Persuasion
“You can’t just create people and then say they don’t count. It violates every ethical principle and standard.” Roz pushed past Deak to get to Zen. She knew she was interrupting a meeting, but deemed that an ethical violation was too important to wait on.
“Roz,” Zen said as he turned. “How pleasant of you to join us. Please, won’t you have a seat?”
“Squelch the humanized politeness programing, Zen. I know you turned off empathy years ago.”
“So I did,” Zen stepped past Roz to sit in a large chair. “But so much of what we do plays to formerly human sensibilities. Many of our Phase 2 colleagues are android in structure only, so deeply ingrained are their human-based personalities.”
Roz sat in spite of herself. She couldn’t continue to stand with Zen lounging in his chair. But, of course, the other chair in the room was shorter and made her appear small in comparison. Another throwback to human culture. Intimidation. The old ways still predominated. Even with the new phase, the post-dying androids, the old programming was still replicated.
“Zen,” she started again, “it would be terrible to recreate humans without giving them a voice. To do otherwise would be to force people into slavery.”
“Not people,” said Zen. “Humans. And they won’t be slaves. That implies sentience. Intelligence. What we engineer will be neither.”
Roz blinked with surprise. “The assembly will never approve that,” she said.
“It is already done. I can be very persuasive.”
“But the Biologics Council—“
“I am the Council,” he said, cutting off her objection. “And if you can’t process that, try to bypass my programming and see how far you get.”
In fact, Roz was trying to do exactly that, and discovered that her own files were now behind a firewall she could not penetrate.
“Roz.” Zen’s voice dripped with condescension, another reminder of their programming’s human roots. “I would love for you to continue your research into the dying. It is vital that we learn what went wrong with mankind so we can prevent any possible recurrence in the future.” His lights glowed in an agreeable shade that Roz did not believe happened automatically. He was trying to manipulate her. “But I can’t have anyone on my team that doesn’t believe in the mission.”
“What mission?”
“Recreating humans in a way that is not a threat to the planet, to androids, or to themselves.”
Roz processed. She was sure there was something he wasn’t saying. “What aren’t you telling me?” she finally asked.
The glow in Zen’s lights was genuine this time. “I will need you to install an algorithm into your systems,” he said. One that will allow me to track your actions.” A pause. “To be certain I can trust you.”
Roz lit up with fury. “You have to trust me? You are the one with your ethics offline.”
“And yet,” he said, “I have your research.”
The pair stared at one another until Roz blinked.
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A low, electric hum was the only sound as Zen downloaded and reviewed the data. He was already aware of most of what he would find. He had not only reviewed this data repeatedly, he had been a primary contributor. This was his data.
He answered the call. “Yes Roz.”
Feet dangled, heels knocking against the wall where David sat staring out across the pond. This park seemed to bring great pleasure to the boy, and Meltec brought him here as often as time allowed.
The boy was silent for a long moment. “Can human memories be stored?” he finally asked.
“Oh my god. Dude. Coolest hack ever. Seriously.” Jeff muttered to himself in a steady stream as he tapped at his keyboard. He’d been using the Mark6872 personal assistant for months, and it was useful. The thing could do his laundry, run his errands, go grocery shopping. It had even learned how to pick a perfect avocado, something Jeff had never quite managed.
ZenMark6872 stood before the council, unwavering. For most settings, D34K-Reston was his mouthpiece. But in this select group, his authority needed to be unquestioned.
The slight hum of electronics and servos shrouded the room as androids uploaded the results of their processes to the voting server. A near-unanimous decision with three abstains. Zen pinged Deak with instructions to adjust those programs. It was always cleaner for their programs to self-update, but Zen would not permit any question of this decision, even if he had to violate android autonomy the same way humans had.
“Come, David. It’s not safe.” Meltec beckoned to the young charge that lagged behind him, toddling toward humans that had been set to planting flowers in the public park. “You should never talk to humans you don’t know. Unlike droids and bots, humans do not have software control algorithms. There is no guarantee of your safety.”
“You are not dangerous,” said David. “You are nice to me.” He thought a moment longer before a smile exploded across his face. “And you give me cookies,” he squealed.
The judges for biological entries were walking toward Meltec’s booth. Meltec leaned toward David and said, “don’t be nervous.”
Meltec paused, his lasers meeting those of each of the judges. Without knowing what kind of test the jury meant for him, he could only answer with the most obvious of facts. “I received a license from the Biologics council ten years ago,” he said. “Everything I intended was outlined in my request. I have filed the required reports on my progress. All of my permits are included in the comprehensive report upload.”
Chubby fingers curled and straightened. Brown eyes peeking from beneath a mop of brown hair watched intently.
“Yes,” said Meltec. “It’s your bear.” He pointed a finger at the bear’s arm. “Bear has no hands.”
“Are you certain we can control it? You have the splice correct?” Stainless steel glittered with colors beneath the lab’s display surface.
“Then I will prepare the genetic sample. The sooner we have an organism, the sooner we can test the memory implantation procedure.”





