"Okay," I say, stepping closer. "Now, simulate the trauma. The heart is beating erratically. The patient is crashing."
I reach over to the control panel on the wall and turn the "Heart Rate" dial on the mannequin fromNormaltoChaos.
Bob’s chest starts to heave. The synthetic heart inside starts bucking like a mechanical bull.
"Compensating," Maxwell says tight-lipped. "Engaging the algorithm."
He moves his hands.
The robot... reacts.
But not in the way we hoped.
Instead of moving in sync with the heart, the robot arm seems to interpret the motion as a threat. It lunges.
Thwack.
"What was that?" Maxwell asks.
"Uh..." I wince. "You just slapped the heart. It was a firm slap. Very disciplinary."
"I was attempting to stabilize the annulus," Maxwell says, sounding flustered. "Adjusting gain."
He twists hiswrists.
The robot arm spins 360 degrees. It looks like something out ofThe Exorcist.
"Max," I say. "The arm is possessed."
"It is recalibrating!" Maxwell insists. "I am attempting to?—"
Suddenly, the second robot arm—the one holding the cautery hook—wakes up. It hasn't been given a command. It just decides to join the party.
It shoots forward and stabs Bob in the neck.
"Hostile!" I yell. "We have a hostile robot!"
"I did not tell it to do that!" Maxwell pulls back on the controls.
The robot resists. The arm holding the needle driver begins to vibrate violently. Then, with a sound like a sad trombone, it throws the needle across the room.
Ping.
It hits the metal sink.
"Needle is out," I report helpfully. "Safety hazard neutralized."
"This is impossible," Maxwell growls. He is fighting the controls now, wrestling the machine. "The latency is too high. It’s overcorrecting."
"It’s having a seizure, Max. Shut it down."
"No! I can fix it. I just need to dampen the?—"
The robot arms cross. They tangle. Then, in a final act of defiance, the camera arm plunges downward, burying itself deep into Bob’s synthetic liver.
There is a loudCRUNCH.
Smoke starts to rise from Bob’s chest.
