Expiration Day (35 page)

“Understood. Thank you. Now I want to start with the contract. A contract is all about regulating the exchange of things of value between two parties. Both parties have something of value that they wish to exchange for something of value that the other party can offer.

“The thing of value that my wife and I were able to offer was a sum of money, consisting largely of an inheritance, somewhat depleted by some unsuccessful fertility treatments, but augmented by some savings and a small loan.

“The thing of value we wanted was a child of our own, and that was what Oxted offered. Not a pet. Not a chimpanzee, or a dog or a cat. And not a robot, either. Oxted does do robots, and sells them outright, too. Indeed, thanks to the generosity of one of our parishioners, we have one—a fine old '44 model, which we call Soames, who does the dishes and plays table tennis badly.

“Oxted experts have of course testified that their fosterlings are not children, being limited by the hardware and the physics of the neurotronic link elements and by the programming of the cognitive unit—the thing that no one from Oxted ever calls a brain, because that would give the creature an attribute of humanity.

“And of course, under law the fosterlings are not children, because that would make them human, and trading in humans is illegal. It's called slavery.

“So Oxted offers these things that are like children, but aren't children. They're good enough to keep people happy for ten or fifteen years, by which time the foster parents have had enough. The ‘Uncanny Valley' phenomenon, it's called, which Dr. Evans alluded to yesterday, but didn't explicitly name. Her implication is that it's a limitation of the neurotronic technology.

“But that rejection is fine by Oxted; they recycle the brain into a new child and give the exhausted foster parents a pro-rata refund to ease their guilt and sorrow. And there are vicars and social workers who pick up the pieces of the broken relationships that inevitably follow.

“So on one hand, Oxted is careful never to call the fosterlings human, but on the other hand, every new set of foster parents is told to treat the fosterling as human, else the illusion won't work. Two contradictory messages that the parents somehow have to hold in their minds simultaneously. A novel written just over a hundred years ago called it doublethink—the ability to hold two mutually contradictory ideas in the mind. It's not something that human minds are built to do, and those that succeed are often not what we'd call sane.

“Oxted is peddling a drug called Parenthood, with full legal and government approval. It's a legal high, yet one that leaves its users mentally and often physically scarred. The one thing that can be said for it is that it is not addictive. Few users ever come back to it.

“And it is sold using doublethink—the fosterlings are not human, but you must treat them as human. Mr. Simpson, this is the first part of my submission, that the contract is based on deception, and therefore is not valid.”

Mr. Lloyd was on his feet, waving agitatedly at Mr. Simpson.

“Sir, I wish to contest these assertions!”

“Yes, Mr. Lloyd. I rather thought you might. The floor is yours.”

“First of all, I wish to stress that the work of Oxted is totally legal, fully approved by the government, and plays a vital role in stabilizing our society. It is true that there is sometimes a social cost in the recall process, but Oxted contributes generously to mental health programs as part of its not inconsiderable charitable work, and proper training and counseling are available to all foster parents.

“Secondly, I assure the court that you will never find any assertion in any Oxted literature or other published media, including brochures, manuals, advertising, or product placement, that Oxted's fosterlings are human, or anything but robotic.

“Thirdly, I point out that no one has to do business with Oxted. It is always a decision that prospective foster parents enter freely, in full possession of all the facts, and with a generous cooling-off period that exceeds the legal requirements. With regard to the ‘Uncanny Valley' phenomenon that Reverend Deeley brings up, that information is in the public domain, and the contract provides for a pro-rata refund, at whatever point the foster parents declare they are unhappy with the simulation. We are not the villains the Reverend Deeley paints us as!”

Mr. Simpson: “Reverend Deeley, would you care to respond to those points?”

“Indeed. I am forty-four; I was born in 2010, the year that the world's population went flat. I am well aware of the Troubles. I was seven, nearly eight when they erupted; they are part of my boyhood memories. My parents escaped the worst of the violence; the gangs of child-kidnappers were the main threat for them. I remember I had a nanny, who loved me dearly. I was broken-hearted when my parents dismissed her, but they were afraid that she might be somehow coerced into handing me over to a criminal gang—it happened to several of our friends.

“So I accept that Oxted serves a useful, even a necessary part in today's society. That should not blind us to the social cost, nor to the self-deception that Oxted does allow its customers to perpetrate on themselves.

“And lastly, your remark that ‘no one has to do business with Oxted.' No one has to take the drugs they offer. So said the tobacco industry in times past. So said the heroin dealers of the women forced into prostitution as they racked up the price or diluted the strength of their wares. So say all drug pushers, throughout history. This basic human need is broken, and Oxted offers a fix. You cannot say that ‘no one has to do business with Oxted' with a clear conscience or a straight face. You cannot.

“Oxted is a monopoly, whether you live in England or America, in New Delhi or Bogotá. There is no legal alternative. Oxted needs to be whiter than white, but it is dirty and bloody from the broken lives it leaves when the Oxted drug is taken away. Oxted needs to make restitution. Now would be a good time to make a start.”

Years of training, years of speaking from the pulpit coming together. Dad knows when he has made his point and when to stop.

The silence was acute. You could hear a pin drop. Mr. Lloyd was just sitting, with his mouth open like a goldfish, no sound coming out. I'm sure his brain was working hard, but the seconds ticked past.

Then, with impeccable timing, just before Mr. Lloyd could speak, Dad started up again.

“Well, let's move on, shall we? Time for a little mathematics, perhaps? We missed our chance yesterday with Dr. Morrison, unfortunately. Let's make up for that omission today with some lines-of-code analysis, based on the estimable Dr. Colyer's presentation yesterday. I jotted down the numbers from that presentation, and added them all up, and was surprised to find they didn't add up to the total that Dr. Colyer presented.”

And Dad then got the recorder to display the various figures and totals that Dr. Colyer presented. Sure enough, the figures added up were different. Close, but the individual figures totaled more than the stated total.

“Mr. Lloyd, I doubt you'll be able to supply the correct figures without consulting the good doctor, but listen to my hypotheses, and see which sound correct. Hypothesis one: that Dr. Colyer can't count. I do hope not—if simple arithmetic is beyond our doctor, then we should be very frightened about what bugs may be in that code. Hypothesis two is based on what we know about the human brain, which is that parts of the brain may have multiple functions. The same may be said of code, and of the cognitive matrix, if I'm not mistaken. With regard to the code, therefore, I suspect that parts of code have been counted twice, or more times, so that although the total of lines of code is correct, the individual figures contain duplication. Depending on the amount of duplication, you could even find that there's room for other function in the brain. Do tell me if I'm wrong, Mr. Lloyd.”

“Er, I'll check with Dr. Colyer and get back to you.”

“Do that, Mr. Lloyd.

“So we've established that there's at least potentially some code that doesn't necessarily appear in Dr. Colyer's list, so I wonder what such code might do. I come back to Dr. Evans's testimony, and her repeated insistence on the raw number of neurotronic link elements as being the measure of complexity of the cognitive matrix. Like a chimpanzee, she repeated. Your daughter, she was implying, is a chimpanzee, optimized for human companionship.

“Well, I'm sorry, but my daughter is no more a chimpanzee than you are, Mr. Lloyd, even based on the small sample of conversations we've enjoyed these last two days. But how can that be? Well, I looked at the evolution of computers for my inspiration, Mr. Lloyd, and there were always two factors at work as they grew in capability. One was the number of components, so that adding more components certainly let you do more complicated stuff. But the other trend was keeping things simpler, and making them go faster, instead. As you miniaturized the building blocks, you could do either, or even both.

“So I think that Dr. Evans may have been slightly disingenuous when she used raw element numbers to measure complexity. With suitable programming—we come back to Dr. Colyer's omitted lines of code—a simpler brain can do anything a more complex brain can do. That's Turing's other legacy. For simpler equates to faster; thus the human brain, which works at slow chemical speeds, can be outclassed by the cognitive matrix, working at neurotronic speeds. And so my daughter is not necessarily a chimpanzee, because although her brain might be more serial in nature, it is also substantially faster. Again, Mr. Lloyd, you'll tell me if I'm wrong, won't you.”

“Er, yes, Reverend Deeley…”

Dad glanced at the clock and turned to Mr. Simpson.

“That's really all I had on yesterday's testimony, sir. If I might suggest a recess at this point, I'm sure Mr. Lloyd has some calls he would like to make. This afternoon, we'll come at the problem from the other end, using witnesses who know Tania personally, to demonstrate that she is most definitely not a chimpanzee.

“Thank you, sir.”

Blimey! Wow!

Cue applause. (There wasn't any. Just another stunned silence.)

 

 

Lunch.

“No cheers yet, Tania. This morning was smoke and mirrors. I struck where Oxted is vulnerable, but it's a moot point whether their contracts are based on deception as I claimed. If people delude themselves, or don't have the mental equipment to handle the outcome of Oxted's deal, is that their fault or Oxted's? The magistrate may well take the position of
caveat emptor
.

“Anyway, this afternoon, we get to bring on our witnesses. I'd like to get you to speak as well—to deliver one of your poems, rather than to testify. If they don't let us, they don't let us, and I'll deliver it as best I can on your behalf. I just don't want for you to have had no voice in your own fate.

“And that's it. I don't know whether Mr. Simpson will deliver judgment today, but this afternoon we win all, or we lose all. Are you ready, Tan?”

“I'm ready, Dad. I'm proud of what you've done. No daughter could ask for any more, or think more highly of her dad than I do, right now. Except one thing, that I've never asked you before. Will you pray for me now?”

“I always have, Tania. But I'll try to make this one special.”

So Dad prayed for me, as I'd seen him do for his parishioners in their own times of need. He spoke of our fears—separation, loneliness, death—and, by naming them, somehow diminished them. He spoke of our needs—clarity, wisdom, grace—and they felt more accessible. And he named our hopes—an accommodation with Oxted, togetherness—so that they felt achievable.

“An accommodation, Dad?”

“Yes. Oxted is not our enemy, and even if it were, I would still want that accommodation, rather than victory and hatred. Many wise men, from Sun Tzu to Jesus, say, ‘If possible, leave room for your enemy to become your friend,' or words to that effect.

“Remember you have friends at Oxted, too, who have worked with you for your good. Doctors Markov and Thompson, for example. We're fighting this battle because, for some reason, Oxted's purposes and ours do not align right now. If we could only communicate with the right people there, even now, we could sort this mess out.…”

That's Dad for you. A wonderful man who looks for the good in everyone.

 

 

Mr. Simpson called for silence.

“Mr. Lloyd, have you been able to contact the necessary experts at Oxted to answer the various challenges set by Reverend Deeley?”

“I have.”

“Do you have a response for the court?”

“Oxted declares that the suppositions of Reverend Deeley are not material to the case, which is purely a contractual matter. Consequently Oxted has no official statement on Reverend Deeley's speculations and respectfully requests that the court discount them.”

“I see. Oxted's response is noted, but I shall do as I see fit. Very well, Reverend Deeley, please resume your submissions.”

“Thank you, sir. This afternoon, now that we have established some plausible hypotheses to explain why Tania's kind may be more than pets or chimpanzees, I will call a number of people to demonstrate Tania's capabilities.”

“If I may interrupt, Reverend Deeley…”

“Yes, Mr. Simpson?”

“I would remind you that this court has no power to change laws. You alluded to slavery in an earlier part of your testimony. If you are going to attempt to prove that Tania is human, and is therefore not subject to the stipulations of this contract, you are wasting your time. Any ruling of mine based on such would be overturned on appeal, under the principle of
stare decisis
. Is that your plan?”

“No, sir, it is not.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

“Thank you. I'd like to call on Jacob Fuller.”

Siân's dad.