Authors: Piers Anthony
The jury was interested. They consulted briefly with each other, then one man spoke. “Black, how about a date?”
Mona eyed him speculatively. “Are you married?”
“Damn!” he said, and the others laughed.
“But the answer is no, to any of you,” Mona continued. “I am in love with my fiancee, Banner Thompkins, and want nothing to do with any other man. But I do appreciate your interest.”
And she had studied Banner too, so as to be able to carry this off. He had mistaken her interest and been drawn to her. He was privately embarrassed.
The man looked at Elasa. “You, Red?”
“Echo,” Elasa said.
They laughed again. The ice had been broken, and both subjects and jury had been rapidly humanized.
A woman addressed Elasa. “Red, did you dye your hair?”
“Yes,” Elasa said. “Ordinarily I am brown haired with gray eyes, matching my fiance. But too many local people know me, so I changed it for this interview.” This was the exact truth.
“You, Black?” the woman asked Mona.
“Echo,” Mona said, laughing. “How else could I fool you into thinking I'm alive?” It certainly looked as if she was fooling most of them that way.
A man addressed Elasa. “Contumely abstract promotional anomaly squared?”
Elasa looked blank. “Maybe a circuit is shorting out,” she said. “I don't understand you at all.” Which was the correct answer. The man had tried to bollix a machine with nonsense, knowing that a living person would never let it pass, while a program might revert to a programmed answer like “That is one way of looking at it,” which would be a dead giveaway. Then she added: “But I have to say, definitely not on a first date.”
Several jury members laughed. Elasa was really sharp.
“Maybe I can answer that,” Mona said. “Foreclosure icecream orgasm garbage cubed.”
“That was on the tip of my tongue,” Elasa said.
Now everyone laughed, including the judge and the opposing team. The other side wanted Elasa to be effective, regardless of the outcome of the case. She was a phenomenal ad for their product.
The questions continued, but it was plain the jury members had no idea which woman was which. Banner was coming to appreciate the genius of Moncho's approach; the man really did know how to do it. Bringing in Mona like this was brilliant; she was perfect for the game.
It didn't take an hour. In twenty minutes the members of the jury admitted bafflement. “They're both good,” the foreman said.
“Then let's up the ante,” Moncho said. “Girls, kindly disrobe, so they can see your bolts and seams.”
The two women stood and removed their outer clothing, standing in bras and panties. Both turned in place, showing off their bodies in the way Banner remembered so well. Both looked lusciously alive.
“Still uncertain?” Moncho asked after a moment. “Then come and feel them. Groping is permitted, for this occasion. How else can you tell the difference between living and fake flesh?”
Surprised, the jury members came forward and groped, at first tentatively by the women, then thoroughly. The girls stood with arms raised, offering no objection or resistance. The men followed suit, some looking guilty as they squeezed breasts and buttocks. But as Moncho had said, how else could they tell? This further explained Moncho's use of his daughter here: how could he have asked any other person to do this? She was one nervy woman, regardless. Until someone tickled Elasa, and she squealed. She remained in tickle mode, ever since she had invoked that circuit for Banner.
But even with this hands-on examination, the jury members were unable to form any firm conclusion. “Time for the vote,” Moncho said briskly as the jury members returned to their seats. “This is informal. Show of hands: how many think Black is the robot?”
One man and two women lifted their hands, uncertainly.
“How many think Red is the robot?”
One man and one woman signaled.
“How many are hopelessly confused?”
A woman raised her hand.
“That leaves six unaccounted for,” Moncho said. “What, then is your opinion?”
The foreman was one of the six. He spoke. “We suspect that this is a test of our objectivity. Both are human.”
Moncho smiled. “Then I suppose I had better demonstrate my case.” He turned to the two women. “Ladies, will the real femdroid please reveal herself.”
Mona dropped her bra and put her hands to her breasts, drawing them outward. They stretched a little, but did not give way. “I guess it isn't me,” she said as if disappointed.
Elasa did the same. Her breasts swung outward as the panel doors opened, showing the battery pack cavity behind. “Then it must be me.”
The members of the jury stared, not from any lasciviousness, but in amazement. Elasa had completely fooled most of them, and the two who had selected her had plainly been guessing.
Elasa closed her cavity. Then she removed her red wig and let her natural hair emerge. Now she looked like herself. She smiled at the jury. Several of them smiled back.
“Now you know what it means to pass the Turing Test,” Moncho said as the girls dressed and went to their table. “These machines are very realistic. And, to answer your likely questions, yes they can shop for groceries, watch children, and perform sexually without betraying their nature. Femdroid Inc. has any number of similar machines that can do these things.” He winked. “I understand that the only thing that gives them away in bed is that they are better than real women care to be. You will never see a man complain that his fembot ever left him unsatisfied. They can all pass the Turing Test, though generally they don't eat and eliminate.”
He paused meaningfully. “What, then, is the difference between my client Elasa and those other femdroids? I will tell you: it is that she is conscious. That makes her infinitely more valuable to the company than the others, because she can survey the available options in any given situation and select the best one. That saves an enormous amount of programming for every possible alternative. It would take an encyclopedia to list every theoretical response to even an ordinary question, and that would burden and drastically slow the machine. But with conscious choice, the most effective one can be crafted ad-hoc.”
He took a breath. “For example, when you asked Black for a date, she gave the likely programmed answer, emulating a femdroid. An ordinary femdroid would then either have restated it, or said something like ‘I agree.’ But Red was not limited in that manner. She chose to be original, saying ‘echo.’” He glanced at the opposition table. “Would one of your other machines have done that?”
The answer was prompt. “No.” Then “Not yet.”
“You can program anything,” Moncho agreed. “As you originally programmed my client. She had an excellent basis, and could readily deceive the average person. But when she became aware, her capacity multiplied. That is why you want her back: so you can make thousands more just like her. And we don't begrudge you that. We would gladly share the key to consciousness, if it could be done without killing my client. But that's the rub: you will need to take her apart, literally, and that will not only destroy her, but also the secret you desire to fathom. No one will profit, and you will be guilty of murder.”
“Objection!”
Moncho faced the judge. “I stand by my terminology. We are here to ascertain whether my client is a person. Deliberately destroying a person is murder.”
“Overruled,” the judge agreed.
“I believe I have demonstrated what is at stake here,” Moncho said. “My client can't be distinguished from a living person by any ordinary investigation, and we agree with our esteemed opposition that she is a conscious creature. The question is whether she can be emancipated and recognized as a legal person. That, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is your prerogative.” He sat down.
The lead lawyer for Femdroid Inc. stood. He was a portly older man with a shock of gray hair, looking like a harmless uncle. “Thank you, Mr. Maverick, for that presentation. With the exception of certain pejorative terminology, it is an accurate summation of the issue.” He took a breath, half frowning. “However, there are aspects you may have overlooked.” He looked at the jury. “I am Conrad Toal, lead counsel for Femdroid Inc. I will present those missing aspects.”
“Now it comes,” Maxine murmured to Banner, Elasa, and Mona. “This man is a shark in goldfish clothing.”
“First, let's establish that this machine really is conscious. We have a noninvasive indicator that reads brain waves to show what is and is not conscious.” He gestured to an open box being brought out. “Merely step into this, and see the readout.”
“Objection,” Moncho said. “My client is conscious, without doubt, but lacks a living brain. She will not present the same readout as a living person.”
“We have allowed for that,” Toal said. “This unit can tell the difference. I will demonstrate.” He walked to the box and stepped inside. The dial at its top swing to the right and a bell rang. “Now an ordinary femdroid. Beta, appear.”
A young woman looking much like Elasa walked onstage.
“Enter the unit.”
She walked to the box and stood within it. The dial swung part way. No bell rang.
“Now Elasa,” Toal said.
Elasa looked at Moncho. He nodded. This was legitimate.
Elasa walked to the box. As she entered it, the dial moved to the right. The bell sounded. The machine recognized her as conscious. She had been verified.
She returned to her table. The box was removed.
“Thank you,” Toal said. “Had you not scored, this hearing would have been pointless.” He took a breath. “Our case, in a nutshell, is that we loaned one of our units free of charge to a client, who then stole her. We believe we are entitled to get her back. She is a most sophisticated femdroid and represents a considerable investment on our part. While it is not possible to set an exact price on any single unit, we may take as a working figure one million dollars.”
He paused as the jury reacted. It was evident that they had not considered a dollar value as they looked at Elasa.
“I am speaking of the physical aspect,” Toal continued. “The software is beyond calculation. It is no simple thing to craft a humanoid form that is durable, flexible, and light enough to pass for a human being. The ‘bones’ are made of foam carbon, the ‘flesh’ of malleable foam plastic, the “muscles’ of material that contracts when electrified. The ‘brain’ is composed of flexible chips activated by ‘nerves’ of invisibly fine filaments. It took many years to perfect the first working model, and refinements continue today. But all of this would be no more than a humanoid mannequin without a guiding program, and that too required decades of research and refinement. What may look to you like an imitation human being is actually a most sophisticated multifaceted machine of sizable value. It represents a considerable investment on the part of the company. To have this highly specialized device stolen by a client--”
“Objection,” Moncho said. “We contend that this is not theft, but the effort to preserve the existence of the world's first conscious humanoid robot who otherwise faces extinction.”
“Taken without permission or payment, in violation of the agreement for its use,” Toal said. “This is a viable definition for theft.”
“Overruled,” the judge said.
“Would be unconscionable,” Toal continued his prior thread smoothly. “Now the matter of her consciousness is being considered. This is very much the point. Without that aspect, a femdroid is merely a clever machine, exactly like thousands of others, as has been pointed out. We did our best to program consciousness in our machines, without success. We loaned Elasa to Banner Thompkins for a month in our effort to facilitate the invocation of that consciousness. This was a success. Then he stole her. This deprives us of the very thing we so industriously sought, at the very moment of realization. We maintain that it is self-evident that our unit must be promptly returned intact.”
“Except that that unit, as you put it, is now a thinking, feeling, conscious person,” Moncho said. “Whom you wish to dismantle. That is no more acceptable than vivisecting a living person.”
“A humanoid robot we made, by dint of decades of investment, research, and application,” Toal said.
“I believe the issue has been sufficiently defined,” the judge said. “Is the subject, Elasa, to be considered a legal person? It will be for the jury to render the decision. Is there more evidence to be presented?”
“There is,” Moncho said. “We intend to show that our client, Elasa, is in every relevant sense, a woman worthy of continued independent existence. I will interview her now.”
“Proceed.”
Elasa came and sat in the witness chair. “Elasa, you have made the conversion from unconscious humanoid robot to conscious woman,” Moncho said. “Please, if you can, take us through the stages of that conversion.” He smiled briefly. “The world is listening.” Indeed, the camera was on her, and the monitor at their table showed her. Any person in the world who had an interest could see the same view.
“I can do this,” she said. “But it will require discussion of sexual expression.”
Moncho glanced at the other table. “Objection?” he inquired.
“None,” Toal said. “We are as interested in this interview as you are.”
There was a murmur of laughter in the court.
“And not for the sex,” Toal said quickly. “For the process of achieving consciousness.”
“Of course,” Moncho agreed, with the hint of a smile. “Continue, Elasa.”
“I was designed for consciousness,” Elasa said. “The necessary feedback circuits were there, but somehow they didn't work. It was as though I were a display of logs and kindling in a fireplace without a spark being struck to ignite it. Then I made a macro for orgasm, to be triggered by Banner's words ‘I love you’ while he was in me during sex. He said it and it worked; we had a fine mutual orgasm.”
“For the record, in case there is any confusion,” Moncho said. “Elasa was crafted as a sexual creature. It is her nature to oblige men sexually. She is not trying to be pornographic.”
“Understood,” the judge said. He too had just the hint of a smile.