Expiration Day (34 page)

“It's going as well as can be expected,” he offered. “We're giving them a few tough times.”

We, Mr. Guest? I didn't hear any robust cross-examination from you, save the questions Dad primed you with. Do you have the faintest idea what's going on?

“Indeed, Mr. Guest. Your little ruse to get Mr. Simpson to recognize my daughter as human so nearly worked.…”

Like hell, it did. Oh, it would have been a miracle, and a useful one. But to expect such a slip from such an experienced magistrate? I don't think so. Like playing the lottery, it was no more than a long shot; one that does little harm, so long as you don't bet your shirt on it.

Their evidence, their testimony was entirely as we expected. They were occupying the ground we were expecting them to, and as there was nothing we could really do about it, we were putting up a symbolic resistance, just to show we were still in the game.

 

 

After lunch, Mr. Lloyd picked up the thread.

“This morning we've seen how the teknoid is constructed, based on a cognitive mechanism that is comparable in complexity with that of a chimpanzee. This remarkable, but limited, invention allows Oxted to market humanoid pets, optimized to behave as substitute children for couples who would otherwise be unable to form families.

“We've seen how these humanoid robots are programmed to mimic the abilities and attributes of children, and how, as the teknoids artificially develop, they approach the limits of the technology. How, as the programming ultimately fails to deliver the expected human response, the parents reject their fosterlings and return them.

“This afternoon we'll look at one of the safeguards we put in place to detect early signs of instability, the Morrison-Bowyer Test.”

And so we were treated to yet another doctor—Dr. Morrison herself.

Dr. Morrison was a smartly dressed woman in a dark-blue pin-striped two-piece suit and pale cream blouse, who just exuded power and confidence. She could have walked out of the boardroom of a 3-Dram; her auburn hair was elegantly styled, her makeup subtle but perfect. I couldn't picture her in a Nissen hut at Banbury.

The Morrison-Bowyer Test, she told us, had its genesis in the personality tests of the twentieth century, but derived heavily from software boundary testing, too. It tested specific themes, using a randomly generated set of questions. The standard cognitive matrix would respond in very well-defined ways, at different stages of its development. The fosterlings were tested at each upgrade, normally at two-year intervals, and deviations were monitored closely, and correlated to any anomalies reported by hospitals, doctors, social workers, police, teachers, et cetera, et cetera. Normally, very little action was needed, but anomalies generally correlated well to early returns.

Dad was on his feet.

“Yes, Reverend Deeley? You have a question?”

“I do, sir. Dr. Morrison, do all forms of anomaly correlate well to early returns?”

“Most of them, certainly.”

“And if not returned, what is the prognosis of these anomalous fosterlings?”

“They become difficult to live with. Anti-social.”

“Forgive me, but weren't we the same in our teens?”

“No. This is not the same at all. The human teenager is developing mentally, with tact usually lagging some years behind. The fosterlings, however, actually stop developing mentally, and simply become more aggressive.”

“So they can become violent? I don't think the public is aware of that.”

“Not violent, but verbally aggressive. You might call it surly.”

“And your test is an early indicator of surliness?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“And is this your concern with Tania, here, that she's becoming a surly teenager? So you want to recall her in case she refuses to do the washing up?”

Go, Dad!

“Not at all, Reverend Deeley. There are other sorts of anomaly—I merely described the most common form.”

“Then I'll let you explain what Tania's alleged anomaly is, and what you're protecting me, and the general public, from.”

“It's complex, Reverend Deeley. Difficult to explain to a nonscientific person.”

“Hmm, not strictly science, but I do have a first-class degree in philosophy from Durham University. One mark off a starred-first, I'm afraid, but you still might be pleasantly surprised by what I can understand.”

“Mathematics is also necessary. And it's not you I have to explain it to, but Mr. Simpson.”

Did you just call Mr. Simpson an idiot, Dr. Morrison?

“What about the other part of my question, then? What is the predicted outcome of this alleged anomaly? Is Tania going to turn into a serial killer? A master jewel thief? An obsessive stamp collector? Come, you must have some idea!”

“Nothing so specific, Reverend Deeley. I don't think we need fear being murdered in our beds. Teknoids don't do that sort of thing.”

“First Law, eh?”

“Not First Law, Reverend Deeley. That's a common misconception about teknoids. Only domestics have true First Law. If you put First Law into a teknoid, it no longer acts like a human child, and that triggers the Uncanny Valley. So at school you will see robot-on-robot bullying, for example. There are good safeguards, but, just as with real children, they don't have full First Law. Nevertheless, they are quite safe.…”

Wow! Though I'm not sure whether that helps our case.

“So we are protected, then, Dr. Morrison? You're sure?”

“Oh, yes. Undoubtedly.”

“So, Dr. Morrison, if we're protected by those safeguards, why do you have to recall her? She can stay with me, surely.”

“She needs to be studied closely. It is standard practice to recall anomalous teknoids.”

“But it's not a safety issue? The public is in no danger from Tania?”

“No. There is no public danger.”

“Then let her stay with me. You can study her remotely. Or I can bring her up to Banbury periodically.”

“No. We need to study her at Banbury.”

“Why?”

“It is standard procedure.”

“Why?”

Yes! The “five whys,” Dad—she's evading, she's on the run—go for the jugular!

Then Mr. Simpson broke in.

“I'm sorry, Reverend Deeley, but I must ask you to drop this line of questioning. We have established that your fosterling is suffering from an anomaly, and the standard procedure is to recall such deviants.”

“With respect, sir, I'm establishing that the anomaly, whatever it is, does not endanger the public, and proposing an alternative remedy that does not require me to lose my daughter, yet still gives Oxted access to her for study.”

“Reverend Deeley, the court notes your proposal with thanks. But it is
my
job to propose remedies, where it can be shown that the contract has been breached by one or other party. It is
not
the business of this court to impose extra terms upon either party where the contract is not breached, so long as the contract has been entered into willingly by both parties and without deception. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Damn, damn, damn.

Damn.

That was Plan A going down in flames.

 

 

“You almost had her, Dad.”

We were in the hotel bar. Court was done for the day. Oxted had closed with one of their contracts specialists—not a doctor, for a change—going through the contract history in mind-numbing detail, showing that each revision was accompanied by a properly executed contract, and drawing attention to the missed revision, but falling just short of saying that if we'd done all the revisions when we were supposed to, they might have been able to catch and fix the anomaly. Alleged anomaly.

“I know, I know.”

“Well, it was a most unconventional approach you took, Reverend Deeley. I hope it hasn't lost us the case.”

And you had a better plan, Mr. Guest? If that's all you're going to contribute to our analysis, then why don't you just bugger off, and let Dad and me have some time together?

 

 

Sometimes telepathy works!

Mr. Guest did indeed excuse himself, saying he had a train to catch. Dad and I smiled and shook his hand and waved him farewell.

“Good, he's gone,” we said simultaneously; we laughed.

Well, tomorrow we would execute Plan B. So we called our own experts, who all confirmed they'd be attending, then adjourned to the hotel restaurant for a meal together, and to talk over what we'd learned.

The nub of it, Dad explained, was that we didn't understand our opponent, and he wouldn't talk to us. “He”—our opponent—being Oxted.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“I offered a compromise today, Tan. I accepted the principle that you were somehow an anomaly, nature unspecified, but having proved that there was no danger, they rejected my offer and stonewalled when I dug for their reasons. Then the magistrate stepped in and told me to back off.”

“Is he in cahoots with Oxted, then?”

“Quite possibly. But he might just be doing his job, albeit somewhat punctiliously.”

“But your point is not that the magistrate might be crooked?”

“No. The problem is that if your opponent won't reveal what he wants, and why he wants it, it becomes very difficult to bargain. Clearly Oxted wants you, but why? The contract says he can have you, but when I offered a way that he could have access to you, without tearing us apart, it was flatly rejected.”

“So what he says he wants is not what he actually wants. Or at least, the reason he says he wants me is not actually why he wants me.”

“Very good, Tan. I don't think Mr. Guest would be catching on so quick.”

“Thanks for nothing, Dad.” But I was grinning.

“So, what are the possibilities? One, they want to destroy you. Reason: unknown. Two, they want to isolate you from me. Reason: unknown.”

“So are you saying, Dad, that it's more important that you should not know the reason, than that you should not know what my fate is?”

“Oh, very good, Tania, very good! Yes, I believe you're right. If I knew the reason they were taking you away, that, for Oxted, would be a disaster. Perhaps I would be content to lose you, if I could be sure you were alive. But to be sure you were alive, I'd have to know the reason why, and Oxted won't accept that. Of course, they may wish to destroy you, which I could never accept.”

“Isn't there a third possibility, which is that their object is to do with you, rather than to do with me?”

“If so, then you're probably safe enough. Whatever we do won't matter, and I'll trust in God for myself.”

“So what is this secret reason? Can we work it out?”

Dad paused for a really long time there. Really long. I could almost see his mind, running at high speed through everything we knew, probing for something we'd missed. Five minutes passed, and more. I wished I could see what was going on, but I'd seen him like this before. It was best to let him work it through. I didn't want him snapping at me for breaking his train of thought.

Finally …

“Possibly. But I don't think it's wise. I suspect that if we work it out, it will become obvious to Oxted. That changes the game in a way that frightens me.”

His voice became urgent.

“We proceed with Plan B. We never had this discussion, Tania. Do you understand? We never had this discussion.”

“Dad, you're frightening me. What are you afraid of?”

“Forget it. Concentrate on Plan B. Plan B. Just keep that in mind.”

What does Dad know?

 

 

Back in the hotel room, we got the computers out, and opened up the transcripts of the day's evidence. Dad scrolled to Dr. Colyer's testimony, and started paging up and down, making notations on a spreadsheet. After a while, it got as dull as the real thing had been. I know better than to interrupt Dad when he's deep in thought, so I wandered off and listened to music in bed until I fell asleep.

 

 

Dawn. Ugh! Too early, but I'd left the curtains open.

So.

Today is the day that all will be lost and won. No—that's
Macbeth
. What said Portia?
“They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.”

I must remember. Plan B.

Thursday, July 8, 2055

Ten o'clock.

The courtroom is ready.

I remind myself. Plan B.

 

 

Mr. Simpson opened the proceedings.

“Well, we all seem to be here. We've heard from Oxted, and they've indicated that they have no further submissions to make, so I'll ask Mr. Guest to open the submissions on behalf of Reverend Deeley. Mr. Guest…”

Mr. Guest stood slowly, as one charged with an unpleasant but pointless task.

“Reverend Deeley has indicated to me that he wishes to conduct the submissions himself. I have warned him of the consequences.”

“Indeed, Mr. Guest. I confess I am not surprised. Reverend Deeley, are you aware that you carry full responsibility for the conduct of your submission? If I decide against you, there can be no appeal on the grounds of your inexperience.”

Dad: “I understand fully, sir.”

“And you understand that the law requires the presence of Mr. Guest. You are required to pay his costs and to listen to his advice. It is up to you whether you take it.”

Was that a joke from Mr. Simpson? Or an acknowledgment that Dad was doing okay? I couldn't tell—Mr. Simpson was a master of the deadpan delivery.

“I understand that, too, Mr. Simpson. Thank you. Now…”

“And one final point,” Mr. Simpson interrupted. “I assume that you're going to run your submissions differently to the plan I've already seen. But I remind you that this is not a trial, with a prosecution and a defense running in strict sequence. It is a hearing, and so Oxted will have a chance to present further submissions if they require, or if I deem it necessary. That includes the option to summon additional witnesses, or to recall witnesses for further questioning. Reciprocally, you may also recall any of yesterday's witnesses.”