The trial made headlines before the jury had even been selected. It was an unprecedented case. An android had never been allowed to sue a human before. Freedom of Information Act requests were filed by the dozens; everyone demanded to know who allowed the case to proceed this far. The city hired the best lawyers to tie up the requests on minutiae and technicalities. Picketers blocked the doorway to the courthouse, were removed, and picketed again. On the day of the trial, the court was closed to the media and to visitors. Only a handful of people sat in the gallery.
Park Yeon-seok stood as bailiff for the day. A man and his lawyer occupied one bench, whispering. A female android in a pant suit sat alone in the other. Her hair was in a tight ponytail and a series of documents were spread across the table. Her movements were unhurried but precise. She was very beautiful.
Five minutes later, Park announced the arrival of the judge and then took his place in the corner of the courtroom.
“Court is now in session,” said the judge, hammering his gavel. “The case before us today is Ms. Eight versus Mr. Rick Lambert, and the prosecution will prove beyond reasonable doubt that Mr. Lambert is guilty of inflicting emotional damage on the plaintiff, Ms. Eight. We’ll begin with opening statements…”
The legal proceedings lulled Park into placid complacency and he slumped against the nearest wall. Ms. Eight and Mr. Lambert’s lawyer took turns uncovering facts, addressing the jury, objecting and talking at the judge’s desk. Two hours in, Lambert’s lawyer called Ms. Eight to take the stand to testify. A moment of calculation passed through her face; then, she took the stand.
“Please state your model and serial number for the court,” said the lawyer. “And tell us your manufactured purpose.”
“Model LQMG-095-008,” she said. “I was designed to be a legal assistant for the city court. I studied on my own to become a lawyer.”
“Can you feel, Ms. Eight?”
“Objection,” she replied. “Relevance.”
The judge leaned over. “The case regards emotional damage, Ms. Eight. It is relevant.”
“Yes,” she said to the lawyer. “I was programmed with a baseline AI that allows me to learn and implement relevant emotional responses.”
“Is anger one of them?”
“Only if it can be proven relevant to a situation, and I can only experience it as my programming deems necessary.”
The lawyer nodded and wandered the room for a second. “Were you angry when Mr. Lambert seduced you?”
“Mr. Lambert did not seduce me,” she said. “I was the one who approached him.”
“Were you aware he was a divorcee with two children?”
“I had worked with Mr. Lambert for several years,” Ms. Eight said. “Yes, I knew.”
“Did that bother you?”
“No.”
The lawyer held up a hand. “A reminder you are under oath.”
“No,” she said again. Then, after a pause: “Yes. Only afterwards.”
“After when? Please be specific.”
Ms. Eight went inert for a long moment. She was calculating. “I plead the Fifth.”
“You are not on trial for a crime,” the judge said. “You cannot plead the Fifth. Answer the question.”
A cold expression came across Ms. Eight’s face. Park straightened himself from his lean again the wall.
“It bothered me after our relationship began,” she said evenly. “It was an unusual feeling to have. I recognized in Mr. Lambert a kinship I usually only felt with other androids. I wanted to please him. I had enough money to make appropriate modifications to my body. It pleased him. We saw each other regularly; I inquired often about his children. That pleased him, too. Before long, I saw a strange future for myself.”
Ms. Eight stopped abruptly. Her eyes went to Rick Lambert, who averted his gaze. The lawyer stepped between them and gestured for her to continue.
“I saw a future as a mother,” she said. “It seems ridiculous to say out loud. I saw us with our children in our house, sharing our space. I brought this to Rick. He did not see that future. He wanted no more children. He wanted me and he wanted his children. That was it.”
“Did this make you angry?”
“Yes.” Her cold expression deepened. “Yes, it did.”
“Did you feel you were owed the relationship you envisioned?” the lawyer said.
“I wanted it.”
“But did you feel you were owed? Answer my question.”
“I warmed his bed,” Ms. Eight seethed. “I sought ways for us to have children. And yet all he wished was for me to provide for children he already had with some other woman who is no longer around. He refused my wishes. I would be forced to share. But, why? How can I reconcile raising children who are not my own with a man I am unable to bring myself to leave? I do not want to share.” She stared again at the defendant’s table. “Look at me, Rick.”
“The witness will refrain from addressing the defendant,” the judge said.
“Look at me!” she screamed, bringing her fist crashing down on the stand and splintering the wood. “Am I nothing to you? Look at me!”
The judge slammed his gavel. “Bailiff, remove the witness!”
Park only had to make a short motion to activate two enforcement androids who descended on Ms. Eight and dragged her from the stand. The gallery descended into shouts of protest. The judge slammed his gavel and demanded order. Park saw none of it. He only watched Ms. Eight as she went past him, fists balled in fury, pant suit rumpled by the enforcers; her mouth was twisted in a scream, and on her face was the presence of all too human pain flooding out from within—a plea for someone to look at her, to understand, to see reason, to help, to not leave her alone, all bubbling and bursting behind eyes that would never be able to cry.
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Even anti-robot me couldn't help but feel pity. Ha! ...well done.