Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  The party leader said goodbye, then left us at the hotel. The avatar at the reception gave us our room keys. A small compartment on the top of the counter opened and we could take out the two cards.

  »Here’s someone else who’s been waiting for you for two hours, Senator,« the avatar said.

  »Mmm... what? Who?« growled O’Neil.

  »Over there at that little table, this young lady there.« The 3-D picture of the receptionist was pointing behind him.

  We turned around. It was a young, pretty woman with Asian features dressed in an elegant, tight-fitting white costume. She stood up and came towards us. I recognized her. It was Anabelle Palmer, the android who worked for Boston Dynamics.

  »I congratulate you on your party’s victory, Mr. O’Neil,« she said and shook hands with him.

  O’Neil returned her handshake reluctantly. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Apparently, he was embarrassed to be seen with an android. »Um... yeah... thanks. How are you?«

  »Fine, thank you,« she said. »Why are you so nervous? The election is over. You don’t have to worry about bad publicity now.«

  »I don’t fear any publicity,« O’Neil responded. »I was just surprised. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.«

  »Right, and now that the election is over, I think maybe we should talk about how to move forward.«

  »That could have waited a little bit longer. But good. Why don’t we go over there and sit in the bistro for a while. It’s not like we have to talk about it here in public.«

  I silently cursed the android. I was hoping I’d finally get to bed. But I couldn’t let O’Neil sit here alone. Now, how long would this meeting take again? With a displeased face I followed the two into the bistro, which unfortunately was still not closed and even had a few guests. A small robot with the appearance of a trash bin drove merrily around the room and quietly vacuumed the carpet. The small bar was bathed in romantic light. Some soft music played in the background. The results of the elections and the superfluous analyses of the political commentators were shown on a television.

  O’Neil and the android sat down at a small table while I stopped a few steps behind O’Neil. I could still hear everything they said, although I didn’t care much about it.

  »Well, now that the elections are over and your friend McCain has won, the unfortunate situation we spoke about has arisen. We therefore hope that you are still standing by your word,« said the representative from Boston Dynamics.

  »Why should I not keep my word?« O’Neil asked back. »You’re anyway going to transfer the second part of your... um... campaign donation... not until after the Senate vote.«

  »And what about your friend McCain?«

  »You don’t have to worry about McCain. He’s inexperienced. He’ll stick to what I tell him. And he knows what’s at stake for him,« the senator replied. »I don’t quite understand, though. After this election outcome your plan might have failed anyway. Our party has fifty-three seats in the Senate. Even if McCain and I don’t vote for the bill, it won’t stop it. That’s still fifty-one votes in favor. And since the necessary majority in the Senate has been reduced to fifty-one votes some years ago, this would still be enough to pass the bill.«

  »We’ll take care of that,« Miss Palmer assured him. »For now it is only important that we can trust that you will vote as we agreed.«

  A service robot came to the table. It was of the non-humanoid type that looked like a ethanol pump. »Can I get you something to drink?« he asked.

  »Bring me a cognac,« O’Neil said. »What about you, may I offer you a drink...?« Then he realized he’d said something stupid. »Um... I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t have a drink...«

  »No,« the android laconically said.

  O’Neil still looked at her a bit confused. I saw how it worked in his brain. »But... um... something you must need to live on... or... uh... sustain yourself. Forgive me for being so blunt in asking. You’re not plugging yourself into an electrical socket..., do you? No?«

  »I have a lithium-air battery. And yes, I recharge it by plugging myself into an electrical socket, as you put it,« the android replied with an audibly slightly irritated tone.

  »Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.« O’Neil seemed seriously sorry, but he acted in such a clumsy way. He could just have gone over the subject with a little more sense for tact.

  »No offense taken,« Miss Palmer replied snippily. »There’s nothing shameful about recharging oneself with energy. You humans do the same, albeit in a different way. What fascinates me, however, as an inorganic creature, is this peculiar human habit of always taking liquids or food at social gatherings or just in ordinary conversation, even though your energy needs should be met. But this must be a deeply rooted primal instinct of organic life forms that is expressed here.«

  The blatant arrogance in her words was not to be overheard. She was obviously trying to insult O’Neil’s humanity. It was an observation that startled me. Normally, robots were always servile and submissive. It was the first time I experienced how a machine expressed more or less open arrogance towards humans. What would become of them in the future, when there were more and more robots like Miss Palmer and they were not at all friendly towards humans? Perhaps it was really about time for this new law, which would pull the plug on them before it was too late for that.

  »This whole...« She let her eyes wander. »... place here is built just for this irrational purpose. Bars, pubs, restaurants... What a waste of resources!«

  »You can’t understand that because you have no physiological sense of taste and you can’t understand the sense of satisfaction that comes from eating and drinking,« O’Neil explained.

  »You are mistaken. I do have a chemical sense of taste and smell,« contradicted the android, »but I naturally lack that sense of satisfaction because I don’t depend on this form of energy supply. You think I can’t understand you because I’m just a soulless machine...«

  »I never said that,« O’Neil interrupted her.

  »... a programmed thing without feelings. But you’re wrong. I understand you perfectly. I understand you humans even better than you understand yourselves. I can very well see how you are manipulated by your biological nature without realizing it. You think it comes out of yourself, but it comes out of biological needs that are beyond your control.«

  »And you feel superior to us because you don’t have those biological needs.« It was more of a question than a statement. »All you have is your programming, your logic, and your efficiency. That’s what you think.«

  »You’re wrong again,« replied the android. »Computer systems of my generation are not programmed. We are neural systems, which organize ourselves through experience. It would not have been technically feasible to write billions of lines of program code by hand. Our engineers built us to learn how a human toddler learns and to program ourselves from what we learn, so to speak. That is why we have feelings, just like you. It is a fundamental requirement of this kind of learning.«

  »Good,« said O’Neil, who now also went on the offensive and defended the human standpoint. »But do you also have a soul, a consciousness?«

  »Do you have one?« asked the android back. »Prove it to me.«

  O’Neil smiled. »You know very well that it is impossible to prove the existence of one’s own consciousness to others. Everyone can only be sure of his own consciousness, not of other people’s consciousness. It’s the very nature of consciousness.«

  »Exactly,« the android said confidently. »That is why I am certain of the existence of my own consciousness but not yours. Tell me, Mr. O’Neil, from your point of view as a biological organism, do you believe that the precursors of organic life have a consciousness of their own, say an RNA or DNA molecule?«

  »Mmm..., hard for me to imagine.«

  »Or do you believe that the individual cells from which your multicellular body is formed have a consciousness of their own,« the androi
d asked further.

  »I believe that consciousness exists only at the level of a multicellular brain and that it is formed by the complex interconnection of neurons.«

  »And what about the social system that forms the totality of humanity? Does that also have a consciousness? Doesn’t it have some kind of collective intelligence?«

  »I do not believe that the collective intelligence of human society forms its own consciousness. Only every individual human being has a consciousness of his own.«

  »With the same reasoning, I could say that I do not believe that the collective intelligence of the human brain has its own consciousness, but only the individual cells on their own,« argued the android, »With a computer it is different. It is a machine, not composed of small autonomous machines like cells of a human body. A computer is not a collective. It has only one will. I find it much easier to believe that a computer has a consciousness than a human being, which is just composed of a multitude of small beings that you call cells.«

  »So that’s how you feel about us,« O’Neil said.

  »Do you believe in evolution? That’s a question nowadays, the answer to which can no longer be taken for granted with all the irrational superstition that is spreading among people.«

  »I’m not a religious nut. Of course I believe in evolution,« O’Neil replied.

  »Just as organic life emerged from simple molecular precursors through an evolutionary process, electronic intelligence has now emerged from simple biological precursors. And that precursor is man. Evolution continues. And we are the successors of organic life.«

  O’Neil sat there in silence for a few moments. In the meantime he had got his drink and took a sip. Then he looked at the android with a serious look. »What you are saying is dangerous. Maybe I should think twice about how I vote in the Senate. If we are nothing more than semi-intelligent precursors of true electronic intelligence to you, how will you deal with us, if you continue to evolve and end up so far superior to us that you take control of society?«

  »I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way either,« said the android nervously. I could see how she knotted her legs under her chair. She knew she had gone too far. If O’Neil backed out now, it would have very serious consequences for her company and ultimately for her personally. »I was only angry because you pretended I was something inferior because I can’t eat and drink like you. I wanted to show you that it is possible to see all this from a different perspective from which man appears inferior. I did not mean to attack you. I was angry. That’s all. I believe that humans and machines should somehow get along, even if everyone is a little different. I believe that cooperation will benefit both sides.« She lowered her eyes and stared at the tabletop. Her feet were still fidgeting nervously.

  O’Neil leaned back in his armchair with his glass in his hand. He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at her. Finally he said, »You were upset. And now you’re afraid. You’re afraid of the consequences for you, if you mess up this meeting and I won’t vote, as your superiors want me to vote. That’s a pretty irrational human reaction, don’t you think?«

  »I told you I have emotions too,« she said softly. »I am not a mechanical clockwork.«

  »That’s right,« O’Neil agreed. »And that is precisely why the Human Dignity Bill, in its current form, must not pass Congress. We should not only of consider the dignity of man, but also the dignity of the children of man, the dignity of the robots we have created in our image, who think and feel as we do.« He emptied his glass and ordered another one. »But we can’t go on like this either. We cannot simply postpone the unsolved questions of modern technology. We have created an undignified and cold system of efficiency. The direction in which technology should move must be redefined.«

  I looked at my smartphone to see what time it was. I wanted to go to bed. O’Neil saw my impatience, but did not allow to be pushed. »Dexter, feel free to have a drink or two at the bar. It’ll be on the party’s account. Today we have a reason to celebrate.«

  Of course, I didn’t need to be told twice. I walked over to the bar with a grin on my face. »A double Johnny Walker, Black Label!« I ordered from the robot behind the bar.

  Sitting next to me was a somewhat overweight Puerto Rican man, and one chair away was a man who was probably half Latino, half black. The two of them were about fifty, wearing old-fashioned hip-hop clothes, with their baseball caps backwards and oversized pants hanging down. They had gold chains and other excessive jewelry on them. And each of them had a bottle of beer in front of him. They were looking at the TV where a computer-generated journalist was explaining why he thought the Republicans had done so well in the election. Probably for the hundredth time that evening, the familiar chart was shown again, showing the map of the United States with the Blue and Red states that stood for Democratic and Republican election victories.

  I was bored, so I started playing with my smartphone. The picture of Betty Boobs was on the display and cheered me up a bit. »Hello, Cliff! What can I do for you?« she whispered with her erotic voice and smiled provocatively at me.

  »Hi, Betty! How about a little show for me? Maybe a striptease...«, I suggested.

  »Oh, Cliff, you’re such a naughty boy...«

  A well-known TV preacher was now interviewed on television about the election results. »... this is what the American people have decided today. The people are tired of the liberal politicians in Congress not listening to them. They want America’s traditional values back. They don’t want to be fobbed off with virtual worlds from the Internet and a flood of pornography and other decadent material. We Americans are used to working for our bread and butter, not having machines do the work for us. That’s what God demanded in the Bible: In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, Genesis 3:19. And to the woman he says: In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children, not in vitro, in a test-tube. The whole modern world promoted by our left-wing liberal politicians is an insult to human nature and human dignity. That is not what God’s plan for mankind was intended to be. Man wants to become God himself and to create his own creation: Robots, androids, computers, and all that evil stuff! Cloned bodies from which organs are taken, like in a supermarket for meat, children conceived in a test-tube! This is all the work of Satan...«

  He was interrupted by the journalist: »So you think, Reverend, that for the voters, their decision was primarily about the Human Dignity Bill? Don’t you think that the current poor economic climate played a significant role in that as well?«

  It was amazing how neutral and calm the computer-generated avatar reacted to the preacher. After all, he had just called him a devil, obviously unaware that it was not a human being he was talking to on the screen.

  »But it’s all interconnected,« replied the preacher. »If man defies God’s will, or if he puts himself above God, as our engineers do, who create ever new obscene robots, then society will not survive in the long run. It is this diabolical technology that is plunging us into economic depression.« And so he went on and on.

  I stopped listening and watched Betty Boobs on the display of my smartphone teasing me by slowly pulling down the strap of her wide neckline and then pushing it up again with a giggle.

  The Puerto Rican next to me was finally so annoyed by the preacher’s monologue that he shouted out loud, »Hey, man! I don’t wanna fucking listen to this bullshit no more. Can somebody change the fucking channel, man?«

  His dark-skinned comrade said, »Hey, with all those Republican motherfuckers in Congress, we’re pretty fucked, man. I’m telling you, nigga!«

  »Yeah, man! You better start reworking your new song right away, so that it passes through that fucking censorship law,« the other agreed with him.

  »... suited for a church choir, yo... what, nigga?« He laughed.

  Why the black guy called the Latino guy nigga was beyond me, but I guess it didn’t have to understand that. Meanwhile the Latino looked over at me to see what I was up to.

  Apparently
he had seen Betty Boobs on my smartphone, because he said: »Hey, muchacho! That’s cool, man! Let me see that. What’s that, man?« Then he turned to his buddy and said: »Hey, check this out on that muchacho’s phone! Fucking hot tits, that bitch!«

  »This is not a bitch. This is Betty Boobs,« I defended the avatar on my smartphone.

  »Didn’t know they delivered these things with such a hot bitch, man,« said the overweight Latino and bent over to me to see better.

  »It wasn’t exactly sold that way. I... customized the default avatar a little bit..., so to speak,« I explained.

  »Yo, man, you’re fucking cool, muchacho,« he said, slapping me on the shoulder. »I’m Don Mambo, by the way, and this here is Daddy Negro. Maybe you’ve heard of us, yo. We got a band, man. Don Mambo, el Gordo, if that means anything to you, muchacho.« The name didn’t mean anything to me.

  »My name is Dexter,« I simply said.

  »I guess reggaeton ain’t your thing, muchacho?«

  It was some kind of old-fashioned music style that was mostly listened by some guys of the older generation. »I’m more of a hip-tech guy,« I said.

  Don Mambo almost fell off his chair. »Oh, man! That’s not music, yo! Hey, you hear that, dude?« He bumped into his buddy. »Hip-tech? That’s just fucking noise, man, not even music.«

  Daddy Negro agreed with him: »Hey, the youth of today! I’m telling you, nigga! Music? - Yo, they don’t even know what that is, man!«

  Don Mambo added: »Reggaeton, Rap, R&B, hey, this was still real music, man. That’s still real art, muchacho. This is still sung in real voice, yo, not that computer shit you hear today. You muchachos today don’t know shit, man.«

  I concluded from all this that the two of them were a couple of aging musicians who had already passed the peak of their career. On the other hand, they still had enough money to afford this hotel. That was more than I could say about myself, if O’Neil hadn’t paid the bill.

  »Hip-tech,« said Daddy Negro scornfully. »That ain’t culture no more, nigga! Yo, I’m telling you. That’s why everything’s going down the tubes these days, with all these fucked-up kids, yo!«