Executive Intent

“’Fraid so, babe,” Patrick said. Patrick was a retired three-star Air Force general and one of the most highly regarded and popular military men in American history, having led mostly secret bombing missions all over the world for almost two decades, as well as the man responsible for starting America’s military Space Defense Force. But today, he was sitting up on a hospital bed in street clothes, being prepped for surgery. “I guess they’re common for astronauts, high-altitude pilots, and anyone who works where ultraviolet rays are stronger.”

“No, it’s common for old guys,” quipped Jonathan Colin Masters, who was also waiting with his friend. “Nervous, buddy?”

“A little,” Patrick admitted.

“You are the first guy to get the newest version of the e-lenses,” Jon said. “But the other versions have worked out very well, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“I don’t like anyone messing with my eyes.”

“Your eyes will still be blue and gorgeous,” Gia said, giving Patrick another kiss. “Heck, I might get my lenses replaced-if Jon lowers the price.”

“No military discounts-yet,” Jon said. “But in a few years, everyone will have them.” In the hour Patrick had been in pre-op, nurses had been putting various drops in his eyes every few minutes, and his pupils were fully dilated, so even tiny bits of light were bothersome. He had an intravenous line put in, but the anesthesiologist hadn’t put anything in the saline bag just yet. Patrick’s blood pressure was slightly elevated, but he appeared calm and relaxed.

Since leaving the U.S. Air Force two years earlier, he had let his hair grow a bit longer, and despite almost-daily workouts, he couldn’t keep a little “executive spread” from setting in. He still bore some scars from his time in Iraq on the ground evading Republic of Turkey fighter-bombers; the blond hair was gone, replaced by middle-age brown with a slowly rising forehead and rapidly spreading temples of gray; and the bright blue eyes were slowly being clouded by ultraviolet radiation. But otherwise he was looking good for a man approaching his midfifties.

For the umpteenth time he was asked if he had any allergies, that it was indeed his left eye they were going to operate on, and if he had anything to eat or drink in the preceding twelve hours-and finally it was time to go. Gia and Jon said their good-byes and headed for a nearby laboratory to watch the procedure on a closed-circuit monitor while Patrick was wheeled into the operating room.

The entire procedure took less than thirty minutes. After immobilizing his head and face, an eye surgeon made a tiny incision in Patrick’s left cornea, and he inserted an ultrasonic probe that dissolved the clouded left eye lens so it could be flushed away. Another tiny probe inserted the new artificial lens and positioned it in place. After several checks and measurements, Patrick was wheeled into the recovery room, where Gia was waiting for him and Jon and two other engineers from Sky Masters Inc. worked on a laptop computer set up on a desk in the recovery room. Gia kissed his forehead. “Yep, they’re still blue,” she said. “Feel okay?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “It’s still a little shimmery and distorted, but I can already see in 3-D rather than just 2-D. I never realized how bad my vision had gotten.” He turned to Jon. “And no more glasses?”

“Glasses are so twentieth century, Muck,” Jon said. “It’ll take a while for your eye muscles to adapt to the new lens, but in a couple weeks your eye muscles will be able to flex it just like a natural lens to focus on distant, mid, and close ranges. Plus it corrects astigmatism, and it’ll last four lifetimes-you can will it to your grandkids if you want. And it can do a lot more stuff, too.” He swiveled an examination lamp around and aimed it at Patrick…

…and to his amazement, the glare in his left eye quickly dimmed. “Wow, the sunglass feature works great,” Patrick exclaimed. “No more sunglasses either!” He concentrated for a moment, and the glare returned as the electronic darkening feature deactivated. “And it’s easy to shut it off, too.”

“Same haptic interface we use in the Cybernetic Infantry Devices-you think about doing something like removing sunglasses, and it happens,” Jon said.

“No telescopic vision, like the Six Million Dollar Man?”

“That’s a few versions in the future, but we’re working on it,” Jon said. He typed commands on his keyboard. “But try out the datalink next, Muck.”

“Here goes. Maddie, status report, Armstrong Space Station.”

“Yes, General McLanahan, please stand by,” responded the computerized voice of “Maddie,” or Multifunctional Advanced Data Delivery and Information Exchange. Maddie was the Sky Masters Inc. civilian version of the “Duty Officer,” the computerized virtual assistant that listened in on all conversations and could respond to requests and questions, retrieve information, remotely unlock doors, and thousands of other functions. “Data ready, General,” Maddie said a few moments later.