Living, Dying Eyes

It was the eyes. That's what he stared at. Their blueness reminded him of the ocean. His family went there frequently when he was younger. Now he hated the ocean.

The eyes blinked.

His eyes blinked.

He liked to imitate Izzie. The robot was made to imitate the human, but the human preferred to imitate the robot. He liked the irony of it.

"Izzie," Eric said, "do you like your name?"

"I do, Dr. Malone," she answered simply. "It is an honor to be named after your deceased sister."

Eric furrowed his brow. "I never said she was deceased."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Malone. I assumed by the emotional reaction you give when the name is mentioned that perhaps she was dead. That, combined with the fact-"

"Izzie, go to sleep." The eyes disappeared under plastic lids. Eric buried his face in his hands. She had passed her tests, but she nearly nicked a nerve and made the last simulated patient go blind. Izzie could be a life changing surgeon, but she wasn't consistent enough. If she made a similar mistake on a real patient, he'd be looking at a law suit that would strip him of everything, reputation included.

"Dr. Malone?" Eric's deskphone crackled. "You have a David Wong on line one. He says you know him?"

"Put him through." Eric waited a few moments. "Hey, Wong Pong, how you been? I haven't seen you since college."

David laughed at the other end. "I'm doing good," he said, "but this call is actually quite urgent."

"What are you talking about? Aren't you with WHO now?"

"Yeah, they dispatched my team to Mali. That's actually why I'm calling." There was hesitation in David's voice. "There was an accident over here. At the nuclear plant. We've got hundreds of patients with radiation poisoning."

"That's terrible," Eric interjected.

"The thing is, a colleague of mine mentioned the Izzie Project, and I think I've got your first test patient," David explained. "He had an undiscovered brain tumor before all of this happened, but his exposure's increased the tumor's growth. Removing it would at least buy more time, but given the situation, no human doctor can perform the surgery."

"And you're thinking Izzie could?"

"I do."

Eric tapped his pen against the desk. "But Izzie will be exposed too," he pointed out.

"You've got multiple bots, Eric." The inventor was silent. Twenty-four hours later, Dr. Malone was on a private flight to southern Mali. The thick heat pressed down on the jeep as it sped to the medical camp. Upon arrival, David Wong led the inventor through a maze of tents and buildings where they were properly situated in protective suits. Eric soon found himself staring into white room where a man lay helpless on a cot. Oozing blisters and red patches infested his skin.

"Whenever you're ready, Eric," David whispered. Eric, trusting the capability of his suit, entered the room, his translator behind him. The patient's eyes followed him carefully. His eyes were the opposite of Izzie's; they were drained of life and beauty, left only with a sad hollowness.

"Hello, Aman. I'm Eric," he said softly. The translator spoke in a new language, and Aman weakly nodded. His lips parted slightly and strange noises escaped from it.

"He says hello," the translator explained. "He wants to know if you're the man with the robot."

Eric nodded. "Izzie is a very talented surgeon. We think she can remove your tumor."

"He says he is no fool. He knows removing it will do nothing now," spoke the translator. Eric's hope began to fall. "But," continued the translator, "he knows this is exactly why it should be done." Eric's eyes met Aman's. Eric began to think he mistaked the eyes' hollowness for something else, something he couldn't quite identify.

"He wants to know if you're aware what Aman means," the translator said abruptly.

"No, I don't know what it means," Eric answered.

"Aman means peace, tranquility, protection," the translator said for the dying man. "He believes Allah has blessed him with this name and chosen him for a reason." When Aman spoke now, he did not look to the translator. His eyes focused directly on Eric. "I am a poor man," said the translator for Aman. "There was no amount of money I could earn that would ever be enough. There was always something we needed but couldn't afford. I've never understood how suffering, of any kind, could ever be of any good.  Bu now it is clear to me. I was not meant to makes heaps of money, to have the fanciest of homes, or wear the prettiest of clothing. If I must continue my suffering so that your machine may go on to save lives, especially lives of little children like my own, then I will gladly do so. Allah protects me. He gives me peace. What have I left to fear?"

Tears fell from Eric's eyes. Two days later, Izzie successfully extracted the tumor from Aman's brain. Though she had to be destroyed immediately after, Izzie gave Aman the opportunity to see his family one last dime before his death.

Years later, Dr. Malone traipsed out into a sea of white headstones, searching carefully for his first patient. When he found Aman's grave, he knelt down and pressed his forehead to the warm rock.

"You did good, Aman," he whispered. "Your family lives well now because of you." Eric leaned back on his heels. He spoke more to the tombstone before realizing he had to go. "I'll leave you with this," he said. " Izzie's been able to help more and more people now. People are asking for a new one, an even better one. I've only just started the design for it, but I already know what we're going to call it." Eric ran his finger across the engraved name.With a final nod, the inventor stood up and left.

He had much work to do.