Analog SFF, May 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  I'd only walked to the store a few times before, and never in this kind of pea soup. So after a few nervous steps, I decided on a route where I couldn't possibly go astray: straight down to the beach, turn left, and keep going until I reached the big parking lot. After another left and three blocks, I'd reach the Page Turner. Didn't know how I could spot any fish-dispensing fanatics in this weather unless I stubbed a toe on them, but I refused to give up.

  It seemed to take forever to reach the ocean, but to my surprise the fog thinned out near our boardwalk and I could actually see a hundred yards ahead. Which is why I soon spotted two long and slender objects leaning against the railing intended to stop toddlers and drunks from tumbling over the cliff onto the rocky skirt below. When I got closer I realized that the mystery objects were Tara's crutches.

  Had she tripped and fallen over the low railing? Had she committed suicide?

  Alarmed, I practically galloped down the nearest staircase to the beach, one I usually avoid because it winds back and forth along the cliff and ends in a flight of rickety wooden stairs. A full moon was up, but fog kept it from silvering the foam and crests of breakers. Instead, the mist diffused the light into a pewter glow more revealing than I expected—perhaps the sun lent a predawn assist.

  I stopped halfway down the wooden stairs and just watched.

  Nine large gray shapes floated in the shallows, bobbing up and down, periodically deluged by shoreline wavelets. I thought they were dolphins until I noticed they lacked dorsal fins.

  Tara stood on the beach, dressed crazy light for the damp chill in a silk teddy, and talking out loud even though no one else seemed to be around. Heavier clothes lay on the sand beside her and as I stared, she peeled herself out of her teddy. She had nicer boobs than me, but was covered in short gray fur from just below them to the middle of her calves. And her feet were terribly deformed, curled inwards from the sides.

  Four of the gray shapes swam forward. Two were harbor seals, both gripping live fish in their mouths. The other pair stood up as they reached the shoreline, and I realized that these were men: fat but sleek-looking and furred just like Tara. And their feet were wide flippers that furled themselves into an imitation of feet as they stepped onto the sand.

  The seals hunched themselves forward and dropped their fish in front of Tara. The men waddled up to her and gave her something of a group hug, and began to talk in low voices.

  What on Earth was happening here, I asked myself? Could Tara be working with Navy SEALs and genuine seals to—is this is some kind of crazy genetic experiment that

  [[ Sorry, didn't mean to conk out like that, but I'm awake again. Strange. I remember just where we were in the story, so very close to the end that I should probably buckle down and finish up. But I . . . don't feel like it. Right now, I can't stop thinking about Abe's breakthrough and another thing I'll tell you about if you promise to stay calm: something feels horribly wrong. Can't seem to breathe—I mean even more than usual. Do you suppose the air is going bad?

  What a lovely thought. I figured fresh oh two was getting to me somehow, but maybe I've just been living off air trapped in the basement. And when it runs out, that's that. But don't bother nagging me to go all proactive. What do you expect me to do with this big beam or whatever lying across my legs and right arm? It hurts to even think about moving.

  Maybe I'm lucky. Not quite as lucky as my housemates, Sue and Roy, having a glorious time in Puerto Vallarta right now and, according to the postcard, wishing I was there. But if I hadn't been in the basement doing laundry when the quake struck, I might've been squished dead. I'm guessing the washing machine or the dryer or both saved me when the ceiling fell in, catching most of the

  Uh-oh. Must've passed out again. Got a hunch one of these times, very soon, I won't be coming back. But, tell me this, my shadow pal: I've tried yelling and praying and being patient—wouldn't you think someone would've rescued me by now? Does that mean the whole house collapsed and everyone assumes I'm done? Or maybe the quake was so big that lots of people got buried, and there aren't enough rescuers to go around. But if most folks got through this okay, wouldn't you think the idea I'm trapped down here would cross someone's mind? Like my boss or Paul or Abe or...

  Abe. Abe! Helpmaboab, as my mum would say—which means something like “Goodness gracious,” but with more juice. I know I'm babbling; that, my friend, is from excitement!

  How could I have been so close to it for so long but missed it until now? Evidently, Dr. Freud had a bonny notion about there being a subconscious, but I've a bone to pick with mine. I mean, look what I did: cobbled together a story of sorts out of some of my recent experiences, and most everything in it was relevant to the tale. With one exception. Do you know which thing I mean? Abe's gravitational detector! I'd no good reason to even mention it but brought it up repeatedly. Then, later, didn't I just blather on about the Tav experiments and couldn't stop thinking about them. Get it now? In its own clumsy way, my subconscious kept trying to tell me something but just wasn't loud enough. You see? I'm the kitty down the well! And just maybe Abe can get me out of here.

  Yeah, I know the odds are a wee long. Like me beating Kasparov or Capablanca in their primes. And with Fool's Mate. But humor me. Let's just suppose that Abe figures I'm down here, but for some reason no one can get to me. If so—hear me out—just maybe Abe's teleporter can save me if his gravity sniffer can determine exactly where I am. Don't you look at me like that. Isn't it worth a try? Do you remember what the detector needs in order to spot our wet cat? Movement.

  Don't laugh, I can move. Just my left arm, sure, but maybe that'll be enough to wiggle my entire body, at least a little. A kitty down a well wouldn't be moving much either, right? Oh yeah, this is bound to hurt . . . a lot. If you've got a better idea, now's the time to step forward. Nothing? Then we do it my way. Please forgive the screaming.

  Oh, God, it's even worse than I thought. I can't do this much lon ]]

  * * * *

  [[ Hey there, shadow pal, Nurse Ratched—honest, that's her name, which luckily she doesn't live down to—has flipped the lights off and wished me lovely dreams. But I'm not sleepy, so it seems a bonny time to revive you maybe for the last time.

  It's not that I feel any big urge to wrap things up right now, although that's part of it. The main thing is that I need a sounding board to help me get my thoughts lined up before I stop putting Abe off and try to tell him what it's like to get pulled though another reality. Do you realize that I'm the first human being ever to get that kind of ride? Abe's team took quite a chance with my life, but decided it was the only chance for me under the circumstances, so to speak. As I'd feared, the rescue team couldn't dig me out without using a crane to pull some big beams out of the way, and every crane was assisting rescuers in our downtown area. Seems construction in this town couldn't handle a mere 7.6-scale earthquake.

  Oh, you want to know how it feels to be teleported. I'll tell you this much straightaway: it was downright mystical. You heard me.

  Not that I'm ordinarily keen on matters numinous. Still, my mum maintains that I'm a direct descendent of Coinneach Odhar, the Brahan Seer, and that the women in our family are invariably blessed with great psychic powers. Truly, I've never noticed anyone in our branch of the Clan Mackenzie emit the faintest whiff of arcane talents, although I do have a cousin who bent a spoon—when she sat on it. And on my father's side, the Shroeders have fewer spiritual gifts than warm sauerkraut. But I'm now claiming a touch of Scottish clairvoyance that came through in an emergency, because about when I'd figured that Abe might rescue me, that's exactly what he was attempting. And as I'd hoped, he only needed the smallest motion on my part—of my parts, that is—to locate me precisely. Of course I should write this off to pure coincidence or my subconscious grabbing sensory cues too subtle for me to notice, but why not don a mantle of glory when it's hanging right in my closet?

  In fact, the scene as I'd envisioned it, with a frantic Abe running his lost feline
detector and then arranging for me to be picked up and deposited elsewhere was smack dab on the money. Being unsure of my exact mass, my nerd heroes running the Tav taxi in the lab estimated beyond morbid obesity to stay on the safe side and wound up ferrying not only me, but a goodly hunk of concrete floor that had been my bed in the basement. I don't think the fellow renting out the house will complain.

  I suppose you've noticed that I'm blathering to postpone trying to describe the indescribable. Fine, so here goes.

  Abe says my little trip was “instantaneous,” but he's wrong, or at least that wasn't my experience. No way. If I got pulled through another dimension, I sure didn't see it; but I did see our universe in a new way. For one long crazy moment, everything . . . turned inside out. There I was, looking inwards at the countless galaxies and the space between them, as if I were gazing at the fanciest and most beautiful jewel that could ever be. Kind of a Buddha's-eye view, I suppose. The universe didn't seem any particular size or shape; certainly it didn't appear large or small. But it was all . . . perfect, every atom and every electron exactly where it was supposed to be.

  And so utterly, utterly peaceful. My mind sort of sighed and settled down completely. Never felt so calm. Never knew that calmness itself could be so beautiful, and I could've stayed in that place forever. You know, part of me may still be there....

  I know what you're thinking. Abe's hardly going to be satisfied with that kind of report, but even after talking to you, I don't see how to make it more scientific.

  Besides, that's all I remember. They tell me I was unconscious when they zapped me into the lab. Next thing I knew, I woke up in this hospital bed, fed and watered through a vein. Got a broken leg and a really bruised arm and four cracked ribs, but the painkillers they've got me on are heavy duty, and I'm not feeling too bad. Worst part is my tongue, which is swollen and cracked after almost three days without water. Sucking ice helps. I've read that a few people have survived after more than a week without H2O. Can't imagine how they did it.

  My docs, if you're interested, have two main concerns. First, I might have some brain damage from bonks on the head although that part looks okay so far, knock on wood. Second, the snapped leg bone is already halfway set at the wrong angle. So it's under the scalpel for me and loads more excitement to look forward to. But it'll beat the alternative.

  No, I haven't been lonely. Page has come to see me already, twice, and Paul and Abe thrice. Page, the best boss ever, promised to fork over the deductible I'll need for Kaiser. Abe, when he wasn't squeezing me for details, mentioned that the other Regulars don't yet know my body's been recovered with me still in it because the store's closed for repairs. I can't wait to get out of here and restart my life, but the quake's messed up almost everybody and everything along this stretch of coast, and no one's life will be returning to normal quite yet.

  So I guess we're done. You know I couldn't, in good conscience, write up much of that story I was telling you, particularly not Page's part, which was unvarnished fact. What? You want to know if all that stuff about Tara and Selkies and Navy Seals had any truth to it?

  Be serious.

  Copyright © 2010 Rajnar Vajra

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  Poetry: SKIPPY THE ROBOT by David Livingstone Clink

  His name was Skippy,

  And he had light-brown hair.

  His arms were shovels,

  His seat, a chair.

  —

  Skippy was programmable,

  And he had a robotic heart.

  His dream since he was little

  Was to be an aquanaut.

  —

  They told him when he applied

  That his chances were very slim.

  Skippy was afraid to tell them

  About his inability to swim.

  —

  There were so many applicants,

  On one they couldn't settle.

  Skippy began to wonder

  How they would test his metal.

  —

  They threw everyone into a deep pool,

  And on this note, let's be frank—

  Skippy's hopes were dashed,

  His robotic heart sank.

  —

  The moral of this story,

  And it is a moral you can trust,

  Is, don't plan on being an aquanaut

  If your body parts can rust!

  —

  Copyright © 2010 David Livingstone Clink

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  Science Fact: ROBOTS DON'T LEAVE SCARS: WHAT'S NEW IN MEDICAL ROBOTICS? by Stella Fitzgibbons, MD

  When they told Carl Janssen he needed surgery, he imagined a scene like what he'd seen in the movies: A team of surgeons hovering over him, passing each other instruments, and deciding together the best route to the problem and how to fix it once they could see it up close. He met with the surgeon, talked about what needed to be rearranged and what might be taken out, and figured he understood things pretty well. Carl knew, of course, that there would be surgical assistants helping out—but robots were not exactly what he had in mind.

  Today is the big day. The anesthetist put Carl to sleep a few minutes ago, so he may never realize how different the operation is from what he imagined. To start with, Carl will have little or no scar to show his friends. The surgeon isn't even looking at the patient—he's sitting in front of a monitor screen. And the surgical team is not hovering over Carl, but inside him. They are all surgical robots.

  The road to Carl's operation started in the 1980s, when fiberoptic technology and electronics made it possible to reach inside a patient without hands, using a variety of “endoscopes” whose size and capabilities vary according to the type of procedure. The flexible tube that holds the fiberoptic cable allows instruments to be passed and recovered, tissue samples to be taken, and medications given while the surgeon watches a TV screen showing the procedure (fig. 1). Almost everyone reading this knows somebody who had a colon polyp (or gall bladder) removed, an ulcer cauterized, or a knee injury repaired using an endoscope. This “minimally invasive” surgery is not only popular, but also hugely cost-effective, since smaller incisions take less time to heal, complications are rare, and patients spend fewer days in the hospital.

  * * * *

  Fig. 1. Typical present-day operating room scene for remotely controlled surgery: The surgeon is at a console watching a TV screen rather than standing over the patient, with assistants positioning equiptment. (Photo courtesy of Intuitive Surgical, Inc., 2009)

  * * * *

  In many cases, the smaller size of remote-controlled instruments makes them the only possible choice. Urologists and gynecologists operate in narrow areas that make even knot tying by hand tedious or impossible. Chest surgeons can remove tumors and sample abnormal lung tissue using a scope that enters the fluid-filled space around the lungs through an incision only one or two centimeters long, so that an already sick patient does not have to spend days or weeks recovering from open surgery. Problems in the head and neck can be reached far more easily than in the past, using a scope that is thinner than the surgeon's little finger.

  As researchers develop smaller instruments, some are working to eliminate incisions entirely. “Natural orifice” surgery uses fiberoptic scopes to reach the abdominal cavity via the mouth, rectum, or vagina: An instrument on the end makes a hole in the appropriate place, the gallbladder or tumor is removed (or Fallopian tubes tied, or the liver tissue sampled), and the scope is withdrawn and the hole sutured closed. No scars (meaning no risk of hernias later on) and minimal recovery time make the procedure equally attractive to patients, hospitals, and insurers. Only experience will show, however, if there is enough of an advantage in safety and effectiveness to justify the extra training and equipment costs.

  * * * *

  Where Medical Robotics Is Being Developed

  Intuitive Surgical's da Vinci Surgical Systems is the present-day medical equivalent of Isaac Asimov's U.S. Rob
otics. Started in 1999 as minimally invasive surgery began shrinking the size of operations, the company has developed and improved systems for visualization and human-machine interfaces that make surgery easier and less time-consuming. The EndoWrist instruments, modeled after the human wrist, allow surgeons to use forceps, needles, and other tools with comfort in confined spaces (fig. 2).

  * * * *

  Fig. 2. EndoWrist(R) instruments are designed to mimic the surgeon's own hand motions. The “Edward Scissorhands” tool shown here can be detached and replaced by cautery tools, forceps, scalpels, and other instruments in varying sizes. (Photo courtesy of Intuitive Surgical, Inc., 2009)

  * * * *

  Da Vinci is by no means alone in the commercial development of robotics: England's Acrobot system and California's RoboDoc are expanding robotics into orthopedic surgery, where the demand is high for less stressful hip and knee operations due both to the number of elderly patients needing surgery and to the needs of athletes who want to return to training as quickly as possible. RoboDoc offers improved accuracy in positioning of knee and hip replacement joints, using a system linked to CT scans of the patient's bones, to allow the artificial joint to be the correct size and aligned as closely as possible with the shape of the original joint. Remember that CT stands for computed tomography; its images are produced in three-dimensional digital format, so that the patient's anatomy can be compared with that of standard prosthetics and the bone re-shaped to fit, or a new prosthetic modeled to fit exactly.

  At the Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha, surgeons are developing miniature robot “teams” that are placed inside the abdomen (either through natural orifices or via a small incision) and positioned by external magnets. With a lighting robot illuminating the area, a “visualizing” robot gives the surgeon the visual feedback he needs to guide the procedure, and a retraction robot positions internal structures so that endoscopic instruments can perform the surgery (fig. 3). Magnets allow the surgeon to move all three robots from one part of the abdomen to another, so that procedures involving large areas like the intestines can be handled without new incisions and with minimal operating time.