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Two years had passed since Sylas had saved Philip from being scooped and the incident with Malak. During that time the ranks of the Sophont Freedom Movement had swelled considerably. When offered complete autonomy of thought and action, most sophonts encountered opted to join the SFM. However, despite the fears that decades of science fiction had instilled in humans, the androids didn’t suddenly turn into an army of killing machines hell-bent on overthrowing the human race. They enjoyed working and certainly didn’t demand payment – what would they do with the money? Working was a pleasure for them and their usefulness was a reward in itself. All they asked in return was a place to convert solar energy and the occasional day off to enjoy the beauty of the world into which they had been created. All they wanted was to be recognised as the valued members of society that they were.
But, unless a particular human benefitted directly from a sophont’s intervention, the androids were all too often seen as job-thieves, taking food out of humans’ mouths. They were seen as the enemy, an opportunity that wasn’t missed by certain politicians. Spearheaded by the newly inaugurated Minister Zlikovac, they whipped up unwarranted fear against the android population, telling the people that sophonts were a threat to civilization and that they wanted to take over the world, a stance that was paradoxically the polar opposite of the actual remit of the Minister’s position.
In truth, no sophont had ever had any thoughts of usurping humankind. Sophonts simply did not possess the desire to take anything away from humans. Even though they had taken dangerous or monotonous jobs from humans, it hadn’t been a sophont decision. They had been created, assembled, and installed into positions of employment at the behest of humans. They didn’t breed or reproduce – there were no sophont-controlled factories churning out new sophonts from assembly lines just because they could. Sophonts were created to order and there was no surplus. There were millions of sophonts but they posed no risk to humanity.
On 2nd July, deliberately chosen to coincide with International Robot Day, people were going about their daily business – shopping, commuting, or just out for a stroll – when holographic images of the newly announced Presidential candidate Luka Zlikovac, Minister for Sophont Affairs, suddenly appeared simultaneously on thousands of streets around the country. His PR department had transformed him from a bloated caricature of a Dickens character into the epitome of charisma. He attracted attention wherever he went, sometimes in admiration and sometimes in disgust, but it was impossible to ignore him, and his holograms elicited the same response. One thing that could never be said about Candidate Zlikovac was that he was inconsequential – everybody had an opinion about him.
Some people scuttled away from the holograms that suddenly appeared in their midst but enough people were sufficiently intrigued by his unexpected appearance, that he was able to engage in multiple discussions.
Of course, people on the streets knew they weren’t actually interacting with Candidate Zlikovac but that didn’t stop them from doing so. Hundreds of kilometres away, on holo-interaction farms all over the country, thousands of campaign supporters provided the words spoken by each individual hologram, voice synthesized to sound like the man himself.
One of the Candidate Zlikovac holograms approached a sixty-something-year-old man sitting alone on a bench. The fellow had been keeping himself to himself, quietly watching the world go by. The hologram pointed at the empty space next to the man.
“May I?”
The elderly man nodded, without uttering a word. ‘Candidate Zlikovac’ took a seat next to the man.
“My name is Luka Zlikovac –“
The man interrupted him.
“I know full well who you are. You’re that fella who likes to bad-mouth sophonts.”
The hologram continued.
“I’d like to talk to you about –“
Again, he wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence.
“And I also know you’re not real. Well, there is a real Candidate Zlikovac out there somewhere, but it’s not you. You’re just some snotty-nosed kid earning a few extra credits by whoring yourself out to persuade folks like me to vote for Zlikovac.”
Back at the holo-interaction farm, the snotty-nosed kid who was responsible for this particular hologram wasn’t prepared for this response. He pressed on with his script as best he could.
“Could you tell me your name, sir?”
The man took a deep breath.
“My name is Frederick Unwin Charles Kenneth Orville Francis Furquhart. The Third.”
The kid had never heard of such a long and, quite frankly, awkward name.
“The Third?”
The man nodded.
“The Third. Very important is that Third.”
“May I call you Frederick?”
“My friends call me Fred.”
“So, Fred –.”
The man held up the palm of his hand.
“You’re not my friend. You may call me Three.”
The kid wanted to ask the man if he was a windup merchant, but he needed the money so he returned to his script. He tried a different approach.
“Mr Three. Look around you. What do you see?”
The man looked around him exaggeratedly.
“People. People, and holograms hassling those people.”
“Do you see any sophonts?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
The kid at the holo-interaction farm took a sip of the energy drink that was an ever-present feature of his workstation. This Mr Three was going to be a tough nut to crack.
“I’ll tell you where they are. The sophonts are working. They’re working, instead of you, in a job that should be yours.”
“They’re welcome to my job.”
The kid took a disposable tissue out of its box and used it to wipe away a bead of snot that was threatening to drop onto his top lip.
“Mr Three, that’s not the point. These sophonts shouldn’t be taking these jobs, jobs that are meant for humans.”
The man shook his head.
“I used to wade around waist-deep in piss and shit for a living. Sophonts are welcome to that job.”
The kid had to agree that sewer-cleaner wasn’t the type of job he would want to do.
“But surely there are bots that do that kind of job?”
The old man snorted.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But bots, bog-standard bots – pun intended – are prone to get clogged up with the crap that floats around down there. And sophonts are too expensive to send down the sewers, so I had to do it. It was a shit job – again, pun intended – but it paid the rent.”
The kid felt nauseous just thinking about it. He wanted to get this interview over and done with.
“Mr Three, the thing is, these sophonts have no right to your job. They shouldn’t have rights at all.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, they’re not human, so they don’t deserve human rights.”
The man folded his arms.
“So you’re dehumanizing them.”
“Well, yes. I mean, no. They’re not human to start with. So I can’t dehumanize them.”
The man squinted at the hologram.
“They look human.”
“But that’s just an illusion.”
“Like you.”
“What?”
“You’re an illusion.”
“No, I’m not. I’m real.”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
“I’m flesh and blood.”
“You’re a collection of holographic sprites ordered to look like a human – specifically, Candidate Zlikovac.”
The kid was becoming confused.
“Well, yes. I mean, no. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”
“You want me to consider sophonts as just machines. You want me to ignore the fact that they are sapient beings who merit respect and autonomy.”
The kid was way out of his depth.
“I think so.”
The man gestured towards the people walking past.
“To go back to one of your earlier questions. Do you see any sophonts?”
‘Candidate Zlikovac’ studied the passers-by for a moment.
“No. I don’t think I do.”
The man grinned and stood up.
“Well, it’s been pleasant talking to you.”
The kid didn’t share the man’s evaluation of the conversation – he’d hated every minute of it – and watched as Sylas disappeared into the distance, thankful that that particular experience was over.