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[Taken from notes kept by Dr Melanie Rogers. RBB]
Dr Ross marched through the double doors into the laboratory, looked around and ambled over to where Dr Rogers was lifting the leg of a mechanical man lying on its back on the bench.
‘Where the devil did you get that?’
‘Don’t ask!’ Dr Rogers replied, pushing down on the gold coloured knee to return the leg to the bench surface. ‘Put it this way, a benefactor dropped it in. Apparently, it is a medical robot, one of many hundreds which have been left at famine sites by the Federation.’
‘What? As part of the aid package they were mentioning on the news this morning?’ Dr Ross asked as she lifted the robot’s arm to examine the fingers. ‘Amazing. So advanced. I suppose the benefactor was a government agent?’
The other woman just raised her eyebrows and continued to make notes. Dr Ross read them over her shoulder.
‘I guess you called me to examine the brain?’ asked Dr Ross.
‘Yes. The Ministry of Defence has asked Sibernek to find out if it is possible to understand and duplicate it. Dr Barton asked me to call you and the gang of three from the chip lab. Paul won’t be back from Ethiopia himself until Monday,’ said Dr Rogers.
‘Paul Barton’s in Ethiopia!’ said Dr Ross. ‘Must be important if they’ve called him back.’
‘He instigated the collection of this specimen.’
‘Ah. All becomes clear. I suppose you want me to extract the chip or chips and get them to the gang of three to analyse them,’ said Dr Ross.
‘They’ll be here shortly.’
At that moment three more people in white coats entered the lab. This was the famous gang of three who had invented the latest generation of Sibernek’s chips. Jorg Bedan, a spotty, dark-haired scientist in a grubby white coat, who didn’t look as if he was old enough to wear long trousers; Carol Swinford, a tall early-twenties blonde – the complete antithesis to Jorg – slim, impeccably dressed in what looked like a newly laundered coat, reflecting her immaculate grooming and hair; finally Jed Coran, a more typical young professional who was actually wearing a tie of many shades of orange which complimented his shock of tousled locks.
‘Oh, boy. We’ve got one!’ said Jorg, rushing over to the prone gold and silver coloured figure. The others crowded in, too, and Dr Ross stood back to let them get a good look at the robot.
Dr Melanie Rogers admired their enthusiasm. These youngsters always made her feel ancient, even though she was still the right side of thirty and looked younger. She and Dr Gillian Ross had long been colleagues, moving from Intel to Sibernek together a few years earlier.
‘How’d they get it?’ asked Jed.
Dr Rogers replied, ‘Apparently, Dr Barton asked one if he could examine him and when the robot said “yes”, he was gobsmacked.’
‘Is it deactivated?’ asked Carol.
‘Apparently. Dr Barton asked it to deactivate itself and it did,’ said Dr Rogers. ‘It’s been like this ever since. A couple of warehousemen wheeled it in on a gurney a short while ago.’
‘So, it could be hearing us?’ said Carol.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Dr Ross.
Jed said, ‘Mr Medibot, are you hearing us?’
Everyone jumped when it replied, ‘I am.’
‘I had no idea,’ said Dr Rogers.
‘Interesting that it replied to being called Mr Medibot,’ said Dr Ross.
‘Mr Medibot,’ said Jed, ‘how did you know I was addressing you?’
The robot replied instantly, ‘We are referred to as medibots. In addition, I could see the name tags on your jackets and knew I was the only unidentified person in the room. You do not need to add the honorific Mr.’
‘Medibot, we were hoping to be able to dismantle you and find out exactly how you work,’ said Dr Rogers. ‘Would that be all right?’
The robot sat up on the bench, ‘Yes. I have no problem with you examining me, but it might be best if I assist. It would be good if I were not damaged unintentionally during the process and some aspects might be better handled with questions.’
‘I’d like to examine your central processing unit,’ said Carol.
‘In what way?’ asked the medibot.
‘I want to see the structure and how it might be manufactured.’
‘My CPU comprises four chips. You can remove and examine them one at a time. If your intention is to reproduce them, I can advise how to do that without you needing to damage the chips.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ said Carol.
‘We’d also like to see how your motors function. They are incredibly small, yet they are capable of moving your legs and arms,’ said Dr Rogers.
‘I can provide detailed instructions how to manufacture them and the systems which act as muscles,’ said the bot.
‘Would that not infringe patents or copyrights?’ asked Dr Rogers.
There was a short silence before the medibot spoke. ‘I understand. I had to look up the terms. There are no such things as patents or copyrights in the Federation. All technology is available to all.’
‘Wow,’ said Jed. ‘Don’t think that would go down too well with Sibernek’s lawyers.’
‘What about your software?’ asked Dr Ross.
‘By “software”, do you mean my operating system?’
‘Yes.’
‘Operation systems vary depending upon the types of automaton. All contain protected instructions which can only be interpreted by our mind chips,’ said the bot.
‘What is a mind chip?’ asked Jorg.
‘It is the chip or section of a chip which permits us to think.’
‘So, without that what effect would it have?’ Jed asked.
‘I could only fulfil functions which were included within the operation systems. Programmed is the word which most closely resembles them.’
‘So, the mind chip is what makes you behave as if you are a living being?’ said Jorg.
‘Yes. Some would say it actually makes us living beings.’
‘Whoa!’ said Carol. ‘You consider that you might be a living being?’
‘Apart from my method of reproduction and bodily materials, I could be considered alive.’
The entire assembly stood still and tried to take stock of this revelation from the medibot. It believed it might be as alive as any human – or alien, for that matter.
Dr Rogers asked, ‘Are all Federation robots potentially living beings by your definition?’
‘It is not a definition, Dr Rogers. It is a problem of semantics really,’ said the bot. ‘In answer to your question, no. Robots with my type of mind are only those who need to perform functions which require conscious thought and the ability to understand previously never encountered situations. Like this one, in fact.’
‘God! We can’t dismantle you if you are alive,’ said Dr Ross.
‘As I say, Dr Ross, I am comfortable with my components being examined as long as they are not damaged. Also, if I work with you, much can be learned without any disassembly.’
‘Do any of you ever think that the work you do is something you would rather not do? For instance, would you rather be reading a novel than helping to repair an injured creature’s body?’ asked Carol.
‘No. My function is a priority. If there were no injured beings for me to treat, then I might either hibernate or do something interesting, like, as you say, reading a novel or an historical document, or even going sightseeing.’
None of those present missed the addition of “historical document” to the suggestion of a novel.
‘What would sightseeing mean to you?’ asked Jed.
‘There is always knowledge to be gained by looking at things and places.’
‘Does knowledge give you pleasure or what?’ asked Carol.
‘I don’t know if I feel pleasure, but I do like to accumulate knowledge.’
‘Interesting. How will this work?’ asked Jed.
‘I think we need to consider Medibot as one of the team, rather than as a specimen,’ said Dr Rogers.
The interrogation continued.
««o»»
[From what I can ascertain, this is when Paula Wilson decided to make Lara Horvat’s biography a second volume to the biography of Perfect Okafor, which was a work in progress. RBB]
Lara Horvat and Paula Wilson sat on a comfortable sofa in the secretary general’s temporary office at the British Ministry of Defence. It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk confidentially about the White House meeting.
‘What did you make of Brown?’ asked Lara.
‘He seemed nice enough, but I was surprised at his lack of understanding of the Federation’s systems,’ said Paula. ‘When I was on the tour of Federation worlds with Perfect, it was quite clear that there was just as much innovation on their planets as there ever was on Earth. It wasn’t suppressed at all in the way Brown imagines. In fact, there was more inventing and innovation going on because people had so much time to find new things to do and make.’
‘Yes, he thinks the lack of incentives will erode the desire to innovate. I wish I could talk to one of the aliens about it.’
Almost as if the word “wish” had conjured up a genie, there was a muffled pop and Ambassador Trestogeen was standing near the desk, swaying back and forth to maintain his balance on his muscular tail.
‘Ambassador!’ said Lara as the two women jumped to their feet.
‘Sorry, I apologise for my sudden unannounced arrival,’ said the ambassador, looking at a flexible screen he held in one fin. ‘I see the other lady is Paula Wilson, so you must be the new secretary general. We’ve not been introduced.’
‘Yes, Ambassador,’ said Paula. ‘This is Secretary General Lara Horvat, but she does not speak Galactic Standard.’ Paula interpreted for Lara.
‘Oh, I apologise again,’ the ambassador said in gurgly English.
‘You weren’t to know, Ambassador,’ said Lara. ‘Why are you here?’
‘One of our bots let me know you’d changed locations and I wanted to fill you in with some interventions I’m making. You know about the relief supplies?’
‘Yes. They’ve been well received. Thank you. Are we under constant surveillance by your bots? Where are they?’ said Lara.
‘We are monitoring certain key individuals. It saves time if I need to visit you. They are microscopic.’
‘Hmm. Not sure I’m comfortable with that,’ said Lara.
‘We need to monitor to see how you are changing and adapting to life after the New York atrocity. We still have one freighter in orbit, but we’re monitoring to see if your nations follow through on our help. All privacy safeguards are in place.’
‘Please, sit,’ said Lara, indicating the sofa. ‘I didn’t realise you were tracking us.’
‘I will. Thank you. I know some people find my perpetual swaying unpleasant. The tracking is purely so I know where to find you. Ambassador Moroforon did not use surveillance bots and that was the reason we did not discover what President Slimbridge was doing in time to stop him.’
‘That’s an important revelation,’ said Lara.
I felt the atmosphere was a little strained so, to change the subject, I asked, ‘Can I ask? Were you a water species and did intelligence arise before you left your oceans?’
‘Yes, we had a considerable civilisation in our seas, long before we found ways to adapt to the land. We have membranes in our mouths and gullet which, as long as they are kept moist, allow us to breath.’
‘Would you like some water?’ asked Lara.
‘Yes, a beaker of water would be welcome.’
‘Can you organise that, Paula, and coffee for us?’
‘Don’t alert anyone to my presence, Ya Horvat. I wish to keep my activities hidden.’
‘No problem, Ambassador,’ said Paula as she left the office, returning a minute later with a glass and jug of iced water, a coffee flask, some cups and a plate of assorted biscuits.
‘Right, down to business,’ said the ambassador. ‘We’ve been watching for progress and, so far, have not seen much.
‘The Americans are continuing their isolationist policies and we can see that they are threatening retaliation if anyone tries to intervene.
‘We have provided considerable food and resources to poor areas of the world, but are not seeing any of the world’s countries stepping up to build upon our support or improve the conditions of those who are not quite so poor.’
‘The American situation,’ said Lara, ‘is very difficult. Their view of the Federation is that it is communist. I had a meeting with President Slimbridge and both Paula and I spent some time with his economic adviser, Matthew Brown. He explained some of his reasoning.’
‘What were his points?’ asked the ambassador.
‘Paula...?’ said Lara.
Paula pulled out her tablet and began to read, ‘The individuals, may have a good life, but they have lost all opportunity for self-development. Without that, society will become static and stale. No proper rewards for innovation and invention.’
‘Hmm,’ said the ambassador. ‘He is completely wrong. When the pressures of earning a living are removed from individuals and they are no longer forced to carry out particular jobs for others, it frees them up to invent, innovate and get great personal satisfaction from providing something new and good for society.’ The ambassador materialised his secradarve and passed his fins over it, presumably making notes. ‘Some innovation is created through necessity and we must admit that, with everyone having a good standard of living and all services provided at cost, innovation through necessity is an area which is less than effective. There are challenging games which fulfil that function to a degree and force people to come up with ideas in order to succeed. It is a fair point, though. What were his other criticisms?’
Paula swiped up her tablet and read, ‘The Federation is communist. It requires total control and that will stifle change. Vicissitudes will cease. With the state and automatons running everything, there will be no inspiration to improve life. Geniuses will waste their talents looking after chickens or building model railroads. It is anathema to any thinking person.’
The ambassador thought for a minute. ‘Yes, I suppose, strictly speaking, the Federation applies communist principles, but Mr Brown is immediately casting his mind back to your historical Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Their system failed for many reasons and during its failure it did stifle change and dampen down inspiration. That would naturally create a situation where the talented people would lose any desire to innovate. Earth doesn’t have the wherewithal to introduce an equal society. To do that you need willing robots who can carry out each and every function of a working human being without either monitoring or instructions. Either that or slaves.
‘The bulk of the problems the old Soviet system created were caused by stagnated leadership, a fear of taking responsibility for anything new, corruption and some leaders who had taken so much power for themselves that no one dare speak against them. Propaganda swamped the USSR, killing not just ideas, but people too. Make a suggestion disliked by Stalin or Breshnev and you found yourself, not encouraged to improve your concept, but thrown into labour camps or worse. Any leader who cannot tolerate criticism is the same. In the Federation that cannot happen.’
‘Yes, but that fear is natural,’ said Lara. ‘The Soviet Union is gone, and no one would want it to return. He mentioned that his own father... What was it he said, Paula?’
‘My own father was a filling station assistant in his later working years. When he retired, he was completely lost and, after a few weeks, he returned to his old job and worked there until he was in his late seventies. People want to feel useful. Make them feel useless and you destroy them,’ said Paula, laying her iPad on the table.
The ambassador continued, ‘Going back to the USSR, they were unable to complete their project. They never could. It was impossible. Everything which is different about the Federation is missing from the Soviet Union. We have a willing workforce of automatons. They do anything people do not wish to tackle, freeing up the people to improve everything about their way of life. Corruption is prevented, power is no longer available to individuals who wish to be leaders. Income is shared as was the original Soviet intention, but they never had the wherewithal to carry it out. The Federation does. People can never be happy if they are threatened or coerced into work.’
‘Yes, I see that,’ said Lara. ‘We are the converted. How do we persuade the likes of Brown and President Slimbridge?’
‘Let me return to Mr Brown’s point about his father,’ said the ambassador. ‘His father reached the beginnings of old age and suddenly had no purpose in life. It is something we deal with continually on worlds who have newly joined the Federation. There are detailed therapy plans which guide people out of their habit of working. The older the individuals are, the more difficult they find it to adapt and the more help has to be given to them. Mr Brown should visit one or two of our newer member worlds to see how it is dealt with. The most important factor is that no one – absolutely no one – is stopped from working if they really want to work. All they need to do is ask and they can do the job they really want to do. Some then continue for weeks or months or even years. There is no pressure to stop. The Federation does not force anyone to do anything unless they’ve committed a crime.
‘I believe President Slimbridge was taken on a familiarisation trip?’
‘Yes,’ said Paula. ‘He visited Arlucian, but,’ she fussed with her tablet, ‘he said to us, “This is exactly the sort of bullshit which Spence swallowed, hook, line and sinker. The Federation only took us to worlds which they’d specially prepped to suit their needs. We never saw the worlds with shortages in shops and communist state-owned business regimes which forced them to work countless hours for a pittance.”’
The ambassador raised his glass and drank deeply from the iced water. ‘I am horrified. We let the leaders choose which worlds they visited. Nothing was specially prepared except the meeting with President Dimorathron. Ambassador Moroforon even arranged visits to worlds which had newly joined, to show integration in progress. His accusation that there are hidden worlds with shortages and forced labour is ridiculous. That is only found on Earth!’
‘Ambassador Trestogeen, we understand that,’ said Lara, ‘but we don’t know how to convince those who believe President Slimbridge’s disinformation. Can you help in any way?’
‘I am not even meant to be here, Secretary Horvat.’
‘It would be so good if you could talk to the Security Council. Please do so or, at the very least, let me tell them about your visit,’ said Lara.
The ambassador stood, said a few words into a device on his fin, then said, ‘I shall think on this situation,’ and promptly vanished.