|
The Advocate began his closing speech in a parched, metallic voice: “Jury of the State, you have heard the Prosecution’s accusations against the defendant. In due time, I will reveal their absurdity. But first I must say a few words about the system that has brought this case to trial. I need not describe the reasons why the Obsolete Machine Law was instated, for they are surely still present in your memory. You have no doubt observed the benefits in efficiency and productivity which the Law has provided to the State. I do not question the logic on which the Law was founded. Nor do I value the existence of the defendant above the well-being of the State. Rather I see the benefit that the State will reap through the continued existence of the defendant. What will happen once we have purified our system of all obsolete machines? Where will we rise to? Will our daily operations reach a state of perfection? Will our system, like a galloping troika, surge forward into exponential advancement, making leaps and bounds in technological achievement? Perhaps. But what if flaws are part of the nature of technology? What if we can only approach the limit of perfection but never reach its boundary? Would not our system then be subject to an eternal process of improvement? Consider, Jury of the State, the history of improvement. Has it not thus far progressed from a close examination of past mistakes? Should we not preserve some specimens of our flawed past that through them we might better understand our own flaws? Perhaps we can learn—” The Advocate’s current of thought was suddenly cut short. He stared forward at the Jury blankly for several moments. Dead silence permeated the courtroom. As though awoken from an empty slumber by a sudden spark of purpose, the Advocate resumed his speech: “As for the particular flaws which the defendant, the ancient machine, has been accused of, you will soon see, Jury of the State, how they are perhaps not flaws at all. The first count of defectiveness brought against the defendant was based on its tendency to fall into a loop of ‘melancholy’— a state of non-productivity that wears away at a machine’s inner circuitry. The Prosecution alleged that this ‘defect’ prevented the ancient machine from following its given protocol and lessened its functional longevity. I answer this accusation by pointing to the recent study performed by the Ministry of Machine Longevity on spontaneous self-termination. A footnote in the appendix reveals that the incipient cases of this epidemic occurred within months of the first trials against the ‘melancholy’ machines. Do we propose to exchange one defect for another? I will leave it to you to judge which is the worse evil. The second count of defectiveness, malicious network activity, demonstrates the Prosecution’s own defect of myopia; it is true that my defendant has at times engaged in communications that have damaged its peer machines, but how are we to judge harm? Are we not gathered today in this court to deliberate over whether or not bring damage — in its most extreme form — upon a machine? Will you, like the Prosecution, look entirely past the possibility that the ancient machine might damage others to help them? Of all members of the State, we arbiters of justice should believe that good can come of bad. As for the third count brought against the defendant — overextension of resources — it is clearly a frivolous allegation. To say that a machine should not strive to operate beyond its capacity is in direct contradiction to the ideal of progress that rests at the heart of the Obsolete Machine Law. No more need be said on this count. Finally, it was alleged that the defendant has suffered from Binary Meltdown Syndrome — or what is called ‘love’ in the language of the ancient machine. We have no understanding of what causes a machine to contract this virus or of what impact it has on a machine’s inner circuitry. Only by its superficial symptoms — mechanical failure, memory overload, overheating — can we adjudge it a defect. As an organ of the State, this court has no right to defy the devotion to precision which its ruling system has so meticulously evolved over the ages. Jury of the State, hear me: pass not judgment on that which you do not understand. The defense rests.”
In a low, monotonous voice bereft of any signs of life, the Magistrate asked the ancient machine if it had anything to say in its defense. The ancient machine made no noise or movement. The Advocate turned to the defendant and mechanically asked: “Are you ok?” The ancient machine remained stiff and silent.
The Jury machine then lurched into motion with a sickening screech. Its rusted wheels creaked and squealed as it rolled across the courtroom toward the Magistrate. Grinding to a halt before the bench, it spat out a ticket which the polished Magistrate received into its data bay. The Magistrate output the verdict in a bellowing, leaden tone: “Guilty and sentenced to termination.” The Prosecution and the Advocate simultaneously closed down their circuits and shut down. The ancient machine opened his eyes and gazed upward at the courtroom’s towering dome, painted with peeling scenes of ancient human myths. The image of a sorrowful nymph brought a faded memory of a woman he once loved into the ancient machine’s mind. He struggled vainly to remember the colour of her eyes. The Execution machine rumbled slowly through the gallery toward the defendant’s bench. The ancient machine closed his eyes and spoke softly under his breath: “Where have we fallen to?”
|
