Brave New Worlds

forward and smiled at him. "I'm Dr. McBride," she said. "I hope the steelie didn't overload you. We have to observe protocols as part of our grant mechanism, and it's easier to have robots take care of them than entrust the process to people. "
    "Okay," Peter said.
    "Why don't you sit up?" Dr. McBride suggested. "I think you'll find everything's in working order. "
    Peter sat up, surfed a brief wave of dizziness, and discovered that he did feel pretty good. "Yeah," he said. "I feel okay. So why am I in the hospital?"
    Dr. McBride looked annoyed. "Yes. I thought maybe Burkhardt had rushed a little. These federal programs, you know. Not that I'm criticizing, it would be much more difficult to address everything on a case-by-case basis when we don't have access to all the intelligence, but it's only natural. "Although she still looked in his direction, the doctor was no longer talking to Peter.
    He took another drink from the wall nipple. Dr. McBride looked up at him and smiled again, apologetically this time. "I'm sorry, Mr. Skilling," she said. "I haven't answered your question. "
    Peter raised an eyebrow and sucked at the nipple.
    "You see, you died in 2005. We've spent the past several months working you through the rejuvenation process, and I have to say it's gone very well. "
    The nipple fell out of Peter's mouth and a little water dribbled down his chin. Dr. McBride's smile regained some of its strength.
    "There's no way to cushion it,"she said. "Although God knows Burkhardt tries. You've been dead for ninety-eight years. And now you have another chance to live. "
    Her gaze shifted to a monitor by Peter's head. "Mm," she said. "I was afraid of that. " Crossing to the monitor, Dr. McBride opened a drawer and removed a shiny instrument.
    Peter couldn't breathe. He tried to speak, and a breathy whine came out of his mouth.
    "I've going to give you something that will alleviate your shock response," Dr. McBride said. Peter heard a hiss, and then he was gone.
    When he woke up, the robot was there again. Peter felt worse than he had the first time he'd opened his eyes in that room. "Don't give me another shot," he said.
    "Oh, I don't administer medication," Burkhardt said airily. "Fascinating colloquialism, ‘shot'—bit anachronistic now. We do transdermals now, of course, except when intravenous administration is indicated. But I'm not here to go on about our medical procedures; you're a healthy man; you don't care about this. I do need to apologize for yesterday. It seems I moved a little too quickly for circumstances, and Dr. McBride. . . " Burkhardt trailed off. "She was terribly inappropriate and unprofessional. To say some of the things she said, given the fragility of your condition. . . Trust me when I say that you won't have to deal with her anymore. "
    Sometime during its apology, Peter remembered what she'd said to him. "Are you serious that I was dead?" he asked. Having slept on the idea, even if the sleep was drug-induced, made it easier to grapple with.
    Burkhardt cocked its head to one side. "Oh yes, perfectly serious. My function here is to ensure that your assimilation process is maximally efficient. There is significant state interest in making certain that you come to terms with the reality of your surroundings. Yours is truly an exceptional situation. I can certainly sympathize with your feelings of loss and displacement, but do not neglect gratitude. You have benefited from the most advanced and powerful science the world has ever known. "
    "You can?" Peter asked. "Sympathize?"
    "Ha ha," Burkhardt said. "Not in an emotional sense, no. But my simulations of emotional interaction are considered very sophisticated. I belong to the only class of artificial intelligences whose testimony is admissible in court. "
    Peter could have sworn that it sounded proud. He considered what Burkhardt had said about loss and displacement. Pretty soon he figured he'd feel both, but right then he was letting himself be caught up in the puzzle of how he'd come to be talking to a robot that seemed to have been programmed by a self-help guru. Chicken Soup for the Future Resurrected.
    "This is ridiculous," he said. He tossed back the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor felt good under his feet.
    "Delightful," Burkhardt said. It actually clapped, or clanked. "Marvelous. You're making tremendous progress. "
    Peter needed a moment to get blood to his head. Then he stood. He was wearing light blue