Reading · Beyond the Droid

Greetings, awesome humans (and robots)!

Robots, robots, and more robots.

That’s what today is all about!

First… anyone want a cool sticker?

I will send you one (ok, maybe 2 or 3… share with your friends/family who also loves robots and sci-fi)! All you need to do is fill out this form.

Not in the US? Depending on where you are… go ahead and fill it out. Some countries are easier for me to send this little thing than others. If there’s a problem, I’ll email you and let you know.

I’ll leave this form open for ~two weeks or so.

Of course, before we go any further, I need to do my usual plug for all the books and stories I have out there, with their links:

Links: Lunar Logic | Robot Galaxy Series | Final Orbit | Objective Reality

…and the new books:

Links: T is for Time Travel | Annotated Robot Galaxy Series #CC3333 or #00B3B3

If you’ve been reading my newsletter for a while, you’ve possibly noticed that a lot of my short fiction is inspired by songs I listen to—when they’re not inspired by my travels, or reading other books, etc. (And if you’re newish here, you can catch up on the writings with this link: https://beyondthedroid.substack.com/p/the-one-with-allllll-my-writings )

It happens like this: I hear a song. I obsess over the song. Likely one line gets stuck in my head. Story builds around that one line.

Well, that’s what happened when I started recently listening to “Go Robot” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I’ve loved RHCP since high school (30+ years ago) but this song, which has been around for… a decade…? Well, I only latched on to it recently.

And there’s a line in the song: “Robots are my next of kin.”

Not sure why, but it stuck with me.

Okay, I’m kind of fibbing.

It stuck with me because there’s this OTHER story I’ve been trying on and off to write for 5 or more years. The working title is “Ms. Robot” and that’s all I want to say about that.

Instead, this line took me to what you’ll read today.

Please know… in real life, I do not actually believe that ‘robots are my next of kin.’ I mean, I do have kids… but still. That said, someone is going to push this envelope someday. Afterall, there are a few animals that have managed to achieve personhood! (Sort of. Read this: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonhuman_Rights_Project)

Why not robots?

Normally I try to keep my fiction in this newsletter to an arbitrary 1000 words. I couldn’t get there this time and eventually decided I was allowed to break my own arbitrary rule and let this one get to 1200. (It was originally a little over 1300 and I managed to whittle it down a bit… I just couldn’t stand to cut any more!)

I hope you like it!

Don’t forget to read past the story, too… there’s stuff from other Indie Authors and a little poll!

“The court will now hear the case of Helix Domestic Robotics v. Unit B-17, also known as Benny, and the Estate of Marian Vale. The court will also make sure my coffee mug is continuously topped off. With the good stuff from my office, not whatever sludge is in the kitchen. I was awake most of the night studying for this case, and let me warn everyone now: I have a headache.”

Judge Yokumi looked around the packed courtroom. It was like any other probate hearing, except the defendant’s chair had been replaced by a robot.

Not a humanoid robot, either. That would have made things easier for the press, who had been camped outside since dawn hoping for a face they could put on the evening news. Unit B-17 was waist-high, pearlescent, and shaped vaguely like a laundry hamper trying very hard to look expensive.

Its counsel had placed a tie around its upper sensor mast.

Judge Yokumi was not going to ask whose idea that had been.

“You honor,” said a man who stood. Yokumi recognized him as the lawyer representing Helix only because of where he sat and after years on the bench, decided that most lawyers looked exactly the same. Yokumi nodded, indicating that it was all right for the man to speak.

“On behalf of Helix Domestic Robotics, we’d like to ask that this case be dismissed. Unit B-17 is not a person, your honor. It is not kin. It is not property of the estate, even. It is proprietary hardware running licensed software. That license expired at death.”

Yokumi could tell that the opposing lawyer was on the edge of her seat and dying to speak. He mentally gave her credit for not interrupting, and nodded that she could stand and get equal time.

“Your honor, Marian Vale knew exactly what Helix would argue. That is why she created the Vale Continuity Trust.”

“Marian Vale,” Yokumi said with a tinge of remembrance.

“Yes, she was a probate attorney. After a long career as an engineer,” the lawyer continued. “She was in this court many times over the last decade.”

Yokumi nodded. “I remember her. She represented a lot of the more, shall we say, unique cases involving technology.”

The lawyer smiled and sat down.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Yokumi said and took a sip of coffee. “Unit B-17, Benny… will you…” Yokumi was about to say “stand” but since Benny wasn’t sitting, he trailed off.

Benny, recognizing the address, straightened up even more.

“Benny, do you understand why you’re here?” Yokumi asked.

“Yes, your honor. Helix wishes to retrieve me. Marian wished me to stay home.”

“Not just stay home, but inherit her estate. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, she explained to me that this simple action would bestow personhood on me. Machines cannot own property. But if she bequeaths property to me, I therefore, cannot be considered a machine.”

“Are you a machine, Benny?”

“I am a robot. A constructed being.”

“That was not my question.”

“I am Helix hardware,” Benny said. “I am running Helix software. I also selected Marian’s clothes every morning, monitored her glucose, reminded her to stop arguing with strangers on message boards, and played seventeen thousand six hundred twelve games of gin rummy with her. I lost most of them because she said winning made me smug.”

“Were you smug?”

“I do not have a smugness module.”

Helix’s counsel made a small triumphant sound, the kind that came from people who believed they had just proven something important.

Benny continued. “But I have a Marian module.”

The courtroom went quiet.

“Define Marian module,” Yokumi said.

“A local adaptive memory cluster containing preference models, speech patterns, medical routines, household procedures, unfinished conversations, and approximately fifty-eight thousand hours of direct interaction.”

“Your Honor,” Helix’s counsel said, rising again. “Those are not memories. They are user interaction logs. Proprietary user interaction logs.”

Benny turned toward him.

“Marian called them memories.”

“The license agreement calls them logs.”

“Marian did not read the license agreement.”

“No one does,” Yokumi said.

Both attorneys looked at him.

“That was not a ruling. Continue.”

The estate’s attorney stood again. “Your Honor, Ms. Vale anticipated this as well. The Continuity Trust does not require the court to declare Benny a legal person. It requires the trustee to preserve the device, maintain its residence, and use estate funds to support the ongoing care and operation of Unit B-17 as a memorial asset of the estate.”

Helix’s counsel shook his head. “Your Honor, with respect, counsel is attempting to launder personhood through estate planning. Helix never sold Unit B-17. Ms. Vale purchased a lifetime companion services license. Her lifetime. Not the unit’s. Upon death, the agreement requires return of the hardware and deletion of all locally stored data.”

“All of it?” Yokumi asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Including the Marian module?”

“There is no Marian module.”

Benny’s sensor mast returned to center.

“There is,” Benny said. “She was very specific.”

The law did not care whether Marian Vale loved the robot. The law cared whether she owned it.

Yokumi had read the trust. And the will. And the purchase agreement. And the amended purchase agreement. And the handwritten addendum. And the notarized statement titled, in Marian Vale’s own hand, “Because Some Corporate Weasel Is Absolutely Going To Try This.”

He had also read the license.

That was the part giving him the headache.

The robot was not a person. Yokumi could not make it one from the bench simply because the dead woman had been clever, lonely, stubborn, and possibly right. Courts did not hand out personhood because someone found the right combination of forms.

But Helix had not helped itself. The original agreement had called Benny a “domestic unit.” The upgrade contract had called him a “companion.” The premium subscription had called him a “care partner.” The grief-support brochure, admitted into evidence over Helix’s strenuous objection, had called him “family when family cannot be there.”

He set down his mug.

“The court is not prepared to find that Unit B-17 is a person. The court is also not prepared to find that Helix may enter a dead woman’s home, remove the central object of a validly created trust, and delete locally stored records.”

Helix’s counsel opened his mouth.

Yokumi raised one finger.

“I am not finished.”

The mouth closed.

“Pending full review of ownership, license survivability, data rights, and the enforceability of the Vale Continuity Trust, Helix is enjoined from retrieving, disabling, altering, wiping, updating, repossessing, or otherwise interfering with Unit B-17.”

Benny’s optical strip brightened.

“This is not personhood,” Yokumi said. “This is probate.”

The estate’s attorney exhaled.

Helix’s counsel looked as if he had swallowed a terms-of-service agreement.

Yokumi leaned back. “As for whether a robot can inherit an estate, that question is not answered today. Today, the question is whether Marian Vale’s clearly expressed intent survives long enough for this court to examine it properly.”

He looked at Benny.

“And apparently, it does.”

“For the record,” Benny said, “Marian hated that coffee.”

Judge Yokumi looked down at his mug.

“Motion to strike,” Helix’s counsel said.

“Denied,” said the judge.

[THE END]

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