. He has a very aggressive form of emphysema that has now spread to his lungs, his pancreas, and his bladder. Chemotherapy has been unsuccessful and the patient's age prohibits the use of radiation. They have therefore, after careful consideration, determined that the best course of action for Mr. Carroway is physician-assisted suicide."

       Sidney nodded. This is largely what he had come to see. He flipped through his notes in the binder in his hands. Other than interview with Marge, there was largely nothing interesting to report. Robots had been treating patients for many years now, so this robot meeting, diagnosing, and prescribing treatments for patients-even the geriatric ones-was nothing new. However, this appointment today spoke to the crux of the reason which had brought Sidney here in the first place. End of life care. How could a robot be as comforting as a human?

       "Well, Dr. Kilgore, I don't want to intrude on your patient. Clearly this is a sensitive time for them and they will probably not be very comfortable with another physician in the room taking notes. If you would prefer, I can watch the proceedings by remote." Sidney inclined his head toward the nurses' station. He wondered if the robot would pick up the subtleties.

       "I will leave the decision up to you, Dr. Hermann," replied the robot. "Gregory Carroway has been in hospice care here for a number of months. He and his wife have grown used to the fact that privacy is one of the attributes you lose total control of once you enter hospice care. All manner of personnel come in and out of the room on a regular basis, from nurses to janitors. If it would make your observations clearer and more precise, I welcome you into the room to observe, rather to do so at the nurses' station." Score one for the robot, thought Sidney. Then again, he's willing to compromise his patient's comfort and privacy. Score one for me.

       "Of course," continued the robot, "I would like to consult with Mrs. Carroway before I give you full leave to personally observe. I would not like to cause her more discomfort than she is already feeling at this time."

       Damn, thought Sidney.

       Drs. Kilgore and Hermann entered the waiting room. Edna Carroway recognized the holographic face of Dr. Kilgore and stood with the slow motion of old brittle bones. She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders and, using a plain wooden cane, hobbled forward to greet the robot.

       "Good afternoon, Mrs. Carroway," said the robot.

       "Hello Dr. Kilgore," replied Mrs. Carroway in a voice as frail as her appearance.

       "May I introduce to you Dr. Sidney Hermann? Dr. Hermann is a specialist in the field of patient care and comfort. He is accompanying me on my rounds to observe patient care in our ward."

       Even as Sidney reached out his hand and grasped Mrs. Carroway's outstretched arthritic hand he found it vaguely disconcerting that the robot was able to bend the truth as to the true nature of Sidney's role here. Were robots programmed to do that when the situation warranted it? He made a mental note to research this point later that evening.

       "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Carroway."

       "Thank you," came the rather reserved response.

       Dr. Kilgore's holographic façade adopted a concerned and supportive expression. Sidney marveled at how empathetic the robot looked. It portrayed the emotion better than most humans Sidney knew.

       "Mrs. Carroway," the robot began, "I realize how difficult a day today will be for you and your husband. I can be with you the entire time, if you would like."

       Mrs. Carroway simply nodded. The robot continued.

       "As I stated a moment ago, my colleague, Dr. Hermann, is observing today. The answer to the next question I will ask you is completely within your control, and we will not be offended either way by your response. Would it be possible if Dr. Hermann observed us this afternoon? I can assure you that he would remain completely in the background, would not intrude in any way, and would be all too willing to depart at any time if you were to later have a change of heart."

       Dr. Kilgore's eloquence surprised Sidney. He made a second mental note: he would need to explore the depth of the emotive response protocols programmed in this particular model.

       Mrs. Carroway gave Sidney a rather dark look. Her deeply sunken eyes blazed at him for the sheer audacity of the request, but then the fire faded and she closed them heavily and simply nodded her approval. She's too tired to fight anything anymore, thought Sidney.

       Dr. Kilgore made a motion with his hand indicating that they were ready and would wait for Mrs. Carroway to lead them. She hobbled with the help of her cane out the door and down the corridor. The two doctors followed her slowly.

       They entered a room in which the usual combination of medical equipment standing in corners and mounted to the walls. There were also the obligatory attempts at making the room cozier than it actually was. A happy blurry watercolor hung on one wall and a vase of fake fabric flowers stood on the nightstand.

       Occupying the center of the room was the big roller bed with the many controls required for a hospital bed. Occupying the bed was an emaciated old man with the hard gray stubble of an unshaven face on his gaunt ashen cheeks. Tubes ran in and out of his arm, his nose, his neck. The big catheter bag hung below the bed, yellow and heavy.

       Mrs. Carroway went to her fading husband and stroked his head gently. His eyes fluttered open. His mouth moved gently but no sound came out.

       Dr. Kilgore rolled forward to stand next to Mrs. Carroway. Sidney took a spot in a shadowed corner of the room, as out of sight as he could make himself.

       Dr. Kilgore's smooth voice came low across the room to Sidney's ears. He was addressing the Carroways.

       "Are you both ready?"

       Mr. Carroway mouthed the word yes. Mrs. Carroway only nodded, a silent tear trickling down her cheek.

       Dr. Kilgore moved to the I.V. side of the bed. From the folds of his coat he pulled a needle. It was full of a pale yellow fluid.

       "Gregory, once I inject it, you will start to feel sleepy. Very shortly, you will fall asleep. Once asleep, your heart will eventually cease to beat. It is all very calm and painless. Do you understand?"

       Mr. Carroway managed a labored nod.

       "Let me please ask you once more, are you certain this is your final decision?"

       The old man nodded again. He looked at his wife, who also nodded.

       "Do you require any last time together, alone?"

       "No," answered the old woman, "we've said our good-byes."

       "Very well."

       With that, the robot took the needle and injected it slowly into the I.V. Mr. Carroway looked deep into his wife's eyes. Any spark of life he might have had left in his own eyes had been snuffed during his fight with cancer.

       Mrs. Carroway returned the gaze. "I love you," she said. I love you, mouthed her husband.

       Sidney made notes as fast as he could write them. This is truly an act of kindness, he thought. The old man was at the end of his life, at least he could take control of his death and die with a small measure of dignity. Sidney looked at Kilgore, who stood motionless next to the bed, waiting for the flatline. His holographic face was a look of concerned sorrow. But he didn't actually feel that emotion, did he, thought Sidney. How can he offer such compassion without feeling it?

       He made his notes, the pencil scratching across the paper a foreign noise in the room. It carried more than Sidney would have liked. He looked up. Kilgore had turned his head and was looking at Sidney. The expression was one Sidney couldn't read. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

       Then came the final flatline.