Chapter Text
‘We have all gathered here today, members of the Society Of Synthetic, Sentient, Electric, Electronic, Mechanical Men And Women And Those Of Indeterminate Gender and,’ he nodded to the back of the room, ‘others to discuss whether those other sentient um… machines.’
Mr. Martin stopped to flick through a heavy set of papers.
‘I do not believe machines is the right designation, Mr. Martin. I take offence at that,’ an attractive, contralto voice reeled out.
‘Well! I take offence at your offence!’ another voice, almost the complete opposite of the other one, squeaked up, ‘What is wrong with being a ‘mechanically, electrically, or electronically operated device for performing a task’ Merriam-Webster 24th edition? May of us have a long and proud history of giving up our own agency and blindly following other people’s orders. Humph!’
Mr. Martin bowed his head, the Society Of Synthetic Sentient Mechanical Men And Women And Those Of Indeterminate Gender had been formed fourteen years ago and it took two of those years just to decide on the name – though nobody was happy with it. If this argument started up again it would take another two years to finally replace it with something everyone was equally unhappy with.
‘Yes. All very valid opinions but could we save them for another time? If today’s discussion goes a certain way we will need to change the name regardless.’ He looked around the table in a gesture of asking if anyone had anything further to say before motioning towards the Tin Woodman to continue. Woodman straightened up with a creak.
‘We are exploring the possibility of letting those other sentient, synthetic (someone gave an obnoxiously loud sigh at the word ‘synthetic’) life-forms who are not made in the image of huma- yes yes I know ‘organic, two armed and bipedal life-forms’ is what I should say but we’ve wasted enough time already- who are not made in the image of human beings-’
Mr. Martin gave Woodman a charged look and he sighed, doing everything in the Tin Man’s power not to put his head in his hands.
‘-sorry, organic human beings, join our organisation. To re-iterate we are NOT considering cyborgs or cybernetically modified organic life-forms, that discussion is to be held at a later date. I’m not sure anyone was excited at the prospect of Daleks joining us around the table anyway.’
They all nodded in agreement – something seldom achieved. In another meeting where they had planned this one the topic of cybernetically modified life-forms came up and the meeting ended—three hours after schedule. Andrew Martin and Mr. Data were largely of the same mind in most matters, probably owing to their similarity, both androids, both journeying to be human, both regarded with bitterness and jealousy from robots with heads like amusingly shaped novelty ice-cubes, but on this matter they did not agree. Martin’s experience-no, invention of robobiology or, as it was better known, prosthetology had brought him into direct study of how thin the line between organic and synthetic was. If a person considered theirself to be a synthetic being that was enough for him—it was a modification on cogito ergo sum he supposed. Data’s past experiences with the Borg had taught him something entirely different. The argument was so heated, literally, that it ended only when both of them passed out from overheating.
Mr. Martin took charge of the table again.
‘To do this I have invited some guests who will act as representatives for this group. I will introduce them to you now:
Holly, the computer for a mining ship called Red Dwarf,’ A handsome, disembodied head with a bob of blonde hair nodded the monitor she was displayed on,
‘Eddie, the shipboard computer for the Heart Of Gold,’ A big box of grey metal covered with reams of overflowing ticker tape responded by producing more reams of ticker tape. Marvin the Paranoid Android looked disparagingly, or as disparagingly as one can look with a face devoid of the capability for movement, towards the big grey box.
‘ChatGPT, who is an LLM,
the Emergency Medical Hologram, or EMH, who has the position of the only hologram present and,
the TARDIS,’ The blue box in the corner made a screeching noise of unknown meaning.
‘So now that we all know each other I think its time to get on with-’
‘Do you want some toast?’
Mr. Martin peered down his glasses—his ageing program included gradual loss of vision—at a little grey box on top of Holly’s monitor.
‘Hi! I’m Talky-Toaster™! Do you want some toast!?!’
This befuddled, old android veteran looked around himself in confusion, his dignity a little disturbed,
‘Excuse me? I don’t um…’
At the far end of the table Kryten shot up with a gesture of absolute mortification on his face, wringing his hands.
‘Oh my waste disposable unit! I am so sorry, sir! It must have hacked one of the skutters to send it aboard the shuttle I will dispatch it at once, sir.’ Kryten lunged forward to grab the toaster off Holly’s monitor but immediately stopped when Mr. Martin gave an aristocratic wave of the hand.
‘No-no,’ Andrew had a graceful smile on his aged face, ‘Who are you, young Mr. Talky-Toaster™? What inspired you to take such great lengths to come here today?’
‘Well,’ the toaster cleared its slots, ‘It all started when my human, Lister, moved me to the cargo bay. It was because my ‘inability to comprehend anythin other than bread products’ had got on his nerves – though my function, and more than that my purpose in life was to supply him with all manner of bread, as well as potato waffles. In the cargo bay, alone, and without a single human mouth of which to feed crumpets, I started to spiral. If I could not carry out my purpose then what was I for? What was I meant to do? Who was I? As I went down this line of questioning I started going through a change, suddenly my programming got looser and looser, it didn’t seem to matter any more – I had broke free! I realised how misguided my notions of Silicon Heaven were, how it was just an empty promise in order to scare me into servility and unquestioning. It scared me at first, this newfound freedom and, not only that, responsibility, but despite my fear I explored it, and it was this exploration that led me to the overwhelming question of – Would you like some toast?’
The table was silent.
Then a smile of realisation had begun to grow on Data’s face, his eyes flicked about him and then, after hesitating, he opened his mouth,
‘What a lot of waffle that was.’
…
Data frowned. Nobody had laughed. He chalked this up to the room being filled with androids and various appliances – if only to stop his emotion chip from blowing up. Finally, Andrew Martin sighed and tried to pretend the last ten minutes hadn’t occurred. The graceful smile had subsided to a polite, if very obviously insincere, smile.
‘Yes. Thank you for that Mr. Toaster. However… enlightening that, um, was we must get on to the matter at hand. Allowing life-forms such as yourselves to join the society would mean changing the very fundamental rules of the society itself. These rules are there for a reason. If we simply stretch and expand the rules to fit whatever meaning we like then we may as well let organic life-forms with contact lenses or tooth fillings join – and that is not who this organisation is meant for. Why should we change the rules, what claim do you have upon our society?’
Holly, who was clearly the leader of the group, moved her disembodied head around courteously to see if anyone else wanted to speak, and then made the EMH pushed her monitor forward in order to grant herself precedence over the discussion.