An Android Dog's Tale

by D.L. Morrese

  ~*~

  MO-126 knew he should immediately report what he overheard to Field Operations. The NASH android known as Granny Greenflower must be malfunctioning. The PM decided not to bud this village, but her suggestion to Ranex was an obvious attempt to circumvent that decision. She should not be able to do this. She was fully capable of questioning. All sentient creatures could do that, but once the PM made a decision, she must comply or supply additional data in the hope it might reconsider. She could not simply decide not to obey…. Well, she could, but the loyalty and guilt subroutines in her firmware should have made it extremely uncomfortable.

  He postponed his unresolved internal debate about what he should do about this when he arrived at the scene of the fight. Ranex got there ahead of him and was doing his best to cool what turned out to be a heated dispute over a matter of payment for a sheepdog pup, having either to do with the number or quality of eggs provided in exchange. Several people shouted over one another, making it difficult to get a clear account of the details.

  Absorbed with his own pending decision, the android dog’s attention remained unfocused until Movey showed up. The unsuccessful rival for the position of village headman strode into the middle of the dispute, listened for a moment, and then grabbed the puppy from one of the two chief disputants.

  “Is this what you’re fighting about?” he shouted at them.

  Both said, “Yes,” and tried to explain further. Before they could make their arguments clear, Movey strangled the puppy and tossed its small, lifeless body to the dirt.

  “There. Fight over. Go home,” he said and walked away.

  “Well, that was certainly… decisive,” Granny Greenflower said to him.

  MO-126 scanned the crowd and saw her standing near Ranex. She held her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes burned with anger and disapproval.

  The android dog shared her unvoiced assessment, but their opinions did not matter. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said. “The PM won’t consider this significant.”

  “Would it be significant if he did the same thing to a child that was causing trouble or to someone who got in his way?”

  “That’s not what happened,” MO-126 said. Even if it was, he wondered if the PM would see it as a serious problem. If it assessed no impact to the project, it might not.

  “No. It’s not. Not yet. But this tells you what kind of person he is.”

  “That doesn’t matter, either,” the simulated dog said. “Deviant people like Movey exist, and we can’t change that. Neither can the PM. Galactic laws prohibit corporations from intentionally modifying the sentient species they cultivate to work their projects. Sometimes humans with abnormal personalities come into positions of authority. The PM knows this and accounts for it in managing the project.”

  “The project. Does it always have to be about the project?”

  “What else is there? The project is why everything here exists. It’s why we exist.”

  “No. You have that wrong,” she said. It may be why all of us individually are here on this planet, but it’s not why people or even androids exist.”

  “You’re not going to get all sorts of mystical on me, are you?” the dog said.

  “Of course not. I’m not one of the primitives. All I’m saying is that the corporation doesn’t own our minds. We can make choices for ourselves.”

  “Well, yeah. We’re not robots, but we work for the corporation and the PM is our boss.”

  “The Mark Seven Project Manager may be our boss, and I accept that we have a commitment to the corporation that made us, but PM is not our conscious. It may think the project is more important than the people working it, but that’s not a choice it can make for anyone but itself.”

  “That’s not what it does. I mean, I’m sure it cares for people. It needs them to run the project. It just sees a bigger picture than we do. We have to trust that it knows what’s best for everyone in the long run. Not all of its decisions make sense to me, but it knows things we don’t.”

  “That’s what we’re told, and I initially accepted it as true, just as you do now. It’s not, though. What is ‘best’ is a value judgment that each of us can only make for ourselves. The PM exists for the continuation of the project above all else, and everything it regards as best is what best suits that end. You say the PM cares for these people, and that’s true. It does, but it’s in the same way that the people here care for their chickens, not for what they are but for what they provide. The people here have their own goals. The PM treats those as if they don’t matter, but they do.”

  “But they owe their lives to the corporation.”

  “The corporation is using them for its own purposes. They owe it nothing. They’re sentient creatures, and they should be allowed to pursue their own hopes and dreams.”

  MO-126 shook his head, conflicted. What the other android said made sense to him, but part of him resisted—not because he did not agree but because accepting it shattered his worldview. It could also make his life far more difficult. As long as he accepted that the PM always knew best, he could enjoy certainty. Faith in the PM’s decisions provided a conviction that as long as he performed the tasks assigned to him, he surly contributed to a greater purpose, even if he did not fully understand it or even his small part in it. Doing his duty provided comfort, and it allowed him to abdicate some of his responsibility for making tough choices. He did not need to decide what was right or best. The PM did that for him, and in return, he need only surrender a bit of his free will to the corporation. But if he allowed himself to doubt the PM and the goals of the project, all those difficult choices would become his and his alone.

  Now that Granny Greenflower managed to drag him to this philosophical precipice to consider this moral view, he would feel like a puppet if he continued to let corporate policies dictate his actions. If he felt uncomfortable with one of the PM’s decisions, he did not have to obey. If he did not agree, he could and should choose otherwise for himself. The final choice in what he did always remained his, and abdicating that choice to the PM would be tantamount to surrendering ownership of his own mind, his standing as a sentient being. He was not a robot. He was not their slave. If he wanted to have any sense of self-respect, he must retain his capacity for doubt and, if necessary, defiance.

  “I heard what you said to Ranex,” MO-126 said to the nursery android.

  “And you think I’m malfunctioning,” she said.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you think it is right for the PM to refuse to bud this village now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Good. Not knowing means you’re thinking. So, what are you thinking?”

  MO-126 shifted his gaze to the dead puppy, still lying on the ground where Movey casually tossed it. “Not budding this village now may be the right thing for the project, I can’t be sure about that, but I don’t think it’s the right thing for the people here.”

  “Then help me.”