The Henn na Hotel is located in Sasebo, in Nagasaki Prefecture in Japan. As we drove up to the place, I was impressed by its simple architecture, nothing fancy, just functional. The hotel is located on the top of a sloping lawn, a nice touch, I thought. Not exactly the Waldorf, but it was clean and neat. We walked into the lobby, and received our first shock.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Mike. Tell me I’m not seeing that thing.”
We walked up to the check-in desk and were greeted by a dinosaur wearing a bellman’s cap—a dinosaur, or rather, an animatronic dinosaur that looked like a five-foot velociraptor if I recalled the name right from Jurassic Park. “He” greeted us in English.
“Welcome to the Henn na Hotel, folks,” the dinosaur said. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” The thing held out its claws in front of it, and the jaws moved as it spoke, as if it were chewing on tough steak. Its head also moved from side to side. The word “creepy” doesn’t quite capture the essence of the experience.
“I’ve got a great idea, Mike. Why don’t we sleep on a park bench tonight?”
“Hey, Jen, look at it as fun. When was the last time you were greeted in a hotel lobby by a dinosaur?”
“Actually, this is my first, and hopefully my last time,” Jen said. “I think I’d prefer to deal with that nice looking lady next to the dinosaur.”
“Look closely, Jen. She’s a robot too.”
The dinosaur then asked us to move to the right so our faces could be scanned. I thought this was a pretty ingenious type of room security. To get into your room all you had to do was place your face next to a screen. An orange cart then came wheeling up next to us. The dinosaur advised us to put our bags on the cart.
After the face-recognition window let us into our room, we noticed a little robot on the night table next to the bed. The bot can answer a variety of questions such as the time of day and the weather. Because of Jenny’s talent with languages, we were able to wind our way through the array of Japanese speaking robots.
After we unpacked we went down to the lobby to ask the concierge about local places to eat. The robotic concierge looked like something from Toys“R”Us, but even though it looked like a toy, the thing was helpful with its programmed knowledge of local restaurants.
“Mike, we like to stay at high-end hotels. This place just doesn’t do it for me.”
“That’s the whole idea, Jen. This place is neat and clean, but definitely not high-end. The idea of the robots running the place is pure economics. This is about 70 percent cheaper than a five-star hotel. Hell, it only cost us $80 per night. It may be creepy, but robots do save a lot of overhead. Think about a chain of budget hotels run by Robot Depot bots.”
“Well, we’re here for a market research and a learning experience, Mike, but after a couple of days let’s get the hell out of here and go to the Four Seasons in Tokyo.”
“The Four Seasons is a lovely hotel, madam, but I remind you that the Henn na Hotel is only $80 per night,” the concierge said, apparently having overheard our conversation.
Jenny barked something in Japanese to the robot.
“Pardon me, madam, but I am not programmed to fuck myself.”
Chapter Thirteen
As I promised Jenny, we spent our last two nights in Japan at the Four Seasons in Tokyo, waited on by a world class group of human beings. On the morning after we returned to Long Island, Jen and I were having breakfast at home when the phone rang. Omelet, our cooking bot, had prepared two delicious, well, omelets.
“Mike, it’s Blanche on the phone,” Jenny said. “She’s upset about something. She told me to put it on speaker.”
“Are you two watching News 12?”
“No,” I said, “they giggle too much. We’re watching Fox.”
“Click it on now. They’re about to run the segment again, and believe me it’s nothing to giggle about. You’ve got a big day ahead of you, Mike. I’ll meet you at your office. Put me on speaker while you watch the TV.”
The camera panned on an attractive woman sitting on a park bench. A man, whom we recognized as Dennis Bliedner, a News 12 reporter, sat on the other end of the bench.
“Hello, my name is Dennis,” Bliedner said to the woman.
“Hi Dennis, my name is Heather. You look lonely. Care for some company?”
“Holy shit,” I said. “It’s 7:30 in the morning. This looks a bit mature for kids who may be watching.”
“It gets better—or worse,” Blanche said. “Just keep watching.”
“Why don’t you sit next to me, handsome?” Heather said. “I’d like to get to know you.”
Just then Bliedner stood, microphone in hand and his back to the lovely Heather.
“Friends, what you just saw is a phenomenon that is becoming more common in our modern age. The attractive lady behind me is not a lady at all but a robot. John Beekman, a man from Dix Hills, states that he met a beautiful woman in an encounter like the one you just witnessed. He and the woman married, but he soon discovered that she was not a woman, but, you guessed it, a robot. Humanoid robots are becoming frequent visitors to our communities. They can be purchased at retail outlets like Robot Depot right here on Long Island. Mr. Beekman says that the machine he thought was his wife began to malfunction. When he went to Robot Depot to complain he was treated discourteously, he claims, the clerk referring to his partner as a ‘sex-bot.’ Beekman says that he has been unable to sleep and suffers from emotional distress. He plans to sue Robot Depot. We’ll be following this strange story and we’ll bring you updates when we get them. This is Dennis Bliedner—and no, I’m not a robot—reporting for News 12, Long Island.
***
“May I please speak to James Brody? This is Philip Townsend, attorney for Robot Depot.”
“Hi Phil, Jim Brody here. Something tells me you’re calling about the antics of my former client, John Beekman.”
“Your former client?” Townsend asked.
“Yes, former. We agreed that it would be best for all if he was represented by another lawyer.”
“So I guess you don’t want to say anything negative about your former client.” Townsend said.
“That’s right, Phil. The rules of ethics prevent me from telling you what a fucking lunatic he is. But you guys aren’t out of the woods yet. Mr. Beekman has hired as my replacement, none other than Wally Yaeger.”
“Wally Yaeger, Long Island’s premier ambulance chaser?” Townsend said.
“He doesn’t chase ambulances, Phil, he lies down in front of them.”
“I suppose he’s going to portray Robot Depot as a greedy predator,” Brody said, “playing on the sexual hang-ups of shy people. If there’s one thing that Yaeger loves more than money it’s publicity. The story may have started here on Long Island, but Yaeger’s PR people will have a segment in news reports across the country, maybe even the world. So Robot Depot will go from the highly respected business leader to the pimp on the corner selling sex-bots to horny assholes like my former client. If this case goes to trial, Phil, you’ll see me sitting in the back of the courtroom with a bag of popcorn.”
***
“I’m really not worried about this crap, Blanche,” I said. “The simple fact is that we did not sell that robot to Beekman. He admits that he met the future ‘Mrs. Beekman’ in a bar. How the hell she got there is anybody’s guess.”
Phil Townsend and Jenny were in my office along with Blanche.
“I’m afraid that things are starting to get difficult, Mike,” Townsend
said. The three of us looked at him.
“Do you know something new, Phil?”
“Yeah, I have something new, and I wish I didn’t. I’ve done a lot of investigating since we met that nut job Beekman. Here’s what I found. Not only did we sell the bot, although not directly to Beekman, but we also manufactured the damn thing. As you know, we’ve been experimenting with female androids, figuring we could sell them as greeters, the same purpose as male robots. Hey, Mike, you
and Jenny just showed us that video of that hotel in Japan. Remember that the desk clerk next to the dinosaur greeter was an attractive young woman—which happened to be a humanoid robot. I recently huddled with our defense counsel, a sharp bunch of people. They think that Yaeger the ambulance chaser wants to stretch the boundaries of product liability law and prove that we’re liable for putting a sexually attractive bot into the stream of commerce, whether or not we sold it directly to that pervert Beekman.”
“I’ve seen Yaeger at work, folks,” Blanche said. “I once had a large client in the furniture business that Yaeger sued after his client caught her finger in a folding chair. It should have been a simple case with a settlement. Instead, Yaeger turned it into a crusade against my client, the evil predatory capitalist monster out to cripple the poor consumer. The company went from ten stores down to one, and that one is struggling.”
“Mike,” said the voice of Francine, my robotic receptionist, over the intercom, “The New York Times is on line two.”
Blanche grabbed me by the hand. “Tell them you’ll call back in 15 minutes. We need to come up with a standard response. You agree, Phil?”
“Yes, I agree,” said Townsend, “but then we’ll need to come up with a long narrative, not just some sound bites.”
Francine told the Times that we’d call back.
“Another thing, Mike,” Blanche said. “I think we need to take Francine off reception duty and replace her with a real person. While I was waiting for you and Jenny, another newspaper reporter called, I think it was the New York Post. You weren’t here to take the call or give Francine instructions, so she said to the reporter, and I quote, ‘Fuck off, asshole. We didn’t sell anything to that pervert from Dix Hills.’ ”
We all looked at Jenny.
“I think I better keep my mouth shut around our company bots.”
Chapter Fourteen
Carly dropped me off at the rear entrance to the Robot Depot headquarters. I didn’t want to wade through the crowd of about 30 picketers in front of the building. Although it was raining heavily, the picketers kept walking back and forth, waving their plastic signs. Not cardboard, but professionally printed waterproof signs. The words would be almost funny if I wasn’t so angry.
“Robot Depot – Corporate Pimp”
“Robot Depot – Will your kids be the next target?”
“Robot Depot – The Giant of Automated Sleaze”
“Robot Depot – The Profits of Sin”
Blanche and Phil Townsend were waiting for me outside my office.
“Where’s Jenny?” Blanche asked.
“She’s manning our home phone. Somebody leaked our number.”
“Mike, we have to act fast,” Blanche said. “That scumbag Yaeger can arrange a demonstration in minutes. I recognize a lot of those faces on the picket line from other lawsuits that Yaeger’s handled. He’s one part lawyer, nine parts PR machine.”
I laughed. “Who would believe that nonsense? It’s obvious that it’s a staged demonstration.”
“It’s obvious to us, Mike,” Blanche said, “but on 24/7 TV news, it looks real. To a news producer, a soundbite is a soundbite, and he doesn’t care who’s paying the picketers.”
“Blanche is right, Mike,” Townsend said. “We need to get out in front of this bullshit as soon as we can. A few weeks from now it won’t matter what the law is, or even the facts. The only thing that will matter is the picture that Yaeger can paint. He’s brilliant at manufacturing perceptions.”
“Any legal action yet, Phil?”
“We were served with the complaint first thing this morning. John Beekman vs. Robot Depot and Michael Bateman.”
“He named me in the complaint?” I said.
“I only read part of the caption, Mike. Jenny and Blanche are also defendants, along with almost every salesperson on your showroom floor. Yaeger’s tactic is to cost so much money in legal fees that it becomes a lot cheaper to settle than to fight in court. His client’s robot wife isn’t the only one who’s fucking people.”
“I’ve lined you up to be interviewed by Shepard Smith on Fox News this afternoon,” Blanche said. “He’s got a reputation as a straight shooter, and also as a guy who doesn’t put up with bullshit. It’s a nationally syndicated show and it will buy us some time. His producers know how to put on an interesting show, so don’t be surprised if you see a female android standing next to him.”
I’m used to seeing Blanche remain calm under pressure, but as she spoke she was shredding a napkin.
“So what do I say to all the reporters calling, not to mention Shepard Smith?” I asked.
“Phil and I have been talking about just that question. Phil, tell Mike your radical idea.”
“So here’s my radical idea, as Blanche puts it,” Townsend said. “Tell the truth, as simple and as radical as that. Tell them that Robot Depot has just recently gotten into the business of humanoid robots, and you’re promoting them to be used as greeters and information providers. If people want to abuse a product, whether it’s a robot or a barstool, Robot Depot can’t control that.”
“Easier said than done,” I said. “I’m not a lawyer, Phil, but I know how it all works. This lawsuit is going to result in discovery, including written interrogatories and depositions. I’m sure that some of our younger marketing executives are on the record joking that we sell female androids for fun as well as business. Just a bunch of dumb ideas blurted out at marketing meetings, stupid jokes that sound like ideas, but ideas nonetheless—recorded ideas. Yaeger will probably put some of the quotes on the side of his car.”
“One positive thing is this,” Townsend said. “Although Yaeger always raises money and backers for his major lawsuits, it’s nowhere close to the amount of cash that Robot Depot can throw at a case. We can squeeze his financial nuts until he yells.”
“I wish I could be as optimistic as Phil,” Blanche said. “Something tells me that Yaeger has some huge funding in the wings.”
“Blanche is right, Phil. Yaeger is about to spring something on us.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Good morning everybody, and what a beautiful morning it is—no shit,” said one of our floor cleaning bots as he wheeled around the room. Obviously he’d been chatting with Jenny.
We were having a strategy meeting in my office with Blanche, Phil Townsend, and me. Jenny surprised us by showing up a half-hour after the meeting started.
“I thought you were going to monitor the telephone at home, hon”
“I decided to turn the phone off and get a new line.”
“But what if it’s a reporter with a deadline?” Blanche asked.
“Fuck ’em,” Jenny explained.
“I hate to start the morning off with something negative, but I think we may have another problem,” Blanche said. “On my way here this morning I remembered a TV interview that Mike did about two years ago on a Saturday morning business show. Eric Bolling, the host of Cashin In, asked Mike about the economic impact of robot technology. The show concentrated on robots that had business uses. They walked around our showroom floor, from bot to bot, from a hamburger making machine to a soda pourer, to a personal calculator, and on and on. Then Bolling hit Mike with the big question. I remember this like it was yesterday. ‘On a per robot basis,’ Bolling asked, ‘how many employees do you think each of these machines replaces on average?’ Without batting an eye, Mike, you said, ‘Each of these robots replaces 10 employees.’ If you recall, that show resulted in headlines and columns in newspapers and magazines over the following month.”
“Oh, my God,” Jenny said. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”
“You got it, Jenny,” Blanche said. “We’ve got a union problem, a big fucking union problem. That’s where Yaeger will get his funding for this lawsuit. From unions. They hate Robot Depot, and I’m guessing they’ll invest tens if not hundreds of millions of dollars to bring Robot Depot to its knees. They see Robot Depot as a company dedicated t
o robbing hourly employees and entry level people by replacing their jobs with cheaper robots.”
“But that’s bullshit,” I said. “Last year I wrote an article for the Wall Street Journal with Bill Gates. We both agreed that some kind of tax should be levied on job-taking robots for exactly that reason. I don’t want to take jobs from people, but at the same time we can’t stop technology from moving forward. We have to think it through and plan for the future.”
“But the unions still hate you, Mike,” Blanche said, “no matter how many op-ed pieces you write. They see you and Robot Depot as job stealers and that’s that. Hell, I’ve read opinions by some union leaders over the years that even complained about the use of personal computers. They worry that spreadsheet software will displace armies of junior number crunchers.”
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