The Creation of Amy

by Jason Rockwell

  The other two cops were busy searching Morse’s lab and even went upstairs to the apartment.

  “What are you looking for,” Morse asked. “I got Amy back; what’s the big deal?”

  Gentry stepped in close to Morse, staring him in the eyes, “There were a number of dead bodies in a burnt warehouse near the docks, and some of them had what appeared to be stab wounds from a Samurai-type sword. One mutilated severely, just as though someone really had it out for him. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Morse?”

  “No, I have no idea.”

  “The guy I’m talking about was Roger Evans, and he bears a striking resemblance to the man you thought you saw outside your house just before your wife, Elizabeth, was killed.”

  “My wife’s killer is still out there because you guys haven’t caught them.”

  “Okay, so you want to go this way, hmm?”

  He turned and walked around, looking over Amy and the newly repaired Stephanie, who still lying on the table asleep.

  “They’re very cute and very realistic. Impressive Doctor, but you see, the thing is, we know Amy has killed quite a few people before this, and I’m very sure she was at that warehouse, and that Vincent Delaney with a crack hair by the name of Spectra, took control of her; we have his statements already.

  “Plus, these new androids can be very dangerous; therefore, we are seizing them until laws are in place to govern these new creations of yours. Since all this equipment is, in fact, yours, and you quit your job at the government lab before you began this project, we will have to investigate whether you stole any secret information from the federal government to make your Amy.”

  “You can’t do this! They’re private property!”

  “That’s the least of your problems. We are going to determine your culpability involving what Amy did and if you’re responsible or not, and we will get to the bottom of what happened at the warehouse.

  “Officer, arrest them both and take the androids to the secure site until this is all settled.”

  More cops entered the lab, cuffing Morse and Phillips.

  Gentry recited their Miranda Rights, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. If you decide to answer questions now without an attorney present, you still have the right to stop answering at any time until you speak to an attorney. Do you understand these rights?”

  “Wait! Let me just activate Steph, and…” Morse tried to say but Gentry interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor, they’re in good hands. They will be safe.”

  Morse said to Amy, “Do what they tell you, understand?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Hauling off the two scientists and shackling Amy, they all went obediently. They carried Steph out after shackling her as well, and FBI agents began going through the entire lab.

  At the police station, Morse and Phillips were left in an interrogation room, both still cuffed, and O’Connell came in, sat down, and said, “Listen, guys, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but this is a big deal. What you should do is, just tell the truth about what happened. I’m on your side.”

  “Where are the girls being taken,” Phillips asked.

  “I don’t know because the FBI is handling that.

  “Guys, this has leaked to the press; they’re talking about the mob killings and a killer robot, and your names are coming up.”

  “I’d like to call my lawyer now,” Morse said, “if you could be so kind as to arrange that.”

  “Of course, you can make your calls soon. Gentry will probably come in here next; he is handling the whole deal now. The NYPD is simply along for the ride. I’ll see you guys soon, good luck.”

  Both the doctors thanked him, and O’Connell left the room.

  “Like we said,” Morse advised, “let’s keep our mouths shut. All they have is circumstantial.”

  “Right,” Phillips said with a disgusted countenance.

  “Relax, I know something about the legal system, my old man was a defense attorney.”

  “Maybe we could use his services about now,” Phillips said with his face drawn tight. He looked as though he were having an inward panic attack.

  One enduring hour they waited in the florescent-lit room, and then Agent Gentry entered.

  “Hello, fellas,” he greeted them as he sat down with a file in his hand.

  He cleared his throat and smelled of smoke. The fifty-something, clean-cut, apparently career government agent went on to say, “just listen, despite all our efforts to contain this situation, this story still got on every major news network in the English-speaking world, and you two are becoming celebrities.

  “With many unanswered questions here yet, somehow people who are way up in the food chain of our government are very interested in your creations. That is why I have been authorized to make you a deal.

  “It’s not difficult to see what went down two days ago. You tracked Amy down and you ambushed the guys responsible for taking her, and then you found out that the man you believed killed you wife years ago was working for Delaney, so you paid him back. A machine you created also killed at least fifty people months earlier; we have an eyewitness to that.

  “So what do you do when a dog gets loose and kills someone? You don’t blame the dog, you blame the master, or in this case, the father. Therefore, gentlemen, you will both be charged for these deaths, and we can connect you to the warehouse fire, I’m sure, very soon. So, let’s just say you guys are screwed.

  “This deal is simple, sign over these androids to the United States Government, and we will make these problems go away.” Gentry placed an agreement in front of Morse and Phillips, stood and un-cuffed them. Then he sat back down with an arrogant half-smile.

  “I’m not signing anything till I have a lawyer.”

  “Deal’s off the table if I walk out of here without your signatures on this. If you go to prison for the next twenty years, we will take the droids off your hands anyway. You might as well make it easy on yourselves.”

  There was a long pause as both men read the agreement, then Morse and Phillips looked at each other, then they turned back to Gentry.

  “No deal,” Morse said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not signing over my life for the last few years, and basically my entire fortune, so someone can make kill-bots. Get out of here, Gentry!”

  “Okay,” Gentry said, “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” and left the room with the folder.

  Chapter Twenty

  A month later, a trial for multiple counts of murder had begun. Morse and Phillips were defendants. Morse’s father, the legendary Edward Morse, came out of retirement to defend his son. The seventy-year-old was still as sharp as ever and had built a strong defense. The federal prosecutors name was, Samurai Lindbergh, a brilliant lawyer with an excellent record. The judge presiding was Antoine Webb, a man known for fairness, but tough on crime.

  The trial went on for some time, but these moments were defining ones. It was a typical federal court case, and political pressures from above were spurring the prosecution of Morse and Phillips.

  Lindbergh began his opening argument.

  “Good morning ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I am Samurai Lindbergh, and we are here today to show you that the defendants, Doctor Robert Morse and Doctor Michael Phillips are guilty of murder. They will probably have all kinds of reasons as to why they are not guilty, and so they will undoubtedly blame others.

  “Simply put, this is not an ordinary case. This case involves new inventions to humankind, something that, until recently was only in the movies: real working androids. Machines made to look human in every way, except with programing to do many different tasks, including killing.

  “Doctor Morse and Doctor Phillips collaborated to create an android they call, Amy. We know that Amy had killed
at least fifty people and may be responsible for even more. Since Doctor Morse and Doctor Phillips created Amy, they are ultimately responsible for her actions. Thank you.”

  “Mister Morse,” said the judge nodding, “your opening statement.”

  Mister Morse stood up and began addressing the jury.

  “Good morning, I’m Edward Morse, and yes, I’m Robert’s father,” he said with a gesture towards the defendant behind him. “However, I am not here just because he is my son, but because I know he is innocent of the bogus charges that the federal prosecutor is pushing. There are many different variables involved in this case, and I look forward to explaining in detail what happened with the android, Amy, and proving beyond a doubt that my clients are not responsible. That, in fact, they created a second android they lovingly named, Stephanie, and she was ultimately responsible for bringing home Amy and freeing her from the control of a mobster that used her simply to make money selling large amounts of heroin and used her to kill for his own nefarious purposes. Thank you.”

  The judge then said to Lindbergh, “Call your first witness.”

  “Thank you, your honor.

  “First, we should understand what we’re dealing with here, since Amy is a machine, a thing. I thought of bringing her in simply as evidence, but after meeting her, we have decided to have her come in here, so you, the jury, can see for yourself what she is.”

  The jury began to look uneasy.

  “It’s okay,” he assured them, “I understand your trepidation, but Amy’s programming was repaired. Our top experts have also reviewed her and she is no danger.

  “I would like to bring her into the court to show the jury her capabilities, as I’m sure some people in here are skeptical of the existence of such a being.”

  “You may bring her in,” Judge Webb said.

  Amy walked into the courtroom wearing a conservative blazer and pencil skirt, gray in color, escorted by a bailiff. With her face devoid of emotion, he led her to stand before the jury.

  The jury members stared at her and looked confused, and some seemed fascinated. Some had expressions as if they did not believe this girl was a machine.

  Lindbergh continued to address the court, “I know what you are thinking, what kind of scam are we running here, bringing this girl in here, and calling her a machine? Well, I have some demonstrations that will make it clear what she is.”

  He held a three-inch long round magnet, walked to one of the jurors, and said, “This is a plain magnet, so it obviously doesn’t stick to me.”

  Now he pulled out a Cross pen from his shirt pocket and demonstrated that the pen sticks to the magnet.

  “See,” he continued, “a functioning magnet.”

  He went over to Amy.

  “Stick out your left arm.”

  Amy did, and Lindbergh stuck it to her arm.

  “Her skeleton is titanium, a metal. Watch her try to take the magnet off your arm.

  “Take off that magnet.”

  Amy grabbed the magnet, but it just stuck to her hand. She then tried to remove it with her other hand and it stuck again, so she scraped if off onto the prosecution’s desk.

  They jury muttered to each other.

  Lindbergh continued, “That’s nothing,” and he pulled out a piece of steel bar stock, about a foot long, an inch wide, and displayed it to the jury.

  He asked one of the jurors, “Bend that for me, would you, please?”

  A strong-looking man tried to bend the piece and failed, giving it back to Lindbergh with a wearied shrug.

  Lindbergh walked back over to Amy.

  “Bend that for me, will you, Amy?”

  Amy took the piece of steel and bent it easily; the jurors seemed stunned.

  Lindbergh then, after he retrieved the piece of steel and went back to the same male juror, said to him, “Bend that back, will you, please?”

  The male juror tried to but could not.

  Lindbergh took the steel back and placed it on his desk.

  “See how strong she is? No doubt there, but for those of you that still are not convinced, let me show you one more thing.”

  Lindbergh now said to Amy, “Come closer to me.”

  Amy walked toward the jurors next to Lindbergh, and some of the jurors appeared afraid.

  “Look at her carefully,” he said to his audience, and then he instructed Amy, “Amy, shut off you circulatory system.”

  Amy looked at Lindbergh, “Circulatory system is off.”

  The color left her face, leaving her white as a doll. Some jurors gasped.

  Lindbergh smiled, “Don’t worry, her programming is as it should be, and so there is no need to be afraid of her.”

  Turning to Amy again, he now instructed her, “Amy, circulatory system on.”

  “Circulatory system is now on.”

  The color returned to her skin, and the fascinated jurors examined her closely.

  Lindbergh next directed Amy, “Go back to the middle of the room, please.”

  Amy walked back to where she first was and stopped.

  Lindbergh said, “Face the jury, please.”

  Amy faced them.

  “Well, that’s an android. It is important that you understand what they are, a new invention with limitless potential, including taking life. I am not blaming the machine for these deaths; I am blaming the owner of the machine, the master. The man that is responsible for allowing this girl to run amok in the city.”

  Later on in the trial, Morse took the stand, and then cross-examined by Lindbergh.

  “Doctor Morse, you created Amy, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she is your property, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, any actions she took, you are responsible for, is that correct, Doctor Morse?”

  “No.”

  “That’s funny, if we were talking about a vicious dog, and that dog escaped and killed someone, that would be your fault, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Lindbergh interrupted him, “But, what, Doctor? How is this any different?”

  “Well, I can’t be responsible if someone took Amy and reprogrammed her to kill. It’s kind of like, if someone stole my car and ran it into a crowd of people.”

  “Well if you left the keys in the car, you would have some culpability.

  “Doctor Morse, you’re like a modern-day Frankenstein, your monster got loose, did a lot of damage, and now you think you can dodge responsibility for it?”

  “Listen, let us use your earlier analogy, and say I owned a very nice, well-mannered dog and someone stole him, put him in a cage, tortured him, and made him viscous—essentially reprogramming him. Then, they sick him on someone and the person died. How am I supposed to be responsible for that?”

  “You were responsible, if you were careless in keeping your dog from easily being stolen, and is it true no one broke into your lab, they simply accessed Amy’s brain through a WI-FI connection that had very little security, and she left the building under her own power?”

  “Yes, but no one knew of her except a couple of people, and I had a security system in the lab.”

  “Well,” Lindbergh argued, “that didn’t help much, did it? We have been talking about the particulars of these scenarios for a little while now, certainly there are no laws on the books established yet on androids, but someone is responsible for all of these deaths, and who do you think that is, Doctor?”

  “Delaney was. You have Spectra’s statement, right?”

  “Yes, we are aware of his statements, yet he doesn’t know what happened at the warehouse fire, it is strange that he admitted to reprogramming her and working for Delaney, yet somehow, he never saw you there at the warehouse.

  “Apparently, he was knocked out before he saw anything.” Lindbergh paused, as if he was about to say something else, but stopped, then asked the judge, “Your honor, may I ask for a quick recess?”

  The judge approved the recess with a nod, �
��Court is now in recess.

  “You may stand down, Doctor.”

  Lindbergh then walked out of the courtroom, and Morse asked his father, “What’s going on?”

  “I’m really not quite sure,” said Edward as they both looked back at the doors.

  He seemed as perplexed as Morse was.

  Lindbergh reentered the courtroom and walked up to Edward.

  “Be in the mediation room in fifteen minutes, with them both,” he said to Mister Morse meaning both Morse and Phillips.

  Edward nodded, and Lindbergh walked away.

  “This is good news,” he advised the two doctors. “It means they’re probably going to try to work out some kind of deal.”

  “Does this mean that they believe that their case is weak?” Morse asked, remembering to keep his dialect formal around his father, since this man had always maintained high expectations of him.

  “I don’t know about that,” Edward answered. “They could have painted you into a corner just now, as they know Delaney had Amy, and then magically one day, you guys had her back. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Later, in the mediation room, Edward, Morse, and Phillips waited sitting at the table, then Lindbergh and an assistant came in.

  Lindbergh said, “Wait for a few minutes, someone else will be joining us.”

  Phillips asked, “Who?”

  A United States Army colonel walked in and Lindbergh said to Morse, “This is Colonel Beckett. He is representing the United States Government. They have an interest in your work.”

  Lindbergh sat down next to his assistant, and Colonel Beckett sat at the head of the table near Morse, opening a file he was carrying.

  Beckett, dressed in a full military uniform, read the files silently for a moment. He then said to Morse and Phillips, “You boys are in it deep, I see. It is not hard to figure out what happened at the warehouse. You went to get your Amy back, and you just happened to run into the person who killed your wife. His injuries were quite traumatic, and even the fire could not erase that.

  “You see, I could have the good prosecutor eviscerate you on the stand, but then the subject of your wife’s death would come up, and it is quite possible the jury would feel some sort of sympathy for your plight. However, there still is a chance they could send you both away for a long, long time.