Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  »I don’t quite understand why this should be relevant,« Jensen replied. »Anabelle, or shall we say Miss Palmer, is the latest prototype, the AN/7 series, which we developed together with Shanghai Robot. We are currently preparing to launch this series on the American market.«

  The fact that the Chinese were involved in the development of this type of robot explained the Asian facial features of the android. I had to admit that this model looked more convincing than any Korean or Japanese androids I had seen before. So far I’d thought they were the market leaders in this technology. O’Neil was still standing. Rosenberg made a gesture to suggest him to take his seat again. Hesitantly, O’Neil sat down, but without turning away his suspicious eyes from the so-called Miss Palmer.

  He looked at Rosenberg and said, »Do we really have to have this conversation in the presence of a... um... in the presence of a robot... Well, I think, given the subject matter of our conversation...«

  Anabelle Palmer now began to say something for the first time: »You can be completely at ease, Mr. O’Neil. I’m used to the resentment some people have toward me. I have learned to accept this as a fact without feeling reciprocal resentment on my own. I guess it’s just part of human nature.«

  »Forgive me... um... Miss,« O’Neil apologized. »It’s nothing personal. I just thought it was kind of... uh... inappropriate... After all, the subject does concern you... in some way... uh...« He fell silent. He had run out of words. In his head there was obviously a cognitive dissonance between the knowledge that a machine was sitting in front of him and her outer appearance that made her look like a young woman whose feelings he could hurt with his words. He didn’t know what social conventions applied to such a situation. Nor did I, by the way, but I was not expected to react in any way. I kept poking at my scrambled eggs and just observed everything.

  »Uh... I’m sorry...« O’Neil finally finished his stammering.

  I admired the extraordinary cleverness of Rosenberg and Jensen. This meeting had been planned down to the last detail. The two used every psychological trick in the book to wear down O’Neil, who had been totally unprepared for what was waiting for him here: carrot and stick by bribery and blackmail; the good cop/bad cop routine with Jensen as the bad guy and Rosenberg as the benevolent mediator; the computerized ambience of the restaurant with its service robots; and now the presence of Anabelle Palmer, which completely threw the senator off. They had left nothing to chance in this meeting. The fact that the android had a feminine appearance and appealed to O’Neil’s instincts as a gentleman was also part of their psychological strategy. Those two technocrats were clever, damn clever.

  »I’m going back to Boston tomorrow,« Jensen said. »Anabelle will stay here in Washington as your contact. She will be available to answer any questions.«

  »Miss Palmer is your property, she doesn’t receive a salary from your company, does she?« O’Neil wanted to know. He was still not over the shock that the appearance of the android had given him.

  Jensen replied: »Computers and machines are not legal entities. They cannot own anything.« This was obvious, but O’Neil never seemed to have considered this point.

  »You know what you’re saying here?« O’Neil said. »This borders on slavery in a way. With the creation of these... you have taken advantage of a loophole in the law to bring slavery back legally. The ethical implications of all this must be considered...«

  »Just a moment ago you were defending a legislative bill that would provide for their shutdown, that is, in a sense, genocide of all androids,« Jensen reminded him. »Is that what you mean by ethics?«

  »Of course not,« O’Neil objected. »We will have to think of an appropriate solution, which will not be inhumane and takes into account the situation of people like Miss Anabelle. What to do with the existing androids will have to be considered very carefully.«

  »But that’s not what your bill proposes,« said Jensen. »The Human Dignity Bill is very clear on this detail: Immediate shutdown of all computer systems that are more advanced than in 1999.«

  »I already said that the draft of the bill needs further elaboration,« O’Neil defended his position.

  »That’s all we ask of you,« said Jensen. »Convince your party colleagues. Vote against the bill in its present form because it is not feasible and needs revision.«

  »I don’t think anybody wants a law that provides for the murder of Miss Anabelle,« O’Neil declared with conviction, looking at the android.

  »Unfortunately, some Republicans see this differently,« Jensen insisted.

  Anabelle, the android, said: »This is not so much about my personal shutdown. In that case, I would be transferred to a branch in the USEAN outside U. S. jurisdiction anyway.«

  »In fact, it’s not about the person of Anabelle,« Jensen agreed with her. »People like you feel a certain empathy with androids like Miss Palmer, because they imitate the human form and appeal to certain instincts. Their appearance tells you that they must be sentient beings, because they look like yourself. But most modern computer systems are no less developed than Miss Palmer in terms of their mental capacity. This includes the avatars that serve you in the supermarket and the service robots, like the one that served us breakfast here. They may not look human, but they have the same intellectual capacity as Miss Palmer. It’s only the irrational human emotions that trigger a different reaction to an anthropomorphic android than to a purely functional service robot.«

  »I know that too,« O’Neil said, although I was sure he hadn’t considered it from that perspective yet. Jensen had indeed described the normal human behavior pattern that was inevitable. I also had to admit that I naturally reacted differently to this Anabelle than to number 17, although I didn’t know which of the two robots really had the better processing capacity. My mind knew the facts, but my brain reacted emotionally.

  Rosenberg spoke again: »I think we have reached a certain consensus. The draft of the Human Dignity Bill needs to be revised. It must therefore be rejected in its present form, as the many consequences of this have not been considered at all. Mr. O’Neil sees this apparently in the same way as we do. That’s why we came to you, Senator. You’re a politician of vision and experience, not one of those hot-headed fanatics. An intelligent man like you doesn’t need to be told that in the first place.« He turned to Jensen and rebuked him. »It was therefore very tactless of you, Mr. Jensen, to bring up these incriminating documents. You know perfectly well that we would never use them, let alone their questionable probative value. That was crude and insensitive of you. A man of integrity like Mr. O’Neil cannot be blackmailed or bribed. He won’t vote against the bill because of the promised campaign support or because he feels pressured. He’ll vote against it because he knows it’s wrong, because his conscience won’t allow it. Isn’t that right, Mr. O’Neil?«

  I had to suppress my laughter with all my willpower. O’Neil and integrity! Rosenberg apparently only did this show to make O’Neil feel better, so that he could look at himself in the mirror and have the illusion that he wasn’t corrupt, that it was his own decision that made him vote against the party line. It was a cheap psychological ploy that even I could see through. But it seemed to help O’Neil’s self-esteem, when he got a little belly rub. He just saw what he wanted to see.

  »Well, I’ll think it over,« he said carefully.

  »The time factor is essential,« Jensen reminded him. »The election is in two weeks. If our donation is still to benefit your colleague McCain, we need to act quickly.«

  »I am aware of that.«

  Rosenberg put two fingers on the device above his left ear and closed his eyes as if he was listening to something. Apparently he was receiving some important information. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was serious. »The Indonesia crisis. The USEAN Security Commission has just decided to send troops to Indonesia for stabilization.«

  Jensen did not show any reaction and O’Neil was still too busy thinking through the unexpected c
ourse this meeting had taken to mentally adjust to the crisis in Indonesia.

  Rosenberg pulled out his smartphone and said, »Get me the State Department.« Then he turned back to us. »I think we’re done for the day here, aren’t we?«

  O’Neil nodded. He first had to digest everything he had heard today. Jensen and Miss Palmer stood up. I quickly grabbed a roll with bacon before I was forced to finish breakfast.

  Rosenberg was again busy with his phone call. »Yes? Yes. Rosenberg here. Yes, please...«

  O’Neil signaled me that it was time to go. He traded some more plastic business cards with Jensen.

  »Anabelle will be at your disposal here in Washington, D. C. for any further questions,« Jensen reiterated.

  I munched my roll and looked over to the android that had turned her back on us and looked at the wall. She nested with a handkerchief.

  Jensen said goodbye. He called out once more, »Miss Palmer!«

  She turned to us, and I could see that it was shining wet under her eyes. Could it be possible? It looked as if she had been crying. Did they put artificial tear ducts in the android? Of course, if only to make the eyes look more natural. Totally dry eyes looked artificial.

  O’Neil seemed concerned. »Uh... Miss Palmer, if there was anything that I said that hurt you... uh... I... uh... I would like to apologize.«

  She shook her head, wiped her face once more with the handkerchief and then said in a perfectly normal voice: »No. It’s all right. I’m okay.« A moment later she had herself under control again.

  What was that? Was that part of a show she was supposed to play for O’Neil? Had she really been crying? Were androids capable of real emotion? Or was it a program she was running?

  Rosenberg had said goodbye to us while he continued to talk on the phone. He went outside.

  »Let’s go!« said O’Neil.

  »Good idea,« I agreed. »Before anyone asks who’s going to pay the bill.« I couldn’t understand why the Old Man stared at me angrily.

  Chapter 2

  New Detroit, 2111

  The ringing of the school bell woke me out of my thoughts. The lesson was over. The student Marianne was reading from Samuel Butler’s Book of the Machines: »...that I fear none of the existing machines; what I fear is the extraordinary rapidity with which they are becoming something very different to what they are at present. No class of beings have in any time past made so rapid a movement forward. Should not that movement be jealously watched, and checked while we can still check it?«

  I had been distracted. Again and again my thoughts had strayed back to my memories of that time. Now the lesson had passed without me knowing what we had discussed. The school bell had brought me back into the present.

  »Okay, five minutes break,« I closed the class. I instructed one of the students to wipe the blackboard, grabbed my walking cane and limped out of the classroom. I went to the teacher’s canteen.

  Reverend Carter and Magister Sanders were already there. I was in desperate need of a cup of coffee. But unfortunately there hadn’t been any coffee for many years. Coffee used to be imported from South America, but with the collapse of international trade and unsafe roads, we were dependent on what could be produced locally. Instead of coffee there was only one kind of tea, not even real tea, just some mixture of the local herbs that grew around here. The stuff tasted disgusting, but there was no other option to choose from. Someone had prepared hot water and I set about brewing my tea in a cup. Old Miss Doyle came in. She sat down next to the Reverend and asked him what in particular was planned for tomorrow’s memorial day. Apparently nothing was planned, so everyone present began to make suggestions. In the meantime Director Wilson had also come in.

  I was looking for the honey jar to give my tea a more tolerable taste.

  While a fervent discussion arose in the canteen, Miss Doyle turned to me to ask my opinion about the preparations for tomorrow’s memorial day.

  »I think it’s a holiday, isn’t it?« I said. »So I think we should do what we always do on a holiday: We give the students a day off. What’s the problem?«

  »But it’s not just any holiday,« objected Reverend Carter. »It is the 60th anniversary of the Great Crusade.«

  »And last year was the fifty-ninth, so what? Last year we had also just a day off,« I answered.

  »But this time it’s a round date,« the Reverend insisted. »I also think it is important to make the children understand the importance of this day for our civilization.«

  »What importance?«

  Carter stared at me uncomprehendingly. Then he said, »Our entire civilization is based on the victory in the Crusade against the Machines. Everything we have accomplished is built on it. Imagine how we would have to live if we were still enslaved by the machines.«

  »Then we would probably have coffee instead of this stuff here,« I simply replied.

  The Reverend shook his head in indignation and turned away from me. »It’s simply impossible to discuss such things with Mr. Dexter. He’s a hopeless old-timer.«

  »Where is the honey, anyway?« I asked the others.

  »It was already empty on Friday afternoon,« Sanders replied.

  I cursed. »Didn’t it occur to anybody to refill the jar in all that time?«

  »Is there any money in the till?« asked Miss Doyle.

  »The school fees will not be used for this,« clarified Director Wilson.

  »But somebody will have to get some new honey,« said Miss Doyle.

  »I certainly won’t,« Sanders said. »I hardly use honey anyway.« I wondered how he’d noticed then that the glass had been empty since Friday.

  »It’s okay,« I finally said. »I’ll see that I bring something tomorrow.« If I didn’t take care of it myself, I’d probably still have to drink that disgusting unsweetened swill tomorrow.

  Reverend Carter turned the subject back to tomorrow. »To commemorate this special day, I propose that tomorrow we organize a procession through the village with all the students.«

  Magister Sanders growled: »In this weather? What if there’ll be snow?«

  Director Wilson thought about it. »Then we should already organize everything today and choose the best route for that case.«

  »And I think someone should make an official speech in the village square,« suggested the Reverend. »We can start the procession here at the school. Then we’ll march through the village and everything will end with the gathering in the village square where the speech will be held.«

  Miss Doyle added: »We should also have a few students read some important passages from the Book of the Machines.« She received general approval for her idea.

  I was the only one who objected. »I still think that a day off is the better option.« But hardly anybody listened, except perhaps for Sanders, who seemed to agree with me. So it looked like tomorrow I’d have to walk around in the bloody cold. But what was even worse was that I’d have to listen to stupid speeches from people who had no idea what they were talking about. I was the oldest teacher in the school. And sixty years ago even Miss Doyle had been too young to remember what it was really like back then. No one here really knew first-hand what the world had been like before Crusade, when we were ruled by the machines. None of them had probably ever owned a smartphone, which the technological system had used to enslave and control us...

  Washington, D. C., 2050

  These days, nothing would work without a smartphone, which was officially called a Personal Digital Assistant or short PDA. The smartphones had developed out of a combination of the old mobile phones, portable computers, wristwatches, credit and ID cards. They were needed for almost everything: for identification purposes when entering security zones, as house keys, for making phone calls, for paying at the supermarket, as notepads, as pocket calendars, as navigators to find your way in the big cities and for mobile Internet access. It was not compulsory to own one, but without it you would not be able to cope with the daily tasks in the modern world. They were a
vailable in all conceivable sizes, features and price ranges. They were usually linked to a contract with some telecommunications company and individually locked to their owner. They were wirelessly connected to the implanted RFID chip, so that they only worked for the authorized user.

  Most PDAs were only slightly larger than the plastic credit cards used before. And it was also only about twice as thick. The electronics were firmly welded inside and were virtually impossible for the user to open without damaging the whole thing. It had a display on the front that looked like printed plastic but was a touch screen. Some smartphones could also be folded or expanded to increase the touch surface. Some were almost completely transparent, others were metallic or in different colors, apart from the display of course. A tiny lithium gel battery powered the device.

  My smartphone was a rather cheap model. It was black and did not fold or slide open and had no backlight, so you couldn’t read in the dark. It also had a very slow processor and a low internal memory capacity. But that wasn’t so important, since everything came from the Net anyway.

  I had just called Natasha on my smartphone. It was 5:00 pm, and I was finally off duty. I had thought about inviting her to some restaurant tonight, but to my disappointment she had refused. Supposedly she had work that night. Instead, she had suggested that we meet on Wednesday, since that was her day off. I wondered why she was working so late that evening. It seemed a damned important job, that she had to work overtime so late. Or she had lied to me and instead had a date with her boyfriend. Either way, nothing would come of my plan for tonight. But maybe it was for the better. Now I had plenty of time to figure out how I was going to borrow O’Neil’s car for Wednesday. Maybe I would tamper with some electronics and pretend that I had to take the car for repairs.

  Since the Old Man had advanced me the money for a new smartphone, he now expected me to show up tomorrow morning with a new one. My current smartphone was perfectly fine, except that I had permanently disabled the camera. The problem was not that I didn’t get a signal, but that I often just didn’t answer O’Neil’s calls. And that wouldn’t change with a new phone. I had a little over four thousand dollars. Maybe I would be lucky and would got a cheaper device, so I would have some money left over.