“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.
“Maddie, display data.” Patrick spoke, and moments later a chart showing the military space station’s position over Earth in its orbit appeared, along with readouts of altitude, velocity, orbital period, number of personnel, and status of its major systems…right before Patrick’s eyes! “I can see it!” Patrick said. “Holy cow! This is incredible, Jon!”
“The new lens is really a microthin liquid crystal display and datalink receiver, powered by your eye muscles,” Jon said. A mirror copy of the display was playing on Jon’s laptop. “Right now you can access information only through Maddie, so it’s limited to Sky Masters facilities, but we’re working on a way to link into any wireless data source. Pretty soon you’ll be able to tap into any sensor, radar, satellite download, any computer, the Internet, or any video broadcast, and watch it as if you were sitting right at the console. We’re working on ways to be able to control computers and other systems that you are seeing as well.”
“Maddie, close the display.” Patrick spoke, and the image went away. “Pretty cool, Jon. But I am starting to feel like the Six Million Dollar Man, though-new implantable cardioverter defibrillator, new implanted telecommunications device, and now an electronic eye.”
“I appreciate you offering to be a Sky Masters guinea pig, Muck,” Jon said. “We’re getting approvals for the new stuff that much faster because you’re a famous guy and you’re already so wired for sound that we can collect gobs of data on how the new gadgets are working. Speaking of which, how about we run through a few of the display functions so we can-”
“I’ve got a better idea, Jon-how about I take Patrick home, make him lunch, and let me visit for a while before I have to get back to my unit?” Gia interjected. “Tomorrow you can fine-tune him all you want.”
Jon rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Another woman standing in the path of scientific advancement,” he deadpanned. Gia stood, towering over him, and gave him a friendly smile but a very direct glance. Jon held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, but first thing tomorrow, we run your new eyeball through its paces, Muck. See ya.”
Gia wheeled Patrick through the Sky Masters laboratory and out to his waiting car, then drove them to his home in Henderson, just southeast of Las Vegas. The air was a little cool, but Gia and Patrick still enjoyed sitting outside, so they turned on gas patio heaters, snuggled under a comforter, and sipped hot tea while looking out at the view past their tiny yard with its swim-spa and out through the wrought-iron fence across to the golf course, with Henderson Airport beyond it. “I can actually see airplanes out there now,” he commented. “So you’re off to RIMPAC tonight?”
“RIMPAC’s not until June, but the participants are meeting in Hawaii to start the final planning,” Gia said. RIMPAC, or Rim of the Pacific, was a large-scale naval warfare exercise involving Western allied navies and other invited participants and observers. “This is the first time since the American Holocaust that the U.S. Air Force will be involved.”
“About time,” Patrick commented. “They should get Armstrong Space Station and the Space Defense Force involved, too.”
“They should, but they’re not,” Gia said. “Secretary Page met with Pacific Command several times and offered services, but they were turned down every time.”
“They’re afraid that Armstrong will smoke them-all of those carriers are vulnerable to Armstrong and its weapon garages,” Patrick said.