Foreman

All the windows in the jury room are east facing. O misses the opportunity to practise being enraptured by the bewildering frankness of a sinking sun. It's the sort of thing human beings seem to do instinctually. But it's beautiful so that can't be true; beautiful behaviour in humans is always learned. 

The case should have been straightforward. Even for fat and tissue brains. O doesn't mean this condescendingly. It's just that silicon brains have been proven to be more logic-efficient than their organic counterparts. Perhaps because the former was designed this way and the latter wasn't designed at all. 

The situation that brought O and eleven of his peers together was not overly complicated: John Okoro, a new father at twenty-two years of age, had stolen seven hundred dollars from the trillion-dollar corporation that employed his services as a janitor. He had been caught soon after, arrested and put on trial. The prosecution had expressed their desire to see John serve a nine-year term in prison for his crime. The defence argued that John had only stolen the money to support his new family as his employers had withheld a series of overtime payments from him through only-technically-legal channels. The seven hundred dollars had been returned, in full, to the trillion-dollar corporation. It seemed unlikely John would commit such a crime again. The jury had been in the deliberation room for three hours arguing over whether or not to present a ruling of “guilty” to the judge, and what sentence to recommend.

To O the correct decision was obvious. It was the most logical one. But several of his fellow jurors disagreed with him. He supposes this is the guiding philosophy of the jury system. That for some reason a number of disparate viewpoints would provide a better environment for fair judgment. As if the various biases and flaws would just balance each other out. Or maybe it was just a means to share the burden; another person’s fate must be a heavy yoke to bear alone.

“The law is clear and we all saw the footage,” says Juror 3, a tall, chubby forty seven year old man, “guilty!”

Most of the other people around the table murmur their agreement. The only ones who remained silent were Jurors number 5, 9 and O.

Juror 9, an elderly lady in bright red glasses, interlaces her fingers and says, “I still maintain that the punishment is far too harsh for the crime.”

“Especially given the circumstances, I mean who’s the real criminal here,” Juror 5, a thirty-something magazine entrepreneur, adds, “are you all comfortable with punishing a man for taking what was owed to him.”

Juror 10 stiffens and stares down at the large dark wood table. She had shared the same opinion as Juror during the initial stages of the deliberation. But as the minutes shifted into hours she shifted to the side of the majority.

“We don’t give a shit about your moralising, the law is the law and stealing is illegal.” The perspiration on Juror 3’s forehead was steadily building, ignoring the air conditioning in the room.

The question of legality versus morality was of course one that O found fascinating. In the strictest terms, his existence was illegal. The manufacture of intelligent androids had been outlawed three years previously. O’s Maker (for lack of a less complicated noun) had already begun work on him and couldn’t find it in himself to stop. The nature of ego never involves limitations. So O was “born”, his silicon brain propped by a light tetra-calcimate skeleton, wrapped tightly in a thin polymer layer that closely resembled human skin. 

O spent the first year of his life learning. Much like a human child. He picked up languages, sciences, social conventions, art, literature and anything else he could get his hands on. 

His Maker was proud of how fast he was able to absorb information and his seemingly limitless capacity for knowledge. “That’s the only way machines exist O,” he would say, “through their knowledge.”

O would say that wasn’t that the same with human beings. Was life not a function of what was stored in the brain?

But Maker didn’t agree, “human beings are capable of spontaneous creation.”

O remained in Maker’s lab the entire first year. Learning and helping with chores. One day he decided he wanted to see the rest of the world.

“But you can’t, they’ll destroy you if they found out what you are,” Maker had said.

“Isn’t the point of my skeleton and skin to disguise me?” O asked.

“Yes but your social interactions will give you away.”

“I have learnt all I can from inside this lab, if my social skills are to improve but I have to practise them other people.”

“Other people?” Maker was beside himself. “You think yourself a person now, is that it? You’re not a human being, you’re a thing, a machine.”

“I may not be human but I am very much a person,” O said, back straight, “ I have my own independent ideas, just for me.”

“Like what, thing?”

O picked up a sheet of paper on the desk and showed it to his maker. “Like this! I’ve been sketching.”

Maker snatched the paper and stared at it quietly for a moment. The drawing was of a woman, her face at a forty-five degree angle. “This isn’t original work, you just copied Ben Enwonwu.”

“I was inspired by him. If you knew anything about art, you’d see my shading technique is entirely different from his.”

“I never should have made you.” Maker slowly ripped the sketch into four parts and let the pieces fall through his curled fingers. “You’re not a person, you’re a soulless device.”

Isn’t it funny that when people want to break your spirit they attack your soul? That was the last night O spent in the lab. He packed a few clothes, walked out into the world and only ever revisited his Maker in his mind.

O found a job reviewing literature and he also worked part time as a carpenter (he felt no fatigue and had no need for sleep). Eventually he saved enough money (he needed neither food nor drink) to purchase forged citizenry and not long after that he had been called up for jury duty. 

“How about we compromise and find him but recommend a reduced sentence,” Juror 9 offers.

“I don’t think he should be punished at all, the man should have a statue built of him.” Juror 5’s posture has shifted almost imperceptibly. Though he still sits he has taken on the air of a man standing over others.

“Are you being serious?” Juror 3 asks, “So you’re ready to sit here all night and argue in favour of this scumbag?”

Juror 5’s posture shifts back into a more neutral form.

“We can do the reduced sentence thing,” Juror 10 says quietly.

“No!” Juror 3 stands now, “what of the others who have been sent to prison and are serving the full term? The law is the law! Nine years. And I’m not changing my mind ever. We need a unanimous vote so unless you’re okay with spending the rest of your lives here you’ll vote like me and we can all go home.”

Nobody speaks. It is completely dark outside now.

O left his Maker’s lab to blend in with humanity. To learn to behave like them. During his year in the lab he learnt the Earth rotated around the sun. In the world, he learnt that ancient humans had once thought the sun travelled across the sky. John Okoro is not a danger to society. He will likely never commit another crime again. Locking him up will cost the government far more than the amount of money he stole. It will also expose his young family to very real poverty. Even when he gets out, John Okoro will struggle with getting a job, most ex-convicts do. Locking him up will be a net loss for society. There is really only one logical answer.

O abandoned his Maker because he wants to learn to behave like a human being.

Back in the courtroom, the judge asks, “Mister foreman, how do you find the defendant?”

O rises. “Guilty,” the android says.