“Grace, let’s go.” Ify leaves the room without bothering to correct the android nurse. She has never felt less a doctor than she does walking away from the woman she could not save. The woman whose trauma none of her medical knowledge could help her heal. A familiar fear fogs her mind: I’m just some bush girl pretending to be a doctor.

As they walk down the sterile, too-bright, ivory-colored hallway, Grace swipes at her tablet to bring up information on the next patient. “Mr. de Freitas,” she says in a hard voice after clearing her throat. “Angolan. Six feet, two inches. He began hospitalization at a weight of 172 pounds.” She continues with his physical state, but Ify stops her. “Yes, Doctor?”

Why is everyone calling her Doctor? “Tell me. His story. What . . . what difficulty did he suffer before arriving in Alabast?” It sounds so trite and simple to put it that way, but it is the only language Ify can find for what she wants to know.

Grace’s words stumble over themselves as she tries to find an answer. Then her expression changes. From one of confusion to one of gratitude. Finally understanding what Ify is asking, she says, “He witnessed his family’s torture at the hands of the regime. He is one of several patients from that village who have suffered the same condition.”

“And who have endured the same trauma,” Ify finishes.

“Yes, Doctor.”

They arrive at the door to the man’s room. “Thank you, Grace.”

After a stunned moment, Grace permits a small, embarrassed smile. “Certainly, Doctor.”

As they walk in, an aerial drone assistant hovers before the man’s face, adjusting the wires connected to his temples.

Mr. de Freitas sits up in his bed. “Doctor?”

Ify surprises herself by smiling. “Yes, Mr. de Freitas.”

“I can see!” he shouts. “I can see! My eyes!” He puts his fingers to his face, touches his cheeks and his chin, his eyelids. “I can see again.” He can’t stop touching his face, even his ears and his small afro. “They gave me new eyes! I can see!”

Ify notes the small scars by his temple, the mark of recent cyberization. “And your adjustment to light sensitivity? Is the light too bright?”

“Light? Oh my God.” He laughs. “Light. I can see light!”

“Careful!” She rushes out to touch his arm. “Please do not stare directly at it. You may damage your new retinas. They are made to be more durable than natural eyes, but that does not mean they are indestructible.”