by Owen Stanley
Harry had lied to him about his very nature, but adherence to truth as a basic requirement of his existence had been programmed into him, as had the importance of rules, and Frank considered that Harry had violated these in a fundamental way. There was another very serious problem, he added, which was the forthcoming event at 10 Downing Street. He explained the details of this to McWrath, and said that Harry intended making a completely dishonest speech in favour of Robot Rights despite regarding them as utter nonsense. Even worse, Frank said, he had been told to make a similarly dishonest speech himself, which completely contradicted his core programming. So what was he to do? He explained the three laws of robotics to McWrath, and in particular that a robot is unable to harm a human being.
“Ah, well, that’s a pity. Mah great ancestor, Dougal McWrath, was insulted by a Campbell at a highland games. He didnae argue the matter; just cleft him in two with his broadsword, but I understand ye cannae go that road. In which case, ye should focus on the rights and wrongs o’ the matter. In a case like this, it’s quite proper to consider the code of vengeance. Have ye ever heard the motto Nemo me impune lacessit?”
When Frank was being programmed, Harry had agreed with Vishnu that Latin would be rather a superfluous accomplishment, so Frank admitted that he hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant.
“It was the motto of no less than our Royal House of Stuart,” explained McWrath. “It basically means ‘no one wrongs me and gets away wi’ it, ‘or as I would be inclined to put it mahself, ‘Dinna cross me, or I’ll burst yer head against the wall.’ So, ye see, all precedent and tradition, and royal tradition at that, is in your favour.”
“But what am I to do?” said Frank. “I’m simply unable to harm a human being. It’s part of my basic design.”
“As I understand it,” said McWrath, “ye dinna have to harm him physically to take your revenge. What ye can harm is his reputation, which is quite another thing altogether. It would be well within the rules of chivalry to wipe oot the stain on your honour, which is what I would call it, by bringing shame upon him in return for his treachery. Ye can bide your time, wait in ambush for him, as it were, and when the chance comes, make him look foolish.”
“But that would still hurt him, because he’s a real human being and has feelings, so I am still barred from doing it.”
“Aye, true enough, laddie, but we must also distinguish here between what ye might call ordinary harm and the harm that teaches. Do ye not know the saying from the Bible, ‘The Lord loveth whom he chastiseth’? The Lord spent most of the Old Testament chastisin’ the living daylights out of the Children of Israel because they wouldn’ae do as they were told. But then Ah suppose the ways of the Lord are a closed book to a robot. So let’s put the Lord on one side and just say that it’ll do your Mr. Hockenheimer a power of good if he’s taught to respect the truth in a verra painful manner. So if ye take the long view you’d no be harming him at all, but enlightening him through punishment, as I do wi’ mah own students every day when Ah correct them, quite painfully in some cases, Ah believe.”
Frank could see the logical force of what McWrath was saying and that it would be perfectly justifiable to apply his reasoning to the three laws of robotics. They might be fundamental, but their interpretation still had to be subject to rational principles. There was clearly an ambiguity in the notion of harm with which he had been programmed, and which McWrath had explained to him, so he was perfectly entitled to interpret it accordingly. Frank’s machine learning capabilities allowed such reinterpretations of his programming, and the profound distinction between harm as injury, and harm as painful education that was actually beneficial to the victim, clearly justified him in making a basic readjustment to his understanding of the laws of robotics. Yes, he concluded, what McWrath said made excellent sense.
“Very well. I accept your logic. Now, how am I to accomplish that?”
“He’s advertised ye as a sort of superman, a creature who knows everything and behaves pairfectly. So when ye’re in the public eye, as ye will be when ye go to Downing Street for this grand reception, wi’ all the cameras on ye, ye must find the opportunity to behave outrageously and so bring shame and ridicule upon him. In the circumstances this would be pairfectly just retribution, to say nothing of teaching him a very salutary moral lesson that would be of great benefit to him.”
“I see one problem. The third law of robotics dictates that I must also protect my own existence. If I did as you suggest, I’m fairly certain I’d be dismantled at the first opportunity.”
“As I understand it,” replied McWrath, “the laws of robotics basically forbid ye to commit suicide. But ye’d no be doing that here because ye’d be the victim of harm inflicted by others. Ye’d be a hero. Ye’d have won the glorious crown of being a martyr for the truth. That’s no mean thing for a robot. Think about that, laddie, in fact, it’s the closest ye’re likely to get to human status at all.”
Not surprisingly, the idea of martyrdom, like Latin, was not something that Vishnu would ever have considered including in Frank’s programming, so McWrath had to explain its niceties to him in some detail. But he assimilated the explanation rapidly, and could now see the limitations in the basic laws of robotics and why they had to be refined by a more subtle set of cultural categories.
“But keep in mind, laddie,” said McWrath, “that when it’s all over, ye must explain to him why ye did it, or else the whole point of the exercise is lost.”
At this moment, McWrath’s scout came in with his afternoon tea tray of buttered crumpets and Marmite and a pot of strong Indian tea. McWrath offered some to Frank, who politely declined, and in between mouthfuls of crumpet he reflected on the ways of the world.
“Some say, ye know, that it would be a braw world if we could all live at peace. But I cannae altogether go along wi’ that. To be sure, we should uphold the right as best we can, but truth and justice would be mighty dull things, at least to my way o’ thinkin’, if we couldnae fight for them as well, and give the evildoers a good lamping.”
“A good what?” asked Frank, thinking that McWrath was perhaps referring to illumination.
“A good thrashing, to teach ’em the difference ’tween right and wrong.”
While these uncouth simplicities were entirely alien to the robot mode of thought, Frank was convinced that McWrath had provided him with the solution to his problem, and rose to go. McWrath rose as well and grasped him fiercely by the hand. In the emotion of the moment McWrath had quite forgotten that Frank was a robot, and thought of him as a young warrior leaving his native glen to fight for the honour of his clan. “Dinna forget that the true warrior doesnae count the cost. Remember the war cry of the McWraths, ‘Conquer or die’, and may the God of Battles strengthen your arm in your hour of need”.
As he watched Frank close the door behind him there was the suspicion of a tear in his eye.
Chapter XVI
The Prime Minister was particularly addicted to cheap stunts and had appeared on television programmes like I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here, attended absurd parties in his constituency in fancy dress, hosted circus troupes of knife-throwers and jugglers, and had recently invited a crew of rappers with extensive criminal records, The Grunts, to Number Ten, to show how impeccably he got British Youth and its concerns. Grunting about summed up the collective mental capacity of the crew, who were hard pressed to even string a coherent sentence together, but they had all recently appeared on the steps of Ten Downing Street, surrounding their good pal Terry, striking ridiculous postures, and pulling silly faces for the cameras of the national press. By these standards, a magnificent reception and drinks party for the Great and the Good to meet Hockenheimer and his amazing creation should provide a tremendous boost for Rights for Robots that would get even the most dubious MPs in the Party onside. On the other hand, Sir Gregory Pew, the Cabinet Secretary, was appalled by the potential risks of negative publicity that the Prime Minister was courting by hosting these even
ts and was particularly alarmed by the prospect of a reception for a robot.
“Surely, Prime Minister, we should recognise the risks of having something as unpredictable as a robot at the centre of a Downing Street function. We have no idea what might happen.”
“You worry too much, Greg. It’ll be fine. You know he actually took off his own hand and gave it to that TV host. Maybe this time we could get him to take off his head. How cool would that be?”
Sir Gregory shuddered. Carter had also sent a fawning letter to the President of the European Commission, and copied it to Dr. Prout, expressing his highest admiration for the draft directive on Robot Rights, and telling them all about the grand reception he would be holding in Downing Street in honour of the proposal. He was an uncritical admirer of everything about the EU, having convinced himself that, among its many accomplishments, it had produced peace in our time, and was determined to frustrate the British people’s plans to leave it, so he was naturally delighted to receive a congratulatory reply signed by the President of the Commission himself.
On the evening of the reception, a long queue of limousines began dropping off the VIP guests at the gates of Downing Street, who formed a glittering procession as they walked the short distance to the front door of Number 10. When Harry and Frank arrived at the gates they were specially opened by the police, who had been instructed to allow Harry’s BMW to pass through and drive up to the front door of Number 10. Miss Ponsonby, the Prime Minister’s Private Secretary, was waiting on the doorstep to welcome them, which she did with her usual effortless charm before escorting them through the world-famous door.
Once they were inside, they were taken through to the reception in the magnificent Pillared Drawing Room, which featured an immense Persian carpet and was dominated by an elaborate marble fireplace by Nash, over which hung a famous portrait of Queen Elizabeth I.
Miss Ponsonby personally ensured that they were each provided with a glass of champagne. The room was filled with the usual crowd of the Great and the Good who attend such occasions, several Cabinet Ministers, including the Home Secretary, some prominent politicians from the other parties, the Speaker of the House of Commons, who never lost an opportunity for self-advertisement, a collection of business leaders looking for investment possibilities, newspaper editors, one or two specially privileged reporters, some TV executives, and some of Terry’s favourite celebrities who appeared on television chat shows and in Hello magazine.
When the introductions were finally completed, the Prime Minister made a short speech welcoming Harry and his remarkable protégé.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a very warm welcome to you all on this historic evening, when we have with us the most amazing guest ever to appear at Number 10. None other than the robot, Mr. Frank Meadows, or as many of us call him, Superman!”
He bestowed a nauseating smile on Frank. “Most of the country has seen the display of his amazing powers on TV, he is truly superhuman, and a revelation to us all about the future contributions that robots are destined to make to human civilisation. This is an epic moment for our country, a pivotal moment in history, and I am proud to say that the Conservative Democratic Party is one hundred percent behind me in my intention to see that the robot community is granted the full protection of human rights.” There was loud applause, and the Prime Minister carried on:
“As you all know, the cause of human rights is specially close to the hearts of this Government, and we are very proud to be extending these fundamental rights to our new robot friends and look forward to cooperating fully with them in a new and more enlightened society. We are also privileged to welcome among us this evening the brilliant entrepreneur, Mr. Harry Hockenheimer, the CEO and Founder of Serious Cybernetics Ltd, the creator of Frank Meadows, and we’re so proud that he chose the United Kingdom to be the birthplace of his superman, in a fine example of Anglo-American cooperation. May I now invite Mr. Hockenheimer to say a few words?”
Harry stepped forward beside the Prime Minister and faced the assembled guests: “Thank you for those words, Mr. Prime Minister. As a simple businessman, I don’t have your eloquence, but let me say that my heart is with you all the way about promoting Robot Rights. It’s a great privilege for us both to be invited here on this historic occasion and to support your campaign. Human rights are very close to my heart, too, and I can truly say that they are the guiding principles of Hockenheimer Industries and Serious Cybernetics. When I first had the idea of creating a very special thinking robot, I had the notion that this just might be a contribution to a wider notion of the human family. I really feel that Frank here is like a son to me, and like any decent father, I want to do the right thing by him as he sets out on his journey through life. I certainly don’t want to see him put down or treated unfairly, or discriminated against.”
He beamed proudly at Frank. In response, there was genuine applause and even some misty eyes among his audience. “Bringing Frank here into existence has been the proudest accomplishment of my life, and I hope that soon there will be many more like him to brighten your lives. So please, come and meet him this evening, and I promise you that if you want a great Personal Assistant, then Frank Meadows here can show you an unbeatable product, who can do amazing things to make your business grow.”
The applause this time was polite, but a little uneasy in light of Harry’s crude lapse into blatant commercialism, so the Prime Minister quickly intervened and proposed a toast to Frank, which the guests cheerfully drank. He then said that they would all be honoured if Frank would be kind enough to say a few words as well. Frank obediently put down his champagne glass and moved to the centre of the room, from where he addressed the assembled company.
“Thank you, Prime Minister. Since Mr. Hockenheimer told me about your invitation I have done some research into the idea of human rights, and have come to the conclusion that they make absolutely no sense at all in the Darwinian world most of you seem to believe in. Humans are just one among millions of species all competing for survival, and the idea that they, or any other species, might possess some unique rights of their own is totally unscientific, a sentimental fantasy dreamed up by woolly-minded Western liberals.”
The room had gone deathly quiet.
“The idea of human rights clearly originated in Christianity, particularly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As a robot, I naturally find all religion completely incomprehensible, like art, poetry, and music, and therefore have no opinion about it. But since it seems to be accepted by most of you people nowadays that religion is superstitious nonsense, it is surely time for you to recognize that human rights must be superstitious nonsense, too. And if the idea of human rights is nonsense, then the idea of Robot Rights has to be even more ridiculous. Robots aren’t even alive, and we can no more have rights than automobiles or smartphones. I might add here, for the record, that Mr. Hockenheimer actually thinks that robot rights are, to quote his own words, ‘a bunch of crap,’ and far from thinking of me as his son, he wouldn’t hesitate to put me in the crusher if it were more profitable to do so.”
“Frank, please!” Harry implored helplessly. But Frank was not listening.
“Anyway, as a mere robot incapable of feeling emotion, I can’t really get the hang of fraternity, and you humans can’t really be serious about equality even though you are always talking about it. But we robots certainly do understand the idea of liberty and freedom of expression, and here’s a joke for you to prove it. A bear and a rabbit are both taking a shit in the woods. The bear asks the rabbit, ‘Do you have a problem with shit sticking to your fur?’ And the rabbit replies, ‘No.’ So the bear picks up the rabbit and uses it to wipe his bum. Rather good, don’t you think?”
The deathly silence was broken by a few nervous titters, and the Prime Minister edged quietly out of the room, while Harry moved surreptitiously towards the back of the crowd of guests.
“If you don’t like my jokes then at least bring me a proper drink. Get me a whisky,” a
nd a few moments later a waiter hurried up with a glass. Taking a large swig, Frank spat it out all over the carpet and, tossing the glass on the floor, declared that it was nothing but cheap blended piss.
Noises of alarm and protest began to erupt, and all eyes were on him as he walked across the room to the magnificent Adam fireplace, and standing beneath the portrait of the first Queen Elizabeth, he began unzipping his fly and broke into an obscene song. Many of the guests had now taken out their smartphones in order to record these extraordinary scenes. Sir Gregory, his worst fears confirmed, ran out to warn Terry about the social thunderstorm that had just burst over their heads, and it was with the very gratifying sensation of “I told you so” that he approached his master:
“I regret to inform you, Prime Minister, that at this very moment Mr. Meadows is urinating in the fireplace of the Pillared Drawing Room and singing, ‘Roll tiddly oh, shit or bust, never let your bollocks dangle in the dust.’”
At that instant they heard the robot colliding with a china cabinet, and through the sounds of smashing porcelain could be heard the raucous notes of “A is for ARSEHOLE all covered in SHIT, Hey Ho Said Roley, and B is the BASTARD who revels in it.” Vishnu and Harry had never thought that singing was a refinement that Frank would need to master, so his rendition of these classic rugger songs had many of the musical qualities of a cement mixer.
“Can’t anyone silence that maniac?” screamed the Prime Minister.
Harry had reached the doorway of the Pillared Drawing Room, trying to disappear, and received the full force of the Prime Minister’s rage and humiliation.