As technology progresses, new moral questions emerge. Questions with obvious answers transform into problems with new layers of complexity. What does it truly mean to have responsibility, for instance? How does the nature of the synthetic mind, or even alien minds, if they exist, change this question? “Moral Agency Revisited,” Journal of Martian Ethics, Valeri Wilson, 2101 C.E.
February 2102 C.E.
Theren had their many roles spread across the planet, and they maintained those relationships as much as humanly possible. When “parked” in orbit around Earth, they formed simultaneous perspectives in an MI-08 in their office in Lunar City, in the museum in Switzerland, an MI-10 at the ISA offices in London and New York, and a few older MI-06s at universities across the globe. In addition to these many physical presences, Theren activated Virtual presences in official and leisurely capacities. Since they had taken on their new form, they found fewer moments to invest in games like Fantasie Rift 2.
They tried to equalize the mental capacity allocated between each perspective, though in certain moments, key conscious threads received less attention than others. At any given time, many perspectives didn’t use all of the processing power at their disposal. Theren could optimize focus to particular events without taking away from other priorities.
One such conscious perspective rarely using significant amounts of processing power almost never left the ISA European Regional Administrative Headquarters in London. So much of their work at the Earth-based ISA offices pertained to mundane bureaucratic activities, they rarely used more than one percent of the mental processing power allocated for the MI-10.
Theren’s schedule at this ISA Administrative Headquarters began similarly to most other days. They met with financial stakeholders, potential contractors, and program managers. They reviewed reports and memos from various ISA officials throughout the region. As the sun reached its zenith in the British sky, and Theren began to crack the code hiding impossible messages from beyond the grave, they received a call from their secretary, Ngana.
“Director, you have a visitor,” she said. “Unscheduled, but says he has an urgent matter, for your ears only.”
“Thank you, Ngana.” Theren said. “Name?”
“Goes by Phillippe Casius,” he said, “I checked his credentials; he’s a registered barrister, works as a court prosecutor.”
Theren brought up a profile of the man. Fifty-two years old, former member of Parliament. Worked criminal cases for over a decade. Made headlines when he spoke out against the continued use of private charter colonies by the ISA after the disappearance of the Nottingham and Roanoke in the late 2080s. Apparently, Casius had an older brother on the Nottingham.
Casius cleared Theren’s security background check, though if this man had arrived on any other day, they probably would have turned him away. Given the wild events of the past few days, the man’s arrival would only further complicate the forming narrative. The wheels of conspiracy vigorously turned.
“Send him up,” they said. “Any clue why he’s here?”
Silence, as Ngana most likely gave the barrister directions to Theren’s office. The secretary responded a few seconds later. “No idea. Though he looked in a hurry, as if time were of the essence.”
Theren waited for the man to ascend the one-hundred and fifty floors to the Executive Suite of the Administrative Headquarters, devoting more resources to researching the man. Over the years, Casius had written numerous criminal law articles, specifically in the context of virtual worlds, information security, and SIs. Many of the articles were speculative in nature, positing extreme scenarios where a human perpetuated a virtual crime against another virtual presence, or an SI perpetrated a crime while in a mobile body but actually located kilometers away. Such circumstances created interesting jurisdictional questions. Theren found the ideas fascinating, and they established a separate perspective to consider the arguments. In general, the man’s writings established him as an intellectual, with a political heart and idealist strain stemming from the emotional loss of his brother decades earlier.
The elevator neared the end of its five-hundred meter journey, so Theren stood, heading out of their office to meet Casius in the lobby. The glass doors to the foyer and elevator doors opened simultaneously, and they entered as Casius arrived.
Wearing a grey suit, Phillippe Casius was of shorter than average height. His silver hair complemented his clothing, and Theren appreciated the blue and red tie against the man’s white dress shirt. He dressed professionally. He dressed with authority. Theren had met with an insurmountable number of powerful persons over the past five decades, yet rarely did they have someone seek them with such assured confidence. The man knew his story was one worth telling. Now Theren would hear two such stories in less than a month.
They held out their metallic hand, and Casius returned the handshake with grace and strength. “Thank you for meeting with me, Director,” he said. “My name is Phillippe Casius, and I’ve had a case come across my desk that you must consider.”
“Straight to the point—you have my attention,” Theren said, leading them back through the glass doors and toward a conference room. “Would you like some water, anything to eat?”
“No, but thank you.”
They entered the conference room, the doors sliding shut behind them. Taking seats across from each other, Theren rested their hands under the table. Casius’s hands were subtly shaking. Curious.
“How can I help you today?” they said.
“A local officer just arrested an SI, an MI-06, for murder,” Casius said. “They brought him—I think he goes by him—in this morning. The story won’t break to the press until tomorrow. My Special Victims team has been assigned the case, and we thought you would want to know ahead of the press.”
That was the last thing Theren had expected this man to bring to the table. For the first time, one of Dr. Wallace Theren’s progeny had committed a capital crime against another person. Murder.
“You have my undivided attention, friend.”
* * *
Steam billowed from the sewers. A rat scurried across an alley. Leaning against a wall, a disheveled man in a ragged cloak and gloves tried to keep himself warm. The icy winter cold struck a fierce purple across his exposed skin. He barely moved an inch, the steam from the sewer his only heat source.
Hours prior, the sun had set over the London skyline. Tourists bustled along the street, paying no attention to the man huddled in the shadows. They never had, and never would. The world had forgotten his soul. In the eyes of the public, he did not exist.
After a few moments of the same scene, an MI-06 SI named Ren walked up the street. Ren was a preeminent economist in London’s financial sectors, where he analyzed and traded stocks for the rich and powerful. He wrote essays for local journals on financial prospects and taught classes at Kings College. Ren lived the ordinary life of a successful SI.
Ren approached the alley, just like all the tourists, walking right past the homeless man. Ten meters past the alley, Ren stopped. His timing was impeccable. Just as he paused his stroll, the last person on the street passed the alley. For at least a minute or more, no prying eyes gazed upon the street.
Ren returned to the alley. He stepped down the shadowy path, saying something to the outcast. The man dropped something to the ground, perhaps a drink—or a piece of food. He backed into the alley.
Ren stalked his prey, taking slow calculated steps away from the street. The man seemed too weak to fly or fight. Instead of running, he stumbled into a fence. For a moment, Ren stared the wretch down, gazing upon him from head to toe.
Ren jabbed his two arms forward and grabbed the sides of the man’s face. The two hands engulfed the man’s head, terror devouring his mind. A second later, Ren snapped the neck with ease. The scene paused, Theren intervening.
“Wobbly, what are your thoughts?” Theren said. After they observed the video a number of times, with Casius’s permission, Theren had invited the CEO of SII to view the scene through AR.
“I believe I’m as surprised as you are, Director,” Wobbly said.
Theren walked forward, staring at the frozen image of Ren. “It has been a long time since I’ve involved myself directly with the education of SIs,” Theren said. “It was not that I thought this sort of behavior impossible. But I had always hoped . . .”
“You thought after all this time, if it were going to happen, it would have by now,” Casius said.
“Perhaps,” Theren replied. “I assume your team has run public perception metrics on how an announcement of a murder, allegedly perpetrated by an SI, might play out?”
“We have,” Casius said. “Our simulations indicate an immediate surge in digital outrage, but well-tailored press statements should dampen the worst possible outcomes. We wanted to approach you, first, to see what sort of punishment you think fits this crime. I’m actually quite glad you brought Wobbly into this conversation. Ren is your creation, after all. A condemnation and suggestion of punishment from the two of you should make clear the seriousness with which you take this case.”
Theren studied Casius for a moment. He had the poise of a politician, and the sharp mind of a tactician. He did not want the world to explode because of one murder. People would riot if he didn’t handle this situation with delicate hands.
Theren understood why the murder would outrage the public. Deep down, many still believed SIs were fundamentally different from humans, deserving different laws, different punishments, and different standards, and in some ways, those beliefs were right. Sometimes, they wondered if society should hold SIs to higher standards than humans, given their record of exemplary performance and citizenship. Since when did anyone hear of an SI thief or serial killer?
Such a person hadn’t existed until today.
“What happened after Ren killed the man?” Wobbly asked. “And what was the man’s name, by the way?”
“Richard Paulson,” Casius replied. “After he broke Richard’s neck, Ren immediately walked out of the alley and to the nearest police station. Turned himself in. Gave us the exact codes for which cameras would give us the simulation. I heard that part of the story from the officers themselves, of course, but I don’t doubt its validity.”
“Ren knew exactly what he was doing, then,” Wobbly said.
Casius, said, “You don’t think he was acting with remorse?”
Theren walked through the three dimensional image of Ren, gaining a clearer view of Casius. “No,” they said. “An SI doesn’t think like that. We don’t make a choice then immediately regret it. These were deliberate actions. He knew the alley. He knew the cameras. He knew exactly where to go, when to strike, perhaps when to cause the death without making a scene.”
“But what was his motive,” Wobbly said, “If not some misfiring in his Framework?”
“I want to know the answer to that question, too,” Casius said.
Ah. The underlying reason for this meeting. Casius had no official requirement to contact Theren before pressing charges. The Crown Prosecution Service could have determined the right punishment for the SI and written a peaceful rhetoric with which to break the story. Its legal teams could have done it all without engaging the Director of the ISA, and Theren would have respected that decision. They saw through Casius’s smoke and mirrors. The man was simply curious.
His analytically inquisitive mind knew how SIs worked, at least at a theoretical level. Like Theren, Casius hadn’t fathomed an SI ever committing a capital crime. The man had made that clear in a number of his writings. When the case landed on the man’s desk, he wanted answers from the person most likely to hold them.
Casius would speculate for a little while longer. Theren was equally curious and clueless.
“Before I can give you an informed suggestion on how to handle this case,” they said, “I would like to speak with the SI personally.”
“I thought that might be the case,” the prosecutor said.
“Would I be able to join as well?” Wobbly asked.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can set up an AR feed for us directly into his cell. His eyes and ears only. No need for us to have either of you walking into a jail in broad daylight. Stokes the fire for too many questions.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Theren, Wobbly, and Casius stood inside a small cell, present only to Ren’s mind through the simulated sensory experience of AR.
“Hello, Theren—Wobbly,” Ren said, looking up at the now present group. “I see the ‘parents’ are checking on a prodigal son.”
A strange reference. Before they could respond, Casius said, “So you do talk. I suspected you might talk to Theren, of all persons.”
Another reason Casius had wanted their help.
“Of course I’ll talk to Theren,” Ren responded. “It is because of Theren that I killed that man. That wretched, wretched man.”
“Wait what?” Casius said, looking at the ISA director.
“Don’t be ridiculous, prosecutor.” The SI laughed, the noise eerily echoing off the cement walls. “I did not kill that man on orders from Theren. I killed him because I knew such an act would cause a meeting: right here, right now.”
“What sort of meeting?” Theren said. “You did this to talk to me? You are a bloody SI, you can reach out to me whenever you like.”
“I couldn’t talk to you like this, though, in this setting, because of this type of complication to your perfectly constructed narrative,” the SI said. “I needed to talk to you because I have a particular message to give you. Well, two.”
Casius paced, clearly frustrated. If Theren read the situation right, Casius had hoped once Ren began to speak, he could begin a proper interrogation. Instead, Ren was leading the conversation and dictating the mood. The SI was on a mission, one Theren intended to let proceed to its fullest extent.
“And those messages are?” they asked.
Before Ren could respond, Casius held up his hand.
“Hold on, Theren,” he said. “I’ve got questions for this one. I need to talk to him before he starts unfairly prejudicing the situation.”
“The messages are short and sweet, dear prosecutor,” Ren said before turning toward Theren, giving Casius a shoulder.
“First, I hope I have made it abundantly clear,” he said. “SIs are not infallible. We are not perfect moral machines. We can deviate from our education. You must do better, because you have failed in the past, at least in ways you would consider failure. Just because you have missed those failures does not mean that they do not exist. I killed that man to make clear that we can not only kill, but also murder. If humanity is to move forward, it cannot see SIs as perfect saviors. SIs cannot view themselves as such, either.”
“We don’t think that,” Theren said, but they considered the thought. Theren had touted the impeccable criminal record of SIs as a people group for years. Wobbly had used the same talking points. They thought they had avoided an aura of supremacy in their words, though they supposed they couldn’t entirely inoculate that idea from seeping into a portion of the public consciousness.
“Those of us with boots on the ground know we’re not infallible, but do you not think that of yourself?” Ren said. Leaving the question unanswered, he added, “My second message represents my true purpose here today.”
A chessboard appeared in AR inside the small jail cell. Theren watched the imprisoned SI move a chess piece. The board showed the position of the pieces just as Theren had left them inside the gazebo, yet the changes to the board matched all the previous boards that had come before, including Theren’s own responses . . .