The Revolt of the Machines

by Brian Stableford

  The conclusions of science had an immediate repercussion in the juridical domain. Since the Whistlers belonged to a new species, different from the human species that had made the laws, those laws did not apply to it, any more than to the chimpanzee or the ox. On the other hand, under penalty of disappearing, humans had to retain supremacy in the vital competition that had been established.

  There was also the matter of the conservation of the Beautiful and the Good, for as the Whistlers multiplied, more was learned about them. They were unnatural. The instinct of family did not exist in them. It was observed that the mothers had no particular attachment to their own children. When they lactated, their nurslings could be exchanged for another without them appearing to see anything inconvenient therein. It was with the same facility that, having emerged from the arms of one male, they accepted the caresses of another. To tell the truth, these animals knew nothing of love beyond its strictly physiological aspect.

  They were deprived of any sentiment of individual honor. They seemed to be cowardly. Elegance, harmony, taste, ornamentation and beauty had no meaning for them. Thus, they dressed themselves without the slightest care for aesthetics, or even for dignity. Provided that they were neither too hot nor too cold and did not feel any hindrance in their movements, the rest was of no importance to them. It must be admitted that they were fearful of the dirt propitious to microbes, but they serenely wore garments stained by acid. They only demanded repairs to make them more durable and found a red patch as convenient as any other to repair blue cloth. That coarseness was the same among the females as among the males. It extended to scorn for jewelry. The Whistlers that had chronometeorological indicators suspended them around their necks with pieces of sturdy string.

  Thus, not only was the species not civilized, but lacked all the impulses that drew ancient savages toward civilization. Nothing human remained in them but reason—and in what measure? Communication between the two species was so difficult that one could scarcely be sure; for a Whistler, when he wanted to speak, was reduced to pronouncing vowels. Although he appeared to understand, one could only understand him with difficulty. Whether he was of vast or limited intelligence, it came to the same thing; a reason like his had nothing to do, for want of being spurred on by needs of the sentimental order.

  It was therefore necessary, at any price, for the cause of progress, that humans conserved a sovereign empire over the Earth.

  Preservative measures were proposed. The one that would save the world consisted of treating the Whistlers as dangerous animals and killing them all. Their mothers, when they were of our race, would not oppose it, so much were they considered as monstrous products. Were not overly teratological newborns directly suppressed? Thus far, only the difficultly of distinguishing between Homo priscus and Homo sibilans in the cradle had saved the anthropoids born to humans. And thus, once the crisis of mutation was over, humans would be able to pursue in security their admirable work, which consists of putting ever more soul into matter.

  The case was submitted to the World Delegation, the W.D., which governed what nations had in common: telephonophotography, money, gold deposits, weights and measures, astronomical observatories, meteorology, and intercommunication by air, water and land. It judged disputes between the various nations. It maintained, by its surveillance of vocabulary and education, the unity of “pidgin,” the ancient Anglo-Chinese invention that had become the universal auxiliary language. Eventually, the study and operation of social forms had been entrusted to it. It had been remarked a long time before and by everyone that, by virtue of the economic solidarity of nations, none of them could consider itself in isolation in the legislation of labor; agreements were necessary. It had, however, taken a long time for that idea to enter into practice by the foundation of a section of the W.D. responsible for agreements. The W.D., therefore, took over the problem of the Whistlers, a problem that was eminently social and international.

  After a serious examination, it set aside the option of general massacre. A question of sentiment opposed it. In addition, there were certain economic problems in suppressing a labor force as intelligent and considerable as that of the anthropoids. Several delegates suggested reducing them to slavery, in perfect conformity with the law, since all species other than human were human possessions. That solution was also rejected. It was feared, with good reason, that the cost of labor might be excessively depressed, which would plunge workers into poverty.

  Finally enlightened by long debates, the W.D. promulgated a decree, of which the essential dispositions were as follows:

  The anthropoids known as Whistlers, not being human, do not enjoy any human rights. With regard to legislation, they are neither citizens nor spouses. Nevertheless, grave social interests prevent them from being ranked among the animals, objects of private property and transactions between individuals. They must be considered as a labor force put at the disposal of the community. By exploiting them wisely, they can be made to serve the good of all, and, far from threatening progress, will contribute to it if they are submitted to statutes elaborated in their regard. These statutes will finally resolve the social question.

  Henceforth, the anthropoids, whatever they may be, are assigned to the proletariat. They may not exercise the liberal professions, nor live idly, and not direct any commerce or industry, except in the cases indicated hereafter. They may only possess an essentially precarious usufruct. They may change residence according to the needs of labor, without being able to transport anything except personal effects. Outside of the journeys necessitated by labor, the various companies of communal transport will refuse to accommodate anthropoids in their vehicles, under penalty of heavy fines.

  To begin, an exact census will be complied of all existing Whistlers, in order that they can be redistributed between nations in proportion to the human population. That done, the distribution of the labor force in question between the various exploitations will be left to the national C.G.T.s, which will obey the following principles: first supplying the industries where wages are minimal; not allowing the wages of purely human labor to become less than the wages of industries with a mixed labor force; and finally, in equivalent economic conditions, establishing in all similar establishments the same proportion between the number of human laborers and the number of anthropoid laborers.

  The wages of an anthropoid will be one tenth that of a human, which is amply sufficient for a creature devoid of needs, which does not like wine or meat. But that reduced pay should never diminish the sum presently expended by employers for labor. Syndicates will see to that. To render their supervision easier, it will be given the force of the law, in almost universal usage today, of global pay. It is by that means that the happiness of laborious humanity, sought in vain thus far, at the cost of utopias and upheavals, by all socialisms, will finally be achieved.

  Let us take an example: a trust employs a hundred men in its exploitation. It pays them the present minimum daily wage, which is two dollars a head. It therefore pays two hundred dollars daily to the syndicate of those hundred men. Now, that work is divided with an anthropoid workforce. Let us suppose a ratio of two anthropoids to one human, and that the production of two anthropoids is only equivalent to that of one human—which is a very pessimistic estimate, since at present, two anthropoids work as hard as three men. The exploitation in question will thus employ fifty humans and a hundred anthropoids. The employer will still pay the syndicate two hundred dollars. The latter will attribute twenty cents to each anthropoid, which is twenty dollars in all; 180 dollars will remain for the fifty men, which represents 3.60 dollars per head instead of two.

  Urban anthropoids will live in special quarters analogous to compounds or the legendary ghettos. These ghettos, which ought to enclose a maximum of a thousand adult occupants, will be formed of the poorest houses. They will be closed by railings. A severe punishment awaits anthropoids that are found outside their ghetto between 9 p.m. and 6 a.m. They will be free within the quar
ters reserved for them. The administration will only intervene to take census or to displace them. It will hold them collectively responsible. Any unjustified absence from the workplace, and any fault in the work on their part, will be punished by the confiscation of furniture or other objects taken at random from their ghetto.

  As far as possible, the regime of compounds will also be applied to Whistlers distributed among agricultural exploitations.

  The death penalty, long erased from legal codes, is reestablished for anthropoids.

  The immediate and total seizure of property owned by the anthropoids will provide the expenses of the new organization: the reassignment of present human habitations for future compounds or ghettos, the furnishing of houses constituting the ghettos, the division and census of anthropoids, indemnities, etc.

  The anthropoids will thus commence the new regime by possessing nothing. Then they will have their wages, of which they can dispose at their complete liberty, and it will be permissible for them to engage in industry or commerce provided that it is restricted to their fellows, inside the ghetto, without any detriment to the labor they owe to humans. They will have no lack of leisure, because it is severely prohibited to employ them outside the seven legal hours. Human protection from competition is completed by prohibiting any exportation of any commodities whatsoever from ghettos.

  If, in spite of all the precautions taken, the Whistlers come to constitute a menacing economic force, national authorities may take such urgent measures as they deem necessary, subject to subsequent referral to the World Delegation.

  Such was the D.M. decree, reduced to a few lines, although it filled a large volume, so many are the mechanisms that have to be put in place when social reorganizations are undertaken.

  During the W.D.’s long deliberations, there was considerable emotion, which justified in advance the statute elaborated with respect of the Whistlers.

  The latter were not unaware that their fate was at stake. Their small groups communicated with one another in spite of the spontaneous brutality of humans.

  An anthropoid boards an aerocar, followed by a human traveler, who seizes him by the shoulders and throws him out as the vehicle takes off. Everyone laughs. There is the same hilarity among telecommunications employees when a Whistler is thrown out without his being allowed to send his message, the price of which has been collected. An isolated anthropoid is beaten up—an easy task, as he is a coward.

  That was what was reported every day. The authorities closed their eyes and blocked their ears, with the complicity of public opinion. But there was not enough determination in that persecution for it to be effective.

  The phonophotogazettes of 23.7.211.II37 published the following story:

  Last night, on a road on the edge of a marshy plain in Hungary. The peasant Raczos, driving a locomotor, is towing to the nearest factory—which is still quite distant—a harvester-thresher-miller-baker that is in need of urgent repair. Suddenly, the tractor stops. A breakdown! Raczos gets down from his seat. He has scarcely begun to examine the components of the machine when he shudders. A murmur breaks the silence. What can it be? Night-birds? But their calls do not have that surprising variety. As for humans, they do not produce a concert so discordant, nor at that hour, nor in that deserted spot.

  Then Raczos thinks of anthropoids, and though he knows that they are despicable, his fear dissipates. Nevertheless, he remains anxious, anticipating nothing good for human peace in such a clearing. In order to gather more information, he tries to get closer to the Whistlers. He walks silently through the reeds, crouching down. Soon, the anthropoids appear. In spite of the obscurity, one might be able to estimate their number at a hundred. None of them seems to be fulfilling the function of chairman or leader. They voice their trills one after another, briefly. Sometimes a no-less-brief medley responds. Assent or jeering? Impossible to tell.

  Raczos returns to his tractor. The breakdown, fortunately not serious, is quickly repaired. Half an hour later, Raczos finds on his route a wireless telegraph caller. The police, alerted and informed, mount aircraft and intercept twenty anthropoids at dawn, which are promptly arrested and put in prison. At least twice as many have escaped. They are actively sought.

  24.7.211.II

  Only one new arrest has been made among the anthropoid conspirators. The Hungarian authorities proceed with an initial interrogation. It is observed that none of the detainees understands Hungarian. On the other hand, none of them is ignorant of the international language. It is, therefore, pidgin that the police employ in communication. However, as the anthropoids are unintelligible when they try to speak, they are made to write their answers down.

  Interrogated as to their origin, the detainees declare fifteen different nationalities.

  Q. Were there Hungarians among you?

  A. Yes. They escaped.

  Q. Their names? Descriptions?

  A. We could not distinguish their features in the darkness. We do not know their names.

  Q. It is not plausible, however, that you held your meeting without knowing one another, without being able to prove your identities to one another or show some kind of mandate.

  A. Why know one another? Why mandates? We met, two or three per nation, to discuss the interests of our entire species. Our fellows understood that our numbers were sufficient, and none of them would have gone to the trouble of increasing it needlessly.

  Q. You were elected, though?

  A. Not at all. We knew that a universal understanding was necessary. In every country, the first two or three who took the initiative of realizing it and possessed enough money to travel so far were naturally designated.

  Q. Designated how?

  A. Via the newspapers. Everything happens in each country as if there were a single newspaper for our species. You ought to know that. Universal and then national information is inserted therein. What would be the point of different versions?

  Q. Do you all have the same opinion, then?

  A. Certainly, since we form a single species. Each of us is mistaken occasionally. The others perceive it and correct it instantly, without there being the slightest inclination to persist. Among rational beings, only humans can persevere deliberately in error.

  Q. We’re not here to talk philosophy. Tell us instead how you understood one another, although belonging to different nationalities.

  A. We have adopted one of our languages, which will henceforth be our only language.

  Q. That’s a new development, if I’m not mistaken?

  A. Entirely new. Our conference was the first opportunity for us to employ that universal language, which was imposed by the necessity of our universal understanding.

  Q. Explain the manner in which you were able to agree on the choice of that language and learn it so rapidly.

  A. How can you not know? Or, if you don’t know, guess? The agreement was made in advance in our minds. The language spoken by the greatest number was chosen, for two obvious reasons: the first was that the fewest possible people would be obliged to learn it, and the second that there would be the largest possible number of people capable of teaching it. After a year, there were people everywhere sufficiently educated to take part in our conference. In three years, no one will make use of particular dialects anywhere.

  Q. National pride doesn’t inhibit you?

  A. All pride is foreign to us. We have a great deal of difficulty understanding the constitution of that sentiment among you.

  Q. You are dangerous, then. You are not human. It is evident that your conference was preparing the destruction of our species.

  A. For the moment, we are uniquely occupied in presenting our claims to the W.D.

  The remainder of the interrogation is postponed until tomorrow.

  This news spread surprise and, it must be confessed, almost fear among humans. The national languages of the anthropoids were known and, even quite often understood, but no one had been astonished by their appearance, even though it would hav
e been a rare merit for disseminated beings to agree with one another on the symbols of thought. Explanations suppressed the excessively odious necessity of admiring the anthropoids. They had, it was said, imitated to the best of their ability the languages most commonly employed around them. Thus, their twitterings were born of human languages, as black men had once acquired the languages of whites.

  Such might well, in fact, have been the origin of the means that the Whistlers had found to exchange their ideas. As for verifying it by linguistic studies, it was out of the question. A sequence of musical notes—do re, for example—might have forty different significations among the anthropoids, according to whether the two were emitted as a crotchet followed by a quaver, a quaver followed by a crotchet, or two quavers, or two crochets, or depending on the octaves from which they were taken, or the timbre of the flute, the clarinet, the oboe or the ocarina that they were given or according to whether they were sounded as ou, a, é, eu, u, in, an, on or i. How could one disentangle from all that what had become of the articulations?

  The annoying but evident truth was that the anthropoids did not lack creative power. Their ingenuity had endowed them, for the depiction of thought, with a sonorous palette much richer than that of humans. That had not seemed astonishing because the acquisition of the palette in question had seemed progressive, thanks to the penumbra of scorn in which the Whistlers lived. But now, suddenly, under the pressure of a perceived danger, they had adopted a universal language! What a facility of understanding! What ability!