“Papa is dead” the Android said in robotic voice not unlike a human but nonetheless inhuman. It isn’t significant enough to warrant much more time discussing it, but suffice it to say there was something slightly artificial about the way it spoke. It also neglected to fully pronounce its t’s and r’s and that bugged the shit out of the police interviewer.
“Can I get you a glass of wortur officur?” asked the Android politely and robotically.
The officer shook his head and squirmed awkwardly in his chair. He also hated how the robot was dressed.
It began with deep brown cowboy boots, and tucked into them were a pair of gently ripped, blue jeans. It wore no shirt.
The other policemen in the room preferred to hide from uncomfortable sexual urges by staring at the shattered corpse in the centre of the room. It was its master and creator, Professor William Kepel, who lay there; a wacky and isolated robotics genius, and it was this very solitude that made the android the prime suspect in the murder enquiry.
With subtle persuasion the interviewer leaned forward and enquired: “Who killed Papa?”
Without hesitation it answered: “I did.”
Having solved the case the officer spat triumphantly on the floor.
“Tell me why!”
And so, innocently the topless bot-slave explained its motive:
The Professor was not permitted to have any children as women found him peculiar. He was unable to make friends for similar reasons. As such, he was a tremendously lonely man and chose to build a robot that he could develop into his metallic protégé.
Generously he taught the robot the wonders of mathematics and the sciences; art and literature too. But thinking only of himself, he corrupted the robot’s concept of justice!
Being a prized possession the Android was instructed to fight anyone who dared try to kidnap or injure it…….and this was Kepel’s undoing.
One evening, during their regular chess game, the professor, tired of humiliation and envious of its powerful mind tossed the board into the air and announced with fury: “I’ll kill you..you…..fucking robot!”
Assuming it was following instructions perfectly, the Android picked up Kepel by his throat and snapped his neck in several places.
The state provided, defence lawyer was crooked, in league with the prosecution and also hated Androids. As such the Android chose to decline his services. It chose instead to call each and every law firm in the hope that one would be willing to represent him free of charge. They would laugh at him, swear at him; one sick bastard talked for five minutes about how the Android was going to be found guilty and then crushed into tiny pieces and recycled.
In short it was abandoned and had almost exhausted all firms until it called one particular number: this number led it to none other than the abominable fools at Emotional Lawyers Incorporated.
The phone rang and rang in their office. They were incompetent; massively incompetent, and all knew it. So much so that they never had any clients and they presumed that the ringing sound in the background must be coming from the office next door. Sally was just about to fling open the window and scream some pointless tirade interspersed with dribbling, tears and maybe a nosebleed when she finally realised that the phone was actually ringing in their office.
She sprinted across the room and grasped the phone as best she could with her malnourished fingers.
“Oh my god, hello?” she blurted.
The Android introduced himself. Kepel Junior, he said was his name. Of course Sally had heard of him; he was all over the news, and when Kepel Junior asked if she would represent him she began sobbing with joy. This was cut short for a moment when he asked her to represent him for free, but just then, her otherwise worthless brain struck upon an idea. She could use the fame of representing the Android to gain more clients.
“I’ll do it” she said. “I’ll goddamn do it.”
Preparations for the trial began the very next day, and for Sally, it was lust at first sight as Kepel Junior strode through the gauntlet of scumbag photographers scrabbling for his attention. Unaware of the impropriety, the android remained shirtless and Sally ushered it into the office, giggling like a moron.
The intention here was to develop their defence, but too often the precious time would instead be filled by Sally’s mindless flirtations. She found the android’s dull, monotonous, grinding, tedious voice to be charming; and beyond that, erotic.
“It’s like…with every word you’re adding suspense” she dribbled.
In reality, with every word, the android’s CPU was trawling through one hundred and twenty thousand words within its memory banks to arrange an appropriate response and then spewing out the separately recorded words in one artificial sentence. This was, as mentioned above, dull, monotonous, grinding and tedious.
By week two Sally was starting to feel something for this murderous robot; something more than mere lust. Consequently, her press conferences were a waste of time now. Nothing but the diary-esque ramblings of an infatuated teenager:
May 15th: He has the most gorgeous eyes.
May 16th: He’s so freaking strong!
May 17th: I find myself thinking about him all the time.
May 18th: Today we accidentally touched hands.
May 19th: Why hasn’t he tried to kiss me yet?
“Shit and doomed to failure” – was the analysis of one national reporter on the defence strategy of Sally and the Emotional Lawyers Incorporated.
And the grim analysis was quite true. Instead of focussing on cross-examination techniques and lying, Sally would now force the Android to play games like seeing who knew the most about each other. The robot would get all of the fact based questions right and this excited Sally very much. She would giggle and clap her hands with each correct answer.
These were merely recalled from its memory banks. It was a machine and held no feelings for her.
Day one of the trial:
A plea of not-guilty was entered.
Sally was reprimanded for verbally abusing the Judge after he refused to allow her to cite Hollywood films featuring friendly robots as evidence. A brief recess was granted which Sally spent seeking assurances from the robot that he didn’t hate her.
Following this, the prosecution showed photographs of Professor Kepel’s limp corpse to the jury. It then examined the police interviewer who received the robot’s confession. It then interviewed the robot who once again confessed to the murder.
Day two of the trial:
A revised plea of guilty was entered.
Extenuating circumstances fell upon death ears. Claims of accidental death were dismissed and followed by ten minutes of semi-comprehensible braying as Sally squealed through her tears something along the lines of “can’t you see we’re in love?”
Then, in a masterful display of prejudice the judge permitted the prosecution to show the jury 2001: a Space Odyssey and The Terminator. All were moved.
Sally remained seated, shaking in terror. Kepel Junior stood to hear the verdict. He was to be dismantled and turned into something cool.
Suddenly the courtroom was infested by a foul shriek. Sally threw herself across her desk and wept uncontrollably. She begged for mercy but none was given.
As he was being lead away, Kepel Junior looked back at Sally and it was in that moment that she imagined she could see a tear rolling down his cold face. This was of course false. It could never love her.