The Drucker Proxy

by Lior Samson

  “Maybe, but we still won’t know who really did it, much less who’s been threatening me and who’s behind Geraldo’s death.”

  “That’s not our job. We’re just trying to get a settlement for Barbra and her company.”

  — 38 —

  Over lunch, Bannon Turndale conferred with the legal team and his clients. “It’s time to make our big play for the game, since we’re stuck in a jury trial.”

  “Tell me again why you did not want a jury trial,” Aram Netsky asked.

  Bannon sighed audibly. “Because a jury will be thinking with their guts as much as their brains. Their sympathies are likely to be with the plaintiff, the poor bereaved widow and her daughter. A high-tech cadre of geeky visionaries is hardly sympathetic. In any case, we have what we have and will fight the good fight. That’s why I’m taking this tactic. It’s not about law at this point; it’s about psychology.” He glanced at the wall clock. “And lunch is over. It’s show time.”

  — —

  After days of mind-numbing technical testimony, the gallery of gawkers and journalists had thinned. Judge Steadman gaveled the court into session. “Is the defense ready?”

  “We are, Your Honor. For our first witness, the defense calls Coleman Todd Drucker.”

  Even before Bannon’s last syllable, Leah Goldstein snapped “Objection!” and the judge banged his gavel. “Sustained. Counsel, I will not have you making a mockery of my courtroom by calling a dead man to the stand.”

  “Your Honor, I have no intention of calling a deceased person to the stand. My witness is not dead, as will be evident when he takes the stand.”

  Steadman paused for a moment. “Court will take a short recess. Counselors, I will see you in my chambers.”

  In chambers, Steadman glared at Turndale. “What are you trying to pull, Counselor? I already ruled on this in pre-trial.”

  “I am not trying to pull anything, Your Honor. I merely want to put my witness on the stand.”

  “The witness is dead,” Workman said. “I can introduce the death certificate into evidence to prove it if need be. This is a civil trial in a court of law, not a séance.”

  “And if I can just be permitted to examine my witness, it will be abundantly clear that he is not dead.”

  Steadman tapped the table. “I am sorry, but I can’t allow you to put an AI, a software system, on the stand.”

  “Coleman Todd Drucker is not an artificial intelligence. His intelligence is completely natural, it has just been embodied in a software substrate.”

  “I’m not going to engage in semantic games with you, Counselor. There is no precedent in California law for putting a computer program on the stand.”

  “But that is precisely my point. I am not asking the Court to put a computer program on the stand but to put Coleman Todd Drucker on the stand, that’s why I am calling him as a witness.”

  Hal leaned forward in his seat. “Your Honor, it is transparent where counsel for the defense is going with this. It is a brazen and bizarre attempt to invalidate the very basis of a wrongful death action. Furthermore, allowing the digital proxy to testify in this case would be tantamount to granting standing before the court to a piece of computer code.”

  “Not the code, Your Honor, but Coleman Todd Drucker as now embodied in a digital proxy.”

  Judge Steadman closed his eyes. “No, absolutely no. I won’t allow it. That’s it. If you are looking to establish grounds for appeal, so be it, but I think any appellate court in the nation would side with my ruling.”

  — —

  Deprived of his dramatic ploy, Turndale returned to the plodding plan of his opening statement by calling a further string of witnesses to muddy the waters, painting a messy picture of technical complexity that implied that neither Existendia nor its officers could possibly be held accountable for the death of Coleman Drucker. In the morning of the third day of the defense, Jerry Pendrake was called to take the stand and be sworn in. “Please state your full name and permanent address for the record.”

  “Jerome A. Pendrake, 1 Live Oak Circle, Santa Monica, California.”

  “Please state your full legal name.”

  “I … I just go by my middle initial.”

  “Unless the letter A alone is your lawful middle name, you need to identify yourself by your full name. For the record.”

  “Jerome Aloysius Pendrake.”

  Tamika, sitting next to Dana, leaned over and whispered. “God, if my middle name were Aloysius, I’d keep it secret, too.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Aloysius,” —she stretched out the syllables— “the guy’s middle name. I wouldn’t tell anybody either.”

  “Ohmygod, I have to let Leah know.” She turned the other way to Doug Pulaski, the new guy on the legal team. “Can you get a message to Leah? Now?”

  “Sure. What it is it?”

  “Tell her when she gets the chance, to ask Pendrake whether he ever worked for the Department of Homeland Security, Idaho National Lab.”

  “How is she going to manage that line of questioning?”

  “Let her figure it out. Just tell her it’s absolutely vital she ask. And she should press him on it if she has to.”

  Pulaski scribbled a note, which he folded and handed to the bailiff. When Leah read it, she looked back at Pulaski with an are-you-sure look on her face. He nodded slowly but emphatically.

  Turndale began his examination of Pendrake with questions about the field of business in which Existendia operated.

  “The service we offer to our clients is unique. Using proprietary brain imaging techniques that we developed and proprietary computer algorithms for analysis of the data from those techniques, we are able to create a complete, active model of a living person’s brain—not just what it looks like but how it functions. The digital proxy, as we call it, captures the complete personality, even the experience and memories of the client. The proxy is the digital embodiment of that person uploaded into the computer.”

  “And your clients, why would they pay you for this … this service? What is accomplished by uploading someone’s personality into a computer?”

  “The digital proxy can take over after a person dies.”

  “Objection. The witness is not qualified to make such an assertion.”

  “I’ll rephrase the question. Please tell the court, Mr. Pendrake, on the basis of your company’s interviews and surveys, what it is that your clients expect to achieve by the process of uploading their personalities into computer form.”

  “They expect their digital proxies to live on indefinitely.”

  — —

  When Bannon Turndale finished his questioning, Leah stood and approached the witness stand. “So, Mr. Pendrake, you are Chief Executive Officer of Existendia Enterprises LLC, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And how long have you held that position?”

  “Since the company was formed, nine years ago.”

  “And what was your employment before that?”

  Bannon Turndale raised his index finger. “Objection, your honor. The defendant’s employment history is irrelevant to the matter at hand.”

  Leah addressed the bench. “It goes to the question of expertise and experience, hence competence in his present role.”

  Steadman nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Please tell the court your position before you joined Existendia,” Leah said.

  “I was President of Blackhorse Services Corporation.”

  Leah looked frustrated. “And what did you do at Blackhorse Services?”

  “I ran the company. That’s what a president does.”

  “Of course. And what was it that Blackhorse Services did?”

  “We provided specialized computer programming services to clients.”

  “What sort of specialized programming?”

  This time Turndale stood up. “Objection.”

  Judge Steadman looked at Leah.
“If this is not going anywhere, please move on.”

  “It goes to the defendant’s own skills and expertise, which is relevant to his possible role in the death of Coleman Drucker.”

  “Objection,” Turndale said. “The witness is not named as a defendant in this case.”

  “The company of which he is the top executive is,” Leah answered.

  Judge Steadman nodded. “I’ll allow it, but finish your line of questioning, Ms. Goldstein.”

  Leah let a few seconds pass before her next question. “Were you ever in the employ of the Department of Homeland Security?”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled. The witness will answer.”

  Pendrake slowed his breathing and flattened his expression.

  Leah moved closer. “Do remember, you are under oath, Mr. Pendrake. Did you ever work for the Department of Homeland Security at the Idaho National Laboratory?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I would know if I had ever worked there.”

  “And you do know the penalties for perjury?”

  “Objection. It is not the job of counsel for the plaintiffs to explain the law.”

  “Sustained.”

  “I withdraw the question.”

  — —

  At the lunch break, Leah lit into Dana. “What the hell was that all about? You made me look like a first-year law student out there. The first rule for litigators is never to ask a question of a witness if you don’t know what the answer will be and what you will do with that answer. You left me hanging with nowhere to go next.”

  “He’s lying. You could see it on his face. Did you see how he paused, as if deciding whether to lie or not.”

  “I’m a lawyer, not a psychic. I don’t do mindreading. So, are you going to at least tell me what this is about?”

  Dana’s mouth opened but she said nothing. She shook her head. “I …”

  “Look, we’re the attorneys, and we’re the ones who decide the strategy and ask the questions. Don’t jump in like that again. Even if you do, I’m just going to ignore you. Understand?”

  Hal Workman put his hand on Leah’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “Maybe he did work for Homeland Security,” he said. “Maybe he did lie.”

  “So? What does that have to do with our case?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe it will throw him off if we need to recall him.”

  “Well, it sure the fuck threw me off.”

  “You want me to take the next cross?”

  “No, I want you not to send me notes that say I have to do something stupid.”

  “It wasn’t me. It came from Doug, remember.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that the junior member of our team is not here at the moment. He’s your boy, so I hope you concur that he could use a remedial course regarding courtroom conduct.”

  “Agreed. Now let’s get something to eat and confer.”

  Once the legal team was off to lunch, Barbra came over. “What was that whole Homeland Security thing about? It got us nowhere and put Leah on the back foot. Getting an outright ‘no’ like that can make us look like we don’t know what we are talking about.”

  “It’s about who killed your husband, who was really responsible for his death. I’m pretty sure now that Gwen Seabrook and Jerry Pendrake were working together and may have played some part in orchestrating Coleman’s murder. I just put together that they were old buddies from their hacker days. She worked under the handle Ipotane and collaborated with a hacker going by the handle Aloe-Wishes. Get it? Aloysius, Aloe-Wishes. She was part of an infamous group known as the Snake River League, and I’ll lay odds he was, too. The Snake River League was made up of cyber-warfare people who had worked with Homeland Security and Idaho National Labs. We need to take this to the police.”

  Rolf threw his hands open. “Take what to the police? That this guy has an odd middle name that sounds like some old hacker handle?”

  “But they called each other and exchanged texts.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  Dana chewed on her lower lip. “I hacked into phone company records.”

  “Oh great, and that’s what you’re going to take to the police? Conjectures, guesses about old digital skullduggery, and stolen data? Really? They’d laugh you out of the room. If they didn’t lock you up for cyber intrusion and data theft.”

  “Then we have to pursue this on our own.”

  Barbra took a step back. “I’m out, guys. I have a lawsuit to win. I don’t have time to play detective—or spy versus spy.”

  As Barbra walked away, Dana looked skyward. “Where do we go from here?”

  Rolf shrugged. “Not to the police, that’s for sure. We got nothing. A rhyming rare middle name and a file of illegally acquired phone records are not going to get us anywhere. Too bad the dead can’t speak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your Hispanic buddy. What was his name?”

  “You mean Geraldo?”

  “Yeah. Did you ever check his phone records? I mean, as far as the police are concerned, he’s at most a missing person, but maybe there’s something in his call logs that could link him back to our equestrian entrepreneur, as you did with … well, the others.”

  “No, I didn’t think to hack his records. No reason. He was with me, my conduit into Tensora.”

  “Well, not that I would be suborning criminal appropriation of digital assets, but maybe you should worm your way back into the phone company and see what bloodstains might still linger in their databases. You did leave yourself a backdoor, didn’t you?””

  “No, it was just a quick in and out again. I’m sure I could find my way back into the customer databases, though, but I don’t see it. Not worth it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but there’s only one way to find out. Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  — —

  After nearly a week more of a succession of hardware and software experts whose testimony only seemed to obfuscate the case and confuse the jury, Bannon Turndale made his last move. “Defense calls Aram Moishe Netsky.”

  After Netsky was sworn in, Turndale called for entering defense exhibit J into evidence, a NuConfer Model 23 Telepresencer robot with its oversize portrait-mode screen, which was carried into the courtroom by two assistants. When placed before the bench, it balanced on its two wheels with barely perceptible motion.

  Leah Goldstein objected. “The telepresence robot that was actually at the scene has already been introduced as plaintiffs’ exhibit B. There can be no valid justification for introducing as an exhibit an entirely new piece of equipment that is unrelated to the case at hand.”

  “This robot, NuConfer Model 23, serial number KJX193619B”—he read from his notes— “is the current embodiment of the computer software complex referred to as the Drucker Proxy, which is at the very center of this case, as will become evident. As soon as I am permitted to examine my witness, I will—”

  Judge Steadman moved quickly to cut him off. “Counselors, approach the bench.” He waited until they both were in front of him, to lean forward. “Mr. Turndale, I ruled on this matter before the trial began. I will not have the issue argued again in open court in front of the jury.”

  “But, your honor, Defense Exhibit J represents, by extension, the Drucker Proxy.”

  “I object, Your Honor. Either this machine is the exhibit being introduced into evidence or the exhibit is something else somewhere else, in which case, that something should be introduced into evidence.”

  Turndale feigned impatient indulgence. “It is physically impossible to introduce into evidence the actual computer software comprising the Drucker Proxy, in as much as said hardware and software are physically scattered among server farms located across North America. Exhibit J, this device, is connected to that network of computer servers, colloquially known as ‘the cloud,’ which is executing the computer code that constitutes the Drucker Proxy. By mean
s of this device, it will be possible to interact with the Drucker Proxy and establish its bona fides.”

  “Objection. If what is being introduced as Defense Exhibit J is software, a collection of computer code, then there is well established precedent for providing a printout or listing of said code as evidence, which then becomes subject to examination by experts in computer software forensics.”

  “As my esteemed colleague, Ms. Goldstein, already understands, Your Honor, the code for the various components of the software currently comprising the proxy comes to more than 120 million lines of code, but that, in itself, is not the Drucker Proxy, which exists as an assemblage of running code in combination with, at the present time, more than seventeen petabytes of model and state data, that’s seventeen million billion bytes, representing the complete state of the connectome of Coleman Drucker.” He took a breath to continue but was interrupted by the rap of Judge Steadman’s gavel.

  “Enough techno-babble. In my chambers, Counselors. Please step back.” He raised his voice and turned to the waiting Aram Netsky. “The witness may step down. Court is in recess and the jury is temporarily dismissed while this matter is settled.”

  — —

  It took more than an hour of debate and questioning for Judge Steadman to become convinced, reluctantly, that the potential probative value of the exhibit as evidence in the case outweighed its possible prejudicial effect. He reasoned that, even if his ruling became grounds for appeal, at least the issues would be exposed to needed scrutiny and debate.

  The jury was recalled and he gaveled the court back into session. “The court, with reservations, will allow Defense Exhibit J to be entered into evidence as containing, by virtue of electronic connection, the computer code and data comprising the software simulation identified by the Defense as a digital proxy, a putative simulation of the brain of one Coleman Todd Drucker, the deceased. Further, counsels for the plaintiffs and the defendants have stipulated that the device and the software simulation, collectively, are an inanimate object of exhibit, any appearance or behavior to the contrary notwithstanding. The jury is cautioned not to personify or anthropomorphize the robot of Defense Exhibit J and to remember at all times that it should not be regarded as a person or as being, in any sense, a party to the matter before the court.”