Body Shop - Book Two in the Annihilation Series

by John Hindmarsh

  Olivia said, “Yes, she is. I have copies of her registration certificate and card, here.” She handed the paperwork across the desk to the judge and gave a copy to Gibson.

  “Judge, I’m not sure what to say,” the defense attorney said. “Olivia’s correct; I need to catch up on this very recent legislation. It’s bewildering, that a robot should be defined as a person.”

  “If a corporation can be legislated to be a person, why not?” Fisher asked.

  “Legal person, yes. But not a natural person,” Gibson protested.

  “Both legal and natural person definitions have been changed,” Olivia said. “Gary, I have all the code sections copied in case you need them for reference?” She proffered a stapled set of papers.

  Gibson reached across and accepted the file. “Thanks, Olivia. I’ll get my assistant to check, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Wayne McDonald, the defendant, spoke up. “Hey, am I being railroaded here? A damned tin can can’t be a person. That’s ridiculous.” He folded his arms.

  Gibson said, “We’ll discuss the implications with you once we conclude our meeting here. I’ll need to do some research.” He turned to Judge Fisher and said, “I’ll protest this as far as possible, Judge. Surely it cannot be allowed to stand?”

  “The legislation is clear; I agree with Olivia on that. Therefore I’ll disallow your motion. My secretary will send you a note to confirm.”

  Gibson nodded his understanding.

  “Thank you, Judge,” Olivia said.

  “Gary,” added Fisher, “I agree the topic is material for a higher court. I certainly won’t object if I see this question in a Notice of Appeal.”

  “Thank you. Next I have a formal motion to submit to you concerning the evidence provided by Carrie Brown, the defendant’s ex-girlfriend.” He extracted printed documents from his briefcase and handed a copy to each of Judge Fisher and Olivia.

  Toby said, “That’s enough.” Bronwyn stopped the video.

  “What do you think?”

  “I agree. This will have major ramifications for you and for all our bots, registered or not. I’ll message Victoria to set up a meeting. Can you get contact details for Henderson? I’d like to speak to him, too.”

  The telephone conversation with Henderson was interesting. He immediately recognized Toby’s name and relationship to Nate Travers. He said, “I met your uncle once, two years ago. A very impressive intellect. Please accept my sympathies on your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, what can I do for you? I trust you haven’t murdered someone?”

  “No, not yet, anyway.” Toby didn’t mention his undeclared war against the brownshirts; he thought that would be a distraction. “There’s a criminal case that is going to have a major impact on our business activities. Well, the impact will be more on our bots and artificial intelligence units.” He provided the details of the case. “I need you to add me to the case and represent me—is that something you would consider?”

  “Hmm. Intervention in criminal cases is generally limited. However, I’m interested. I have an almost personal interest. My mother is ailing and I acquired two care bots to help her. They certainly are intelligent, have unique personalities, and I’d hate for them to be regarded as merely tin cans. Do you have a corporate attorney I can work with?”

  Toby said, “Thank you. Yes, Victoria Zhou. I’m meeting with her later this afternoon to discuss this. We can join you in a conference call, if you like.”

  “Works for me. I have thirty minutes or so at three p.m., if that works.”

  “We’ll try.”

  “Good. I’m curious, though. If this prosecution is currently going through the pre-trial stage, how did you discover the details?”

  “I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that. Or insanity. Keep in mind I’m surrounded by artificial intelligences who have very curious natures. If they encounter something that has a strategic impact, they’ll bring it to my attention. This is one such instance.”

  “Well said. I’ll look forward to meeting you and, of course, to further discussions. This case has piqued my interest, I must admit.”

  They concluded the call. Toby sat back. He cursed. This was going to have very public ramifications.

  oOo

  Chapter 22

  The office was reminiscent of early twentieth century banking chambers. The ceiling was thirty feet high, supported by massive carved and polished timber columns. The floor was marble and rare and valuable antique rugs were scattered around haphazardly. Old-fashioned and starkly uncomfortable leather chairs were positioned in awkward places. A large natural gas fireplace provided warmth in the colder winter days although the office occupants—two men—often wore heavy overcoats to offset the cold in order to save on fuel costs. Air conditioning was not installed. Tall windows provided modest light through the soot-stained glass; the soot was a memento of a golden era that the two men often thought they could re-capture.

  One wall held books—mainly law tomes and court reports, scientific treatises, and encyclopedias—if there was no commercial use for an opus it was discarded without a second thought. A sliding ladder gave access to upper levels of the shelves.

  In the center of the office two desks were arranged in a wide v-shape, each flanked by an office chair. The desks were antique, not necessarily valuable, but old. The chairs were wooden, cushioned, and creaked alarmingly when an occupant moved or stood. There were no visitor seats near the desks; the unspoken rule required maximum discomfort for anyone brash enough to enter this restricted domain.

  At some stage the two men, brothers—twins—had moved with the technological currents, and each had a high-powered and nearly new computer sitting on the side of his desk. A large blotter, leather trimmed, held center point in front of each desk-resident. Alistair preferred a green leather trim, while Aloysius had a preference for deep red. There was a large in-tray and a larger out-tray on each desk. First thing in the mornings before the two men arrived at the office, personal assistants added material to the in-trays and removed material from the out-trays to send the latter to destinations far and near. Sometimes the out-tray contents were rewarding; however, more often than not, they contained news of a personal disaster for the recipient in the form of peremptory termination of employment.

  Alistair and Aloysius were born in an earlier age and now were aware of their frailty. They had passed their eighty-second birthday without external comment or note except for the removal of the day’s page on each desk’s daily calendar. They controlled the Timker industrial fortunes; they would have been robber barons in the nineteenth century and flew close to that role in the twenty-first century. They scared bankers, frightened competitors, and alarmed employees. They had no friends. Their family members had either fled and lost their inheritances or remained and suffered malign neglect.

  Sometimes they invested in remarkably non-industrial concepts. These investments were hidden from everyone, and the funding beneficiaries were sworn to secrecy. It was rumored in dark corridors that anyone who broke that oath did not survive for long after what was regarded as absolute betrayal.

  They had invested in Flocke.

  The man had lost their investment.

  Flocke had returned earlier that day to request additional funding. His story was so preposterous they admitted later to each other that it had to be true.

  Notwithstanding this assessment, they were worried. Perhaps their dreams of a future America that was more reflective of the America of their memories was not attainable.

  Alistair said, after an hour or so of intensive reflection by both men, “We might be backing a losing concept. I read a number of articles last night about Nathaniel Travers, his nephew, this Tobias McIntosh, and their artificial intelligence developments.”

  “I read those articles, too. These bots—they are becoming more and more advanced—and pervasive. There’s a study of Heavy Autonomous Trucking advances—”
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br />   “I checked and ninety percent of our interstate trucking is contracted out to HAT companies.”

  “Should we cancel those contracts and revert to human-driven trucking?”

  “No, our delivery costs would double. The impact on our profits would be significant. Same for shipping—”

  “All our foreign-sourced materials are delivered by unmanned fully autonomous freighters.”

  “This has crept up on us. We must have—”

  “Been asleep at the wheel.”

  There was silence for ten minutes or so.

  “What will be the impact on our competitiveness?”

  “If we try to move away from this technology—”

  “We already are using a large number of these bots—”

  “I project our profits will decline at a rate of ten percent per annum for the next five years. After that the degradation will accelerate. In ten years—”

  “Or less, we’ll be broke.”

  This time the silent break was longer.

  “We should fund Flocke again, but to a limit of five million dollars.”

  “It’s high risk.”

  “But may still hold back these robotic advances.”

  “If I was younger—”

  “Yes, I’d be exploring the future of artificial intelligence, too. Just think—

  “If we could upload our minds—”

  “Our memories—”

  “Enough day dreaming.”

  “I’ll execute an authorization for a transfer from our Red Account.”

  “I’ll acquire one of these bots—we may find someone who can reverse engineer them. We can’t just sit back—”

  “And let this McIntosh have all the glory.”

  One day later, Flocke received the transfer of funds.

  One month later, a young IT technician triggered an explosion of a sealed processing unit.

  He lost the tip of his forefinger.

  The Timker industrial organization lost the services of 8,957 heavy industrial bots that had been deployed throughout their various manufacturing units.

  In another year plus or minus a month or two, Bronwyn estimated the Timker owners would sell out for less than five percent of the current value of their business. She also suspected the shock would cause both brothers shortly afterwards to suffer heart attacks and die within days of each other.

  She concluded they would not be missed.

  oOo

  Chapter 23

  Flocke waited impatiently for his state leaders to settle. He had critical material to cover and expected there would debate and push back. He stood behind his chair at the head of the conference table and tapped his fingers on the wooden back. He frowned to himself when he observed some of the power groups that had formed; his ability to control his leadership depended on a minimum of pre-meeting networking.

  At last his security team exited and closed the door to the meeting room. It was his usual meeting venue; he enjoyed the service and respect he received from the staff, and if it was lacking, soon had a discussion with the day manager.

  He sat down and placed his thinkpad on the table; his was the only electronic device in the room. He’d maintained this discipline for all his American Eagle leadership team meetings and still, somehow, details had been recorded and leaked. He repressed the anger that washed through him and lifted his head. He smiled at his audience and discussions ceased.

  “Thank you, everyone, for making time to meet here this morning. I know you probably have all seen or heard about some disastrous events that have adversely impacted our plans and our reputations. In case you are in doubt as to the details, I’ll summarize.

  “Colonel Pitera failed in an attempt to discipline one of our enemies, Toby McIntosh—”

  “Why is this McIntosh an enemy? What has he done?” The questioner, Christian Edwards, represented New York State, and controlled the largest troop of American Eagles. He was middle-aged, athletic, and intelligent.

  Flocke considered his reply. He said, “His uncle, Nathan Travers, attacked us whenever he had an opportunity. He’s disappeared, and McIntosh is now in control of the Euler organization. He’s began to attack us financially and, in the media, through Travers TV.”

  “What was the financial attack?”

  Flocke restrained his immediate reaction. “He removed twenty million dollars from our head office accounts. We believe he was responsible also for removing five million from the California accounts.”

  “You’re confident it was McIntosh? I heard Pitera got hold of your money?”

  “It was set up that way to make us believe it was internal theft.”

  “And the proof?”

  Flocke thumped the table. “We do not know of anyone else who could steal from our accounts without leaving a trail, that’s why!”

  “No employees with access? No trusted employee with an axe to grind? No other outside party who does not want us to succeed? I’m sure we could identify perhaps ten or more people who have the capability and who would delight in thieving that amount of money from us.”

  “Be that as it may, McIntosh is my suspect. He’s responsible for the deaths of Colonel Pitera, General Young, and eleven other American Eagle members. There was only one survivor from that disaster.”

  “Sir, with respect, McIntosh and his people were ambushed and fought back. I would do the same.” The speaker, Gabriel Laduke, represented Florida.

  There was a murmur of agreement from most of the people seated at the conference table. Flocke pushed his chair back, as though to give himself more space.

  “Are you people challenging me?”

  “No, we’re challenging the rush to judgment. We still do not have a clear picture of why the American Eagles set out to attack either Travers or McIntosh,” replied Edwards. “Until you table incontrovertible evidence that McIntosh was the instigator of attacks on the Californian troop, we move that no further attack is carried out directly or indirectly by American Eagle forces against him, his people, or his organization.”

  Flocke was stunned. His anger built and he struggled to contain his initial reaction. He had founded the American Eagles as his organization and yet the state leaders believed they were in some kind of democratic group. He would, at some time in the future when it was more convenient, disabuse them of that belief. He managed to control his temper.

  “Very well. I’ll—we’ll form a team to investigate. Then, I assure you, when we have that proof, McIntosh is mine.”

  Edwards said, “Good. I believe the motion is carried and agreed. Thank you.”

  “I have more to say about our finances. The funds that were stolen constituted our war chest. I’ve managed to replace only a fraction of the amount from our benefactors. I suggest each troop levy their members fifteen or twenty dollars apiece. The total, if a majority of our million members respond favorably, will go a long way to re-establishing our finances.”

  Edwards apparently had been elected spokesman. He said, “If we levy our members, then we want more involvement in how those funds are disbursed. I suggest we set up a finance committee with an overview and approval function for any expenditure in excess of”—he looked around the table—“fifty thousand dollars?”

  Heads nodded and there was a chorus of “Ayes.”

  This, Flocke understood, was not winnable. He said, “For funds levied on members, yes. I shall retain discretion to spend, as I see fit, funds provided by benefactors.”

  “So moved,” confirmed Edwards.

  Flocke and Edwards exchanged glances. Edwards was erecting boundaries, and Flocke understood he’d need to abide by the new structures, at least, until he could demolish them. He made a silent promise to himself. Edwards would need to double his guard.

  “California is our next topic,” Flocke said. “We need to find a state leader. I’ll entertain suggestions and produce a short list for review at our next meeting. At the moment, the local troop is in disarray; Pitera did not have a planne
d succession. If you have a deputy or senior member who would be capable of implementing a holding plan, please let me know.”

  He ignored the murmur of discussions around the table and allowed them to continue for a minute. He tapped on the table, and the attendees quietened.

  “I’m seeking replacements for General Young. His loss has set back my plans for moving the Storm Detachment to Gitmo for further training; I plan to present a short list to our next meeting. Again, if you have suggestions for his replacement, please message me with details.”

  Again, heads nodded. No one spoke up. Flocke understood he had the primary responsibility; however, offering to consider nominees from the states’ American Eagles troops gave the appearance of shared leadership.

  “Sir, I do have a question for you.” It was the Florida state leader.

  “Yes?”

  “We are experiencing a growth of bots—robots and autonomous devices. What actions are we considering to counter the registration and licensing of these lumps of tin?”

  “To a certain extent this is why I placed McIntosh on our list of enemies. It is anathema to me that states are even considering registration of these devices and treating them somehow as human. We should establish a working party tasked with determining how we re-establish control.” When a tiny thought slithered its way through his conscious mind that the two care bots supporting his wife were part of this growth of bots, he ignored it. “I’ll entertain suggestions, first for working party members and second, for tactics we should consider.”

  He took a deep breath; how he had managed to control his anger, he did not know. His therapist would be proud.

  He concluded, “I’ve covered my points. We can go to any other business, or if there is none, we can close the meeting. Other business?”

  When no one responded, he stood. “Thank you again for attending. I know your days are busy. I look forward to seeing you at our next meeting.”