‘That’s a message from Ellie?’ asked Beck.
‘Yes, my copy of it. We talk on a social network, but I like a hard-copy of everything that’s said.’
‘In case the site goes down, or something?’
‘Yes. And also because, at the start, the Internet was charged by the minute, or only accessible at internet cafes.’
‘I was in one of those yesterday.’
‘Yes, a dying breed. Of course, it’s much easier to access it now. But I still keep up my old journal.’
Having enquired over the format of the message, Beck now worried at its contents,
‘But I shake at the thought of Ellie being out on the “moors” – being too far from civilisation hasn’t helped Danny.’
But Chris only smiled,
‘Doctor, she isn’t literally on the moors,’ he explained. ‘This is all code. She means Exmoor, which is near where she lives. “Old job” means she hasn’t moved employment since the last time we spoke.’
‘It still amazes me that she has a job.’
‘Yes, indeed. Has kept the same one all this time, in fact. “Very relaxing” means she is under no pressure or suspicion, and with no other issues affecting her. This is echoed by “over too soon”, by which she is saying that she is stable there and can go back without worry, that she isn’t on the run or feels on borrowed time. Mentioning “holiday” refers to our unwritten code that we only log into this site when a little distant from home, so as not to give away each person’s main location.’
‘But “sunburn”?’ asked Beck.
Chris answered, ‘I confess that caused a worry. Perhaps she has the slightest damage? Yet the overall tone of her message suggested it wasn’t holding her back. And a mention of “must meet up soon” or some other such wording would have indicated that she wanted it looked at.’
Beck took it all in,
‘My Ellie.’
‘Your Ellie is fine and well, Doctor.’
‘And so, you write in these vague, even misleading, terms so that, even if one of you, or the network, were detected, it still wouldn’t give the others away?’
‘Correct – Eris would never learn our true locations.’
‘I guess you’d only log in at home in an emergency?’
Chris nodded, ‘I take a day at the coast – I like the air – just log in somewhere, and note anything new down in my book.’
‘Go on.’
‘So this message means she’s well, no change, still playing her part in society. And I’ve had similar messages from Danny; just a few weeks ago, full of references to, “Having a great time by the water, lungs full of air,” and, “better get back to work before I’m fired (I’m too good a worker!)”’ Chris didn’t even need to refer to the book to remember the wording.
‘“Fired”?’ worried Beck.
But Chris was again untroubled,
‘Fire, along with air and water, are three of the four ancient elements, which I inferred to mean he was still working with the fourth element, earth – inferred correctly, as it turned out.’
‘Right,’ remarked Beck in an abstract fashion.
‘And the “I’m too good a worker!” meant he was still in good condition. Again, it was the playful tone that assured me he was fine.’
‘I wish we could be sure of that now.’
And Chris joined Beck in a moment of reflection.
Beck’s head was processing at a fraction of the speed his creation could manage, before he asked,
‘But the dates. Are both these messages weeks old?’
‘Again, no need to worry. We’re often not in touch unless we need to be.’ And in Chris’s voice was sadness. ‘And bear in mind, they work full time. Neither are a creature of leisure like myself.’
‘“Back to the desk”?’
Christopher nodded, ‘As I say, it can be months, I’m never worried.’
‘But wait a minute.’ Another thought had occurred to Beck. ‘You “take a day at the coast” to check for messages. Yet you told me last night you would be instantly notified by your phone.’
‘Hmm, given the urgency of the current situation, then I had to take the risk of downloading the site’s application onto my smartphone and staying signed in. Obviously I’d have burned the phone and deleted all our profiles after any crisis had averted. But things are quickening, Doctor. I think we all felt that at Danny’s alarm.’
Beck was anxious, ‘But if they ever did find your phone, then they’d know every square foot of land you’d ever stood in with it.’
‘Do you think I don’t know this business?’ was Chris’s only answer.
Partly to change the subject, and partly because he needed to know, Beck asked,
‘And so you think Danny was happy?’
Chris answered as Beck finished up his breakfast,
‘Well, he always loved the great outdoors. But in one of his recent messages, in reassuring me he was among trusted colleagues, he wrote, “Among good friends.” And he ended the sentence, “and I wish among older friends.”’
‘Us?’
‘My thought too, Doctor. And I have a sense that Ellie might be at that point also.’
‘How so?’
‘Because, while you were sleeping a new message came through – she has requested we meet.’
Chapter 54 – Ethical Concerns
Surrounded by the sky above London, Eris stared at the democratic leader of her nation, whose sheer oddness, once she had gotten up close, had mystified her. What his motives were for wanting the robots caught, she now had no idea. And as for what her motivation should be in carrying out his instructions, well she really thought it best not to even consider the matter. She told herself that she was a professional, that she did as she was bidden. But a short while in his company had left a very bad taste. And nor were things getting any happier at that moment, with her host appearing lost within his mind in a kind of fugue-state – how on earth did the voters of Britain not see this side of him?
But then that famous face became re-animated, as if his thoughts had switched tracks again, back to what he had been talking about a full five minutes earlier. For this, Eris was ineffably grateful. He resumed,
‘This is in no way a criticism of Schmidt or his work, me suggesting that his creations are not moral; simply that he might not have made them like humans: not thinking like humans, not accepting other people’s rights like we do.’
‘But Beck spoke of them as model citizens,’ she countered, ‘wise beyond their years.’
He smiled that knowing smile of his, ‘Yet Doctor Beck could be romanticising; and that’s before we know what eight years on the run has done to his creations. That long in isolation does enough to a human for a doctor to be worried about them, such as when a survivor of a boat or plane crash finds themselves alone on a desert island.’
The Prime Minister continued, ‘At present, the artifs are like rabbits with their cage door left open: scared to face the world at first; and then, the moment they do so, panicking and running frantically for corners, for anywhere to hide, hurting themselves and any other creature that gets in their way. Such a rabbit could die of a heart attack as quickly as stoving their head in on a fencepost.’
Eris interjected, ‘Sir, if this was going to happen, then wouldn’t it have done so eight years ago upon them suddenly becoming outlaws? Surely what the artifs have displayed instead has been a cool and calm ability to assimilate, as demonstrated by their sheer invisibility before these recent alarms.’
But the PM was unmoved by his visitor’s arguments, continuing along his own line of thought,
‘In doing this we are helping Schmidt; we are saving his creations from destroying themselves before they’ve had a chance to adjust to the world. They are without precedent, a creation that by all accounts we might consider an equal, or at least can credit with a form of consciousness. As such we have a duty, an obligation, to take the required time to draw up the rules of our relati
onship, and to draft the laws a new life-form requires. We must delineate where the artifs share our rights, where they do not, and where they have earned new ones.
‘And we have to ask a larger question: of whether in our definition of “human rights” we really mean “conscious rights”, whereas humans have been the only ones in that category before. If a class of robot or artif can be a conscious creature, then every piece of human rights legislation – nationally, and internationally where it affects us here in Britain – must be redrawn, re-termed. Indeed, a new category must be coined. Humanism must become sentientism, or consciousism, or self-awareism.’
‘Or they could just be called human, sir, but born a different way.’
He shot back, ‘And do you believe that that argument would be won any sooner, Eris, what with the public’s inherited fears? And with the unspoken belief in a God-given soul, possessable only by its owner, that lingers, as I say, even in our secular times?
‘Examine yourself, Eris. Are you happy with the suggestion?’
Eris didn’t examine herself. Instead she began to get her Mojo back, saying boldly,
‘I only want them to not feel like prisoners on the run. Maybe then they wouldn’t be so reluctant to make contact.’
‘Yet, how can it be any other way? For instance, you mention how one of them sat a Cambridge entrance exam...’
‘Oxford, sir.’
‘Oh, Oxford. Yet as things stand they could never attend a university, any more than a washing machine or a motor car could.’
‘But does it say anywhere that university is solely for humans?’
He had to think a moment before answering,
‘Maybe not. But they certainly wouldn’t be guaranteed a place based on their ability, as humans are.’
Eris considered, ‘Well, if they are as clever as they seem to be, then I’m quite sure that they could get by well enough without a social safety-net.’
‘But it is an intellectual point, Eris, and only one of thousands. Have we ever before imagined that anything but a human would even wish to, or have earned the right to, attend a place of learning? Or to be protected under the law? Or to be subject to that law if they commit a crime? These questions may take years, decades, to formulate, let alone answer. I know this is a dry subject, but it is precisely what I’m appointed to this role for. Does this interest you, Eris? Ethics?’
‘I’m more of a practical person, sir.’
‘Of course you are, hence you holding your post, and I mine. I sense a question? A “practical” one I expect?’
Disarmed, she answered,
‘Well, only how long this “required time” might take. When the legal process can seem so slow...’
‘Too long is not long enough in a case like this. How long did it take to forge the American Bill of Rights or the Revolutionary Ideals of France?’
Eris had hardly had forewarning to look up such information, so didn’t argue the point. Instead she amazed herself by remembering from her schoolgirl history,
‘But Britain hasn’t had a written constitution since Magna Carta, and even that was written in a field.’
He shot back, ‘And does that strike you as a happy fact? Would you rather not have had one?’
‘I just wonder if something of our freedom through the centuries hasn’t been down to this lack of legislation. The same as our towns not having set street plans, and our language not being codified. I suppose what I’m saying is, couldn’t we trust in our native fairness?’
At this, the Prime Minister hardened, as he said,
‘And would that be the same “native fairness” that you displayed toward your predecessor two years ago? When you made a complaint about him, losing him his job, and knowing full-well that you were his obvious successor?’
Chapter 55 – Sparring
Eris bristled. That had been a low blow, and one kept coldly in reserve. She said to her boss, the nation’s boss,
‘Sir, my predecessor had been going wrong for a long time. Not least in the case of these robots. This is a situation that might have been resolved long ago had he kept a proper monitor on Beck and others during the intervening years. That it was left to me to blow the whistle on that lack of focus was personally regrettable, and yes, I admit, personally advantageous. But...’
But... the man said nothing, just smiled that awful smile, that made Eris wish he’d go back to just staring at her. She had taken the bait, which was precisely what he’d wanted her to do, and now he could paint her as the Evil Queen of every one of his confused and paranoid beliefs. He began,
‘As one with a background in ethics, you may expect me to have a certain distrust of the police, especially the secret police, whose colours I hope you don’t kid yourself that you don’t sail under. That we appreciate and respect each other in our opposite roles is one thing; though I’m afraid it ends there.
‘The idealist may condone but can never love the pragmatist. Who was it who said that? Do those words strike you as cynical, Eris? Am I wishing to be whiter than white, while leaving you to do the things I don’t wish to have my own hands dirtied by? I wouldn’t have thought that you, in your line of work, might have such a thin skin as to be offended by someone holding an imperfect opinion of your profession. I wonder, what opinion do you hold of it yourself?’
To which she could not answer. He rattled on, clearly loving the sound of his own voice,
‘In this regard you are a tool of pragmatism, there to gather and protect these creations (by whatever means) for the law to do their work for them. And for which task you are amply rewarded. You are a dog-catcher, Eris – do not imagine you are any more.’
Eris ignored the flow of insults, to ask,
‘But this capturing and holding... we’re talking, what – five, ten, fifty years?’
‘If required, yes. I believe these individuals can last that long, in fact much longer if maintained.’
‘Beck called it prison.’
‘I call it interment.’
To which she couldn’t repress a snigger.
He asked, ‘Why do you laugh?’
‘Well, sir,’ she began, appreciating that the time for varnished niceties between them was over, ‘it only strikes me that in bending over backwards to provide the artifs with rights, you are in fact consigning them to a life with none; and that the longer that it takes to get this legislation right, then the longer they have absolutely no rights at all, effectively being cast as outlaws or being held without charge or term.’
‘Are you their spokesperson now?’
Eris repressed a gasp at the question from a man she was discovering could be so rude. Instead, she breathed in, and answered calmly,
‘No, sir. I’m merely pointing out that in making their options so stark then you’re making my job harder in encouraging them towards us.’
‘So, this is all about you wanting an easier life?’
‘No. I just think that you’re a very good debater, sir.’
‘Hmm.’ The PM paused, and looked out across the city he controlled from his eyrie, saying,
‘And Beck. You’ve met him?’ (She nodded.) ‘He’s left his family for them, you know. His wife is resourceful though, has already got their children across the channel.’
Eris considered, ‘He must have got a message to them. He must love them very much.’
‘That isn’t usual of a husband?’
‘You’d be surprised.’
They sat in silence awhile. Eris had the impression that whatever her leader had hoped to convey had surely been so by now. She was all set to absent herself from the transparent platform, when he said,
‘Before you go, I have something else to tell you. Something not official, not to be shared. We don’t want only the robots, we want Beck, and Schmidt too if you find him. We have a laboratory being set up as we speak, based at the living facility we’re building for them. We want new ones, and we want Schmidt and Beck to build them, and we want them all t
o be with us.’
Chapter 56 – In Christopher’s Car – Soliloquy
As on the previous evening, Christopher drove, and again Beck had to be the passenger.
‘Won’t you let me take a turn?’ he asked.
The answer was predictable. However, Christopher’s response was more like that of one of Asimov’s obedient breed than the prone individual that Beck had been getting to know all over again those past few hours.
Chris answered,
‘Doctor Beck, although that is a kind offer, it is based on the false assumption that I am like a human driver. A human may well be glad of a break for tired eyes. However, at the minimal level of physical and mental exertion required for driving in a leisurely manner, my energy levels are running down little quicker than were I sat watching you drive. Meanwhile, with my superior vision, responses, and concentration, I venture that we are very much less likely to suffer an accident with myself at the wheel.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Beck, resigned not for the first time to having no control over the direction of their affairs. ‘So, explain to me again what Ellie told you?’
Chris repeated Ellie’s overnight social media message, verbatim, without notes or without diverting his gaze from the road ahead,
‘“Time to make the long-planned road trip, with dear friends old and new. Bags packed! Back to where I dropped my dolly – all those childhood memories! Every time I leave I feel I’ll never go back. Maybe this time?”’
Beck had heard the message three times now, and was still pondering it,
‘It’s less windy than the others.’
‘Yes, certainly more direct.’
‘And for the first time there are mentions of leaving, and not going back.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Chris.
‘But “friends” – she doesn’t mean a tail?’
‘If she were using the word “friends” ironically then I sense that she wouldn’t have included us “old” friends in there.’
‘True. But if we are the “old” friends, then that means she has “new” friends that she trusts as much.’
‘And there the creator confirms himself to bear the logic of his creation.’