+J.M.J.+
TITLE: "Motion to Deactivate" An "Animatrix: Second Renaissence Part I"/ "A.I.: Artificial Intelligence" crossover, Chapter 5
AUTHOR: "Matrix Refugee"
RATING: PG-13/ mild R (?)
ARCHIVE: Permission granted
FEEDBACK: Please? Please?
SUMMARY: As prosecution proceeds with its presentation, Declan makes several unpleasant discoveries.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Animatrix: Second Renaissence, Part I", its characters, concepts, imagery or other indicia which belong to the Wachowski Brothers, RedPill Productions, Warner Brothers, et al. Nor do I own "A.I., Artificial Intelligence", its characters, settings, concepts or other indicia, which are the property of the late, great Stanley Kubrick, of DreamWorks SKG, Steven Spielberg, Warner Brothers, et al.
NOTES: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter going: I've been wrestling with drafting it, since some of the content is rather graphic (but nowhere as graphic as the content in the B1-66-ER trial scene in "Second Ren. Part 1") and I'm not comfortable writing or viewing graphic violence. I was too faint-hearted to review the actual short, but I did find someone's "Animatrix" fansite which had a *ton* of screen caps from the DVD, so I pored over that. Plus I also discovered, on the "Matrix" website, the original short comic strip style story which the Wachowskis wrote about this incident, in collaboration with Geoff Darrow. Not for the faint-hearted either! And I also found some fine details not seen in the film, which would have changed how I've been writing this story (i.e., a lot of us in the "Matrix" fandom have been thinking the person who gets their head torn apart in the short was the wife/girlfriend of B1-66-ER's owner; it's actually one of the people called in to deactivate the robot). Too late now, I'm afraid, but this helps with the non-fanfic version of this, so not a total loss for me. Just a simple case of not knowing the EMP was charged!
* * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5 : Prosecution Rebuttal
"So this stuff about hard to detect viruses is just a simple case of her grasping at straws?" Declan asked Wilson, the computer systems manager and droid memory cube analyst for the DA's office.
Wilson nodded. "Yup, just a desperate excuse. I mean, granted, new viruses are created and decoded all the time, but they're usually pretty easy to spot and suss out. Most droids have pretty heavy virus definition software, but things like B1-66-ER are less likely to need it: he's a service model, not like one of these secretary Mechas we got now. Them needs it since they access the data stream all the time."
"Well, did B1-66-ER show any signs of virus contamination? Maybe something on a replacement chip?"
Wilson propelled his swivel chair across the work room to a terminal on a table. He punched several keys, bringing up a window. "Now that one was as right as rain, hardware and software. Held up great for a mech. Most of 'em that old get a little senile. Data strings get lost or broken up. Not that they lose any of their basic programming, but less essential stuff gets shuffled around: memory logs, day to day stuff from way back, that sort of stuff. A lot of owners opt for clearing logs that are more than a certain number of years old, but not here in Mass."
"It's against the law," Declan said. "Unless the droid in question asks for it."
"Right, one of the better provisions on the MIT Bill of Rights," Wilson agreed. "Ah, here we are." He scrolled down the document, listing what were clearly some kind of programming directives, which meant nothing to Declan, but which Wilson scanned with keen attention, like a linguist scanning a tablet of cuneiform.
"Nope, no virus activity in the past ten years, let alone the past ten weeks," Wilson said. "Nothing worse than the usual little programming hiccups that sometimes plague a unit this old."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, the sort of things that might make him hesitate in the middle of doing something and have to reset, but nothing that would make him do anything too bizarre."
"All right, say he had picked up a virus, something that attacked his programming and made him go insane, even homicidal. Would it last just a few minutes and then go away, or would he stay in that state, attacking anyone who approached him?"
"Nope, he'd keep going after people until someone hosed him with an EMP. If something hit his First Law prompts and snapped them, he'd stay snapped. He'd go after anyone who tried to confine him. But I hear from Johnson he's been a model prisoner, 'even far a droid'," Wilson quipped, imitating Johnson's heavy Irish accent.
"So that means that Ms. Te's argument of insanity due to temporary malfunction doesn't hold a single drop of water," Declan deduced. "Wait a minute, you said something about First Law prompts. I thought the Three Laws were part of a droid's training or something."
Wilson wagged a mocking finger at him. "Hm, I see you need to do your homework on robotics."
Declan shrugged, smiling. "I'm a lawyer, I'm not a roboticist. I've read maybe a handful of articles besides the text of the MIT Bill of Rights."
"Yeah, a bunch a' lawmakers drafted that. Didn't realize that the Three Laws are programmed into *every* single droid, artilect or Mecha."
"I don't follow, I'm afraid..." Declan admitted.
Wilson pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "All right, how to explain this... Okay, you're Catholic, right?"
"Yes I am," Declan replied. "Dyed in the wool French-Irish Catholic."
"All right, so you probably remember from catechism about the moral law that's philosophically written on every man's heart, 'Do good, Avoid evil'. The Three Laws are like that, except that the're much more strict and they don't give as much leeway for broad interpretation like the moral law, depending on a person's intelligence or upbringing or mood as the case may be. Robots *have* to obey these rules. They can't get around them, not usually."
Declan's ears perked up at this. "What do you mean, not usually?"
Wilson wagged his head. "Well... The older ones sometimes get... 'funny'. Most of 'em were built with more care and craftsmanship than the newer ones, the Mechas. They weren't cranked out in the huge numbers they are today. It's like the difference between a 2020 Saturn Cruiser and a 1920 Model T Ford. The designers and the production crews put a *leetle* more work into building these units. A lot of the older ones have much more complex processors than the new ones. These units can learn."
"So, in that case, is it possible B1-66-ER could have learned to be aggressive?"
"It ain't impossible. I haven't scanned his memory logs, it would take too long," Wilson said. "I'd like to think it's unlikely, but I've heard some stories about older models doing odd things." He paused, growing serious. "But nothing like this. Allen Hobby over to Cybertronics has been pushing for creating self-motivated reasoning parameters, but I don't see those coming, not in my lifetime, and certainly not yours." Wilson grinned at him.
Declan twisted his face into a mask of scorn at Wilson, but he felt the corners of his mouth turning up. "Thanks a lot," he rumbled, pretending to sound stern. Growing serious again, he added, "I guess in that case, I should tell Glynnis to draft a motion to rebutt defense's argument. But... do you think my argument that droids lack emotions was out of turn?"
"I think you're both a little bit right and a little bit wrong. But I can tell Ms. Te was really looking for a quick answer. You're good at catching people off guard when they're not being completely logical. You always were."
"It just didn't sound right with me," Declan said.
* * * * * * * * *
"I spoke out of turn, I'm sorry," Ms. Te said, as she and Declan sat conferring with Justice Wendeel the next day. But Declan could sense the aura of resentment just under the surface of Ms. Te's humility. He waited for her to glare at him from under her lowered eyelids. But he could merely have been judging her too harshly.
"At least you admitted your error," Justice Wendell said. "But I'm afraid it's too late for you to present another opening statement. We should be starting the cross-examination of prosecution's witnesses. I hope you can redirect your presentation to some line between sentimentality and futility."
"I'm working on that, but the witnesses I have selected can still testify?"
"We'll have to see about that," Justice Wendell said, in a voice that brooked little argument.
"I'd also like to add that I was partly in the wrong myself," Declan admitted. "Mr. Wilson, who analyzed the defendent's cube for errors tells me that there are instances where older models like the defendant have acted uncharacteristically and even have shown some rudimentary emotions."
Now he sensed a "told you so!" look from Ms. Te. He denied her the pleasure of looking him in the face.
"You'll be able to explore that during cross-examination, if you can," Justice Wendell said,.
* * * * * * * * *
"So you entered the living room, and you found the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Varriteck on the floor close to the end wall?" Declan asked his first witness, Jerry Bultwell, one of the homicide detectives who had been at the scene of the crime.
"Yeah, what was left of 'em," Bultwell replied, with an attempt at deadpan humor. "Mr. Varriteck was already cold, though we could still get a pulse on him. But Mrs. Varriteck, or rather the then unidentified Caucasian female, was missing her whole head. I mean, I've seen some bad stuff in my time, but this beat it all. First time I ever saw anyone with their head splattered all over fi'teen square feet. Looked like somethin' out of a goddamned David Cronenberg movie."
McGeever, in the press gallery, let out a surpressed rumble of annoyance, but he quickly fell quiet when Justice Wendell started reaching for her gavel.
"Did you see anything that clearly indicated a droid had done this?" Declan asked.
"If you mean if the victims had any metal filings under her nails, I'm afraid they didn't." A supressed nervous laugh rose from some members of the press. Damon Varriteck, at the back of the gallery, let out a loud, haggard sigh.
"That was a cheap shot, I'm sorry," Bultwell said. "The kind of injuries the victims sustained, it was either that or someone with the arms of a droid."
Juror 6 raised his hand, the light from the windows sheening on the dermis covering it. "Excuse me, just to clarify, but I have a prosthesis based on a Mecha arm design, but it's no stronger than my other arm."
"Didn't mean to sound crude," the detective said, with a sheepish smile. "I meant, like someone who had the whole strength of a droid. Y' know how strong them are, a lot of 'em."
"We're aware of that," Declan said. "How were you able to determine precisely whether or not the defendant had committed the crime?"
"No one else was in the house: Damon Varriteck had just come home from a business meeting, and the collection crew from Cybertronics were still waiting on the driveway. The Varritecks had taken a long time in calling them back in to collect the droid, so they went in to see what was going on."
"So you found the defendant on the back stairs of the house?"
"Yeah, he was coming down carrying a small suitcase, tried getting past us to head out the back door and into the trees behind the house, but we'd surrounded him by then."
"So you took him into custody?"
"Yeah, though he wouldn't come too quietly."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, he tried to sidestep us, tried to break free actually, so we had to restrain him, zap his lower motor thingys with a low-level EMP."
"But you and the crime scene investigators discovered incontestable evidence in the house as to what had happened, didn't you?"
"Damon told the CSI crew that there was a security camera behind a two-way mirror over the fireplace in the living room, so they removed the mirror and recovered the tape. Had audio-visual take a look-see at it."
"And is there a copy of the tape availible?"
"Yeah, they copied it onto DVD and submitted that copy to the district attorney's office."
Declan reached over amongst the plastic bags of evidence lying on the table -- blood-soaked carpet fragments, swatches of upholstery, color photos of the wall of the Varritecks' living room -- and picked up a black DVD case. "The People request to submit evidence Exhibit J."
"You may admit it, Mr. Martin," Justice Wendell said.
Declan handed the DVD case to the balliff, who took it and lumbered over to a flat screen television mounted on top of a tall cart with a DVD player, then knelt down and carefully loaded the disk into the player.
"I must first warn you, ladies and gentleman... er, intelligent persons of the jury and of the press, that the images you are about to see are of a very graphic nature," Declan announced. The balliff looked up at him for a signal, his finger hovering over the "play" button on the DVD player. Declan nodded and stepped back.
As he did so, he thought he heard the defendant's chair creak. He glanced toward defense's bench. B1-66-ER had drawn back in his chair, almost as if he might try to rise and escape. Ms Te put a hand, almost comfortingly on the droid's wrist; the droid tilted his head down, looking at her hand, but made no other move, except to look up toward the flatscreen.
Declan heard a whirr like a zoom lens tracking, but he couldn't be sure if that was what it was.
A grainy stretch of black and white static covered the screen for a moment, then went black. Then the screen resolved into a black and white image of the Varritecks' living room. Numbers on the lower right corner of the screen showed the time in hours/minutes/seconds, ticking off as the film rolled.
The room looked much as Declan had seen it before, only without the extractions the crime scene unit had made. Mrs. Varriteck, a plain-faced, middle-aged, rather stocky woman with dark hair, sat on the couch, talking with Mr. Varriteck, a tall man who looked somewhat older than his wife. A puppy sat on the far end of the sofa, gnawing on a rawhide bone. The couple conversed for a moment -- there was no sound -- then Mr. Varriteck walked out of the range of the camera, heading out where the hallway would have been. In the background, two Cybertronics technicians in grey coveralls were preparing a restraint chair in the doorway to the dining room.
A moment later, Mr Varriteck walked back into the range of the camera, leading in the defendent, who still had a whisk broom in his hand.
Mr. Varriteck spoke with the collection crew, who went out by way of the dining room. He then turned to B1-66-ER. The droid's head lifted slightly.
Then with one swift movement, it stepped toward Mr. Varriteck and thrust the handle of the broom through the man's left eye. Varriteck staggered backward toward the couch, then his heel caught on the leg of the table and he fell over backward, sprawling on the carpet, blood pouring from his wound.
Mrs. Varriteck jumped up from the couch, the dog beside her leapt off and lunged at the droid, snapping at it. B1-66-ER reached out and grabbed the dog with both hands, the head in one hand, the body in the other. The droid twisted the animal's neck completely around, half-wrenching it off in the process, and flung the bleeding carcass across the room.
Mrs. Varriteck darted away from the droid, zigzagging about the room like a chicken trapped inside a snake's glass cage. She must have run under the lens of the camera, out of its range, because she disappeared from view for a moment as she headed for the hallway.
The droid turned, and with deliberate strides, walked toward the hallway.
A moment later, he returned, backing Mrs. Varriteck into the living room. She tried prying the droid's hands from the sides of her head. She pummeled B1-66-ER's metal torso, but she was no match for the droid's strength. He did not release her head.
The droid backed her almost toward the wall of the living room, close to the window, then pushed her down on her knees, his body blocking her from sight. The droid's arms spread slightly.
Something behind his form exploded. Tissue and blood spattered everywhere, splotching the wall and the floor and the arm of the sofa. Mrs. Varriteck's body, missing its head, slumped sideways, falling across the body of her husband.
The droid turned away, facing toward the camera. Drops of blood, black on the film's black and white and grey, fell from his grey hands and the front of his torso was spattered. He paused, raising his hands before his eyelenses, studying them for a long moment. Then holding his hands raised, like a surgeon who has just scrubbed up and is keeping his hands from touching anything, he walked away toward the hallway.
The screen went blank, then went black as the disk ended.
Declan watched the screen in silence. He was accustomed to this kind of evidence, but he felt his belly tightening. His palms, resting on his forearms folded across his chest suddenly felt damp against the black serge of his jacket. He tried to swallow the sandpapery feeling in the back of his throat, but it remained.
The members of the jury shifted in their seats. One of the women let out a low moan of fear. The man with the Mecha arm prosthesis coughed.
Declan glanced towards defense's bench. Ms. Te recrossed her legs with unease, glancing away from the screen, her face a mask of calmness hiding something else.
The defendant, sitting at her side, watched the screen, head erect, hands resting on his skeletal metal thighs. Declan hoped the droid would show something like remorse, turning his face away, or something, anything, even if his face couldn't register the usual expressions of horror, since he lacked the necessary features. An image from the Eichmann trial came to his mind's eye, the almost bored calm of the convicted Nazi boss and murderer of millions as prosecution displayed some of the photographic evidence from Auschwitz and Treblinka....
*Can't project human responses or behavior onto him*, Declan reminded himself. *This is a droid; they don't have the same behavioral processes as humans*.
He suddenly became aware of a rapid series of wing-clicks coming from behind him. He fought back an impulse to turn around and glare at McGeever. Sweitz murmured something: the wing-clicks stopped, but McGeever let out a harrassed sigh.
"The droid we see in these images is clearly the defendant?" Declan asked.
"Definately," Bultwell said. "He was the only droid of this make in the house. The Cybertronics crew verified his unit number and compared it with his contract with the Varriteck household. There were other images of him as he walked through the house after the crime, on other security cameras in the house, that is. As you can see from the timer-numbers on the bottom of the screen, this all happened in the space of about 5 minutes." Bultwell coughed, almost as if trying to clear something from his throat.
"Nothing further," Declan said, sensing the detective's discomfort.
Ms. Te stood up and approached the witness stand. "Is this tape accurate?" she asked.
"Depends on what you mean by accurate," Bultwell said, at another attempt at humor.
"Is it really from the Varriteck's security camera?" she asked. "Is this the original tape?"
"It's a direct transfer from the tape to a DVD, to keep anyone from tampering with the evidence," Bultwell said.
"So, the tape could have been altered before it was copied onto the DVD?"
"As far as I know it wasn't," Bultwell said.
"As far as you know... are you an expert on filmography?" Ms. Te asked.
"Hey, I don't think anyone screwed with the tape, if that's what you mean," Bultwell said. "The timer numbers on the bottom of the screen don't look like they've been buggered with."
"Excuse me, your honor, Ms. Te, and fellow members of the jury," said a clear voice from the jury box. "But may I be permitted to speak?"
"You may, Hammurabi," Justice Wendell said.
"I cannot help concurring with the witness: the images show no signs of having been altered or tampered with in any way, shape, or form.
"You mean you can see the images that clearly?" Justice Wendell asked.
Yes, even through the camera of this remote presence device. I have been analyzing the images since the cross-examination began regarding the tape. No one has added anything to or subtracted anything from the images. Even CGI would have flaws indicating enhancement, and this has none."
"I'm with the machine-voice guy," Bultwell said.
"So you mean to say the tape and the DVD are identical?"
"As far as I can tell, yeah," Bultwell said.
"It would be logical to review the original tape and compare it with this segment on the DVD, but the comparison would be purely academic," Hammurabi added.
"What made you sure that the defendant had killed the Varritecks?" Ms. Te asked.
Bultwell shrugged. "What else could have done that kind of damage to the victims?"
"And what makes you so sure that the defendant wasn't simply trying to protect his own existence? The tape only shows what happened on the surface -- "
"Objection: speculation and begging the question," Declan interjected.
"Withdrawn," Ms. Te said. She darted a glare at Declan as she paused, clearly trying to find a way to rephrase her question. "There are some Orga humans who are just as strong as some droids. Are you sure you arrested the right person?"
"Hey, the only people in the immediate vicinity at the time of the crime were the Varritecks, the collection crew waiting on the driveway, and the droid. I really doubt that Mr. Varriteck was strong enough to tear his wife's head in two, then stuck a broom through his own head and pulled her body across his chest while he lay dying," Bultwell said. "And the collection crew didn't do it, either: a neighbor says they stayed put on the driveway form the time they came out till the time Damon came home twenty minutes later."
"Perhaps we should call this neighbor in to testify," Ms. Te suggested.
Bultwell shrugged. "Suit yerself."
"By the way, Mr. Bultwell, what's your opinion of artilects?" she asked.
"Objection: relevance," Declan cried.
"No, I'll answer that," Bultwell said. Looking Ms Te in the eye, he continued. "I gave my niece a Supertoy puppy for her first Christmas. And since my wife left me for a college kid, I've been callin' on a blonde lover-Mecha named Callie. Always give her a five-dollar tip when we're done."
"Nothing further," Ms Te said, stepping down.
* * * * * * * * *
In a bid to get away from the inevitable reporters at the front of the courthouse, Declan and Glynnis headed out by way of a side exit. But they still didn't completely dodge the media: They came upon Sweitz and McGeever talking with Ms. Te. Declan kept walking past them, following Glynnis, but Sweitz smiled his way. Declan paused, letting the youngster take him aside.
"Looks like her AI juror is only aiding prosecution," Sweitz pointed out.
"It's a masterstroke on her part, but I think she's starting to find out what this case is really all about," Declan said. "The lines aren't as clearly drawn as we'd all like them to be."
"Hey, that would make a great quote, that last part about the lines not being clearly drawn," Sweitz said, getting out his pad. "You mind if I quote you on that?"
"No, go right ahead," Declan said, smiling on the youngster's enthusiasm.
The young reporter wrote fast, his thin fingers flying. "So what do you think of defense's grasping at straws?" Sweitz asked.
"I'm not going to attack Ms. Te's character or her approach to this case," Declan said. "She may get somewhat emotionally overwrought in the course of her presentation, especially with cases involving droids, but she's just a passionate young woman who works very hard on her cases."
Sweitz's pencil flew over the pad. He paused writing only to flip over a page and start a fresh one. "Now, I've been hearing stuff, rumors mostly, that you're a bit ambivalent about artilects in general. Would you want to clarify that?"
"No, I don't mind at all: The way I see it, Mechas are a part of this world as we know it and they have as much right to be treated well as well treat each other and our pet animals. The problem right now isn't the generality of mechanical beings: the problem at hand is one droid in particular which made some wrong decisions and overstepped the law. I'm not putting Mechakind on trial, just B1-66-ER, and only because he killed two people."
"I can tell the papers are bugging you. That's why I'm asking this stuff, set the record straight," Sweitz said.
Declan smiled. "If you carry that kind of attitude toward the way you handle all your work, you'll be a success."
Sweitz shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess we're a lot alike that way, the way we handle our work: you trying criminal cases, me telling people the truth about what's going on in the world... I just wish my editors could see it the same way."
"We all want to be understood, it's a fundamental need," Declan said.
He became aware of the words passing between McGeever and Ms. Te, who stood a head taller than the diminutive photographer.
"If y' like, I'll try gettin' a copy of the tape. I'll even run an analysis on it. I've worked with videography as well as still work," McGeever said.
Ms. Te looked *down* at him. Declan divined the clashing emotions within her: curiosity over the tape, and annoyance with this tiny interloper. For that matter, McGeever was standing a little too close to her for her to be comfortable with him. At length, she said something too low for Declan to hear clearly and then walked away, her heels snapping on the marble tiles. McGeever shrugged, watching her stride out of sight around a corner, then sidled over to join Declan and Sweitz.
"Dammit, and I even offered to find the original tape for her," McGeever groused.
"It wouldn't have worked anyway," Sweitz said.
The photographer ignored his partner. "So I take it you been givin' Jimmy Thirties here the straight dope on round two of Martin vs. Te? Otherwise known of course to the public at large as People v. B1-66-ER?"
"I'm only giving my side of the story, that's the only thing I can do," Declan said.
"Mm, which is why I'm keeping an impartial eye on the opposition," McGeever said, with an odd glint in his eye. "Personally, I think the droid is as guilty as sin. All this court trial sh*t is just a formality."
"I'm only trying to find out why he did it, just so the defendant can be sentenced properly," Declan said.
McGeever started to curl his lips back, clearly preparatory to some cynical remark, but Sweitz cut him off. "And you're doing a swell job too!" He looked at his watch. "But we've kept you long enough. Thanks for your time." Sweitz put his hand on McGeever's shoulder and steered him out the side door.
To Declan's and Glynnis's relief, no reporters came crowding around them as they left by the same door the two cubs from the "Independent" had passed through. But as he headed back to the office and then back home, Declan couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he hadn't completely dodged the press gauntlet.
He knew why he had that feeling when he came home.
Usually when he got home, Sabrina would meet him at the door, unless she had a large order to finish, but he hadn't heard that she had anything pressing lately. But she wasn't there when he unlocked the door and opened it.
"Sabrina?" he called, walking through the kitchen to the dining room, finding no sign of her.
She came in from the back bedroom, her violet eyes dark, a sure sign that something had annoyed her.
She looked up as he came up to her. "Declan... hello," she said, her voice flat.
He set down his briefcase and drew her to him gently. She let him hold her, but she didn't tilt her face up to his. "Something wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head, the movement heavy with weariness. "Reporters," she said. "They were calling on the phone looking for you. Then a news crew showed up at the door later this afternoon."
"So what did you do?"
"I let the answering machine take the calls. I paid no attention to the crew: I had that order for the Davis girls' confirmation dresses to finish."
"Where's Cecie?"
"She's over at the Connellys' house. She came home from school through the woods, right about the time the news crew showed up, so I let her in by the back door. They didn't see us."
"For once I have a reason not to mind her walking through those woods," he said, his mouth wry around the words.
At that point they heard the kitchen door open and close. A moment later, she came into the dining room, her leather book satchel slung over her shoulder, and her face gathered with unmistakable annoyance.
"What's wrong?" Declan asked, releasing Sabrina and turning to their daughter. "You wishing you'd gone to another family?"
Cecie's eyes burned balefully. "Don't try to make me laugh," she snapped.
"You look like you could use a laugh," he observed.
She plunked her satchel on the floor and pushed a wisp of hair back from her face. "I was coming out of the Connellys' house when this woman reporter creep and a camera guy jump up and start asking me a million questions, like if we had any house Mechas or if you guys ever let me play with Supertoys."
"So how'd you handle that?" Declan asked.
"I kept walking fast. I cut across people's lawns," she said.
Declan looked up, gazing out the kitchen window.
A silver van with the logo of a local news station emblazoned across the side in rainbow colors pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street, directly across from the house.
To be continued....
TITLE: "Motion to Deactivate" An "Animatrix: Second Renaissence Part I"/ "A.I.: Artificial Intelligence" crossover, Chapter 5
AUTHOR: "Matrix Refugee"
RATING: PG-13/ mild R (?)
ARCHIVE: Permission granted
FEEDBACK: Please? Please?
SUMMARY: As prosecution proceeds with its presentation, Declan makes several unpleasant discoveries.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own "The Animatrix: Second Renaissence, Part I", its characters, concepts, imagery or other indicia which belong to the Wachowski Brothers, RedPill Productions, Warner Brothers, et al. Nor do I own "A.I., Artificial Intelligence", its characters, settings, concepts or other indicia, which are the property of the late, great Stanley Kubrick, of DreamWorks SKG, Steven Spielberg, Warner Brothers, et al.
NOTES: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter going: I've been wrestling with drafting it, since some of the content is rather graphic (but nowhere as graphic as the content in the B1-66-ER trial scene in "Second Ren. Part 1") and I'm not comfortable writing or viewing graphic violence. I was too faint-hearted to review the actual short, but I did find someone's "Animatrix" fansite which had a *ton* of screen caps from the DVD, so I pored over that. Plus I also discovered, on the "Matrix" website, the original short comic strip style story which the Wachowskis wrote about this incident, in collaboration with Geoff Darrow. Not for the faint-hearted either! And I also found some fine details not seen in the film, which would have changed how I've been writing this story (i.e., a lot of us in the "Matrix" fandom have been thinking the person who gets their head torn apart in the short was the wife/girlfriend of B1-66-ER's owner; it's actually one of the people called in to deactivate the robot). Too late now, I'm afraid, but this helps with the non-fanfic version of this, so not a total loss for me. Just a simple case of not knowing the EMP was charged!
* * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5 : Prosecution Rebuttal
"So this stuff about hard to detect viruses is just a simple case of her grasping at straws?" Declan asked Wilson, the computer systems manager and droid memory cube analyst for the DA's office.
Wilson nodded. "Yup, just a desperate excuse. I mean, granted, new viruses are created and decoded all the time, but they're usually pretty easy to spot and suss out. Most droids have pretty heavy virus definition software, but things like B1-66-ER are less likely to need it: he's a service model, not like one of these secretary Mechas we got now. Them needs it since they access the data stream all the time."
"Well, did B1-66-ER show any signs of virus contamination? Maybe something on a replacement chip?"
Wilson propelled his swivel chair across the work room to a terminal on a table. He punched several keys, bringing up a window. "Now that one was as right as rain, hardware and software. Held up great for a mech. Most of 'em that old get a little senile. Data strings get lost or broken up. Not that they lose any of their basic programming, but less essential stuff gets shuffled around: memory logs, day to day stuff from way back, that sort of stuff. A lot of owners opt for clearing logs that are more than a certain number of years old, but not here in Mass."
"It's against the law," Declan said. "Unless the droid in question asks for it."
"Right, one of the better provisions on the MIT Bill of Rights," Wilson agreed. "Ah, here we are." He scrolled down the document, listing what were clearly some kind of programming directives, which meant nothing to Declan, but which Wilson scanned with keen attention, like a linguist scanning a tablet of cuneiform.
"Nope, no virus activity in the past ten years, let alone the past ten weeks," Wilson said. "Nothing worse than the usual little programming hiccups that sometimes plague a unit this old."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, the sort of things that might make him hesitate in the middle of doing something and have to reset, but nothing that would make him do anything too bizarre."
"All right, say he had picked up a virus, something that attacked his programming and made him go insane, even homicidal. Would it last just a few minutes and then go away, or would he stay in that state, attacking anyone who approached him?"
"Nope, he'd keep going after people until someone hosed him with an EMP. If something hit his First Law prompts and snapped them, he'd stay snapped. He'd go after anyone who tried to confine him. But I hear from Johnson he's been a model prisoner, 'even far a droid'," Wilson quipped, imitating Johnson's heavy Irish accent.
"So that means that Ms. Te's argument of insanity due to temporary malfunction doesn't hold a single drop of water," Declan deduced. "Wait a minute, you said something about First Law prompts. I thought the Three Laws were part of a droid's training or something."
Wilson wagged a mocking finger at him. "Hm, I see you need to do your homework on robotics."
Declan shrugged, smiling. "I'm a lawyer, I'm not a roboticist. I've read maybe a handful of articles besides the text of the MIT Bill of Rights."
"Yeah, a bunch a' lawmakers drafted that. Didn't realize that the Three Laws are programmed into *every* single droid, artilect or Mecha."
"I don't follow, I'm afraid..." Declan admitted.
Wilson pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "All right, how to explain this... Okay, you're Catholic, right?"
"Yes I am," Declan replied. "Dyed in the wool French-Irish Catholic."
"All right, so you probably remember from catechism about the moral law that's philosophically written on every man's heart, 'Do good, Avoid evil'. The Three Laws are like that, except that the're much more strict and they don't give as much leeway for broad interpretation like the moral law, depending on a person's intelligence or upbringing or mood as the case may be. Robots *have* to obey these rules. They can't get around them, not usually."
Declan's ears perked up at this. "What do you mean, not usually?"
Wilson wagged his head. "Well... The older ones sometimes get... 'funny'. Most of 'em were built with more care and craftsmanship than the newer ones, the Mechas. They weren't cranked out in the huge numbers they are today. It's like the difference between a 2020 Saturn Cruiser and a 1920 Model T Ford. The designers and the production crews put a *leetle* more work into building these units. A lot of the older ones have much more complex processors than the new ones. These units can learn."
"So, in that case, is it possible B1-66-ER could have learned to be aggressive?"
"It ain't impossible. I haven't scanned his memory logs, it would take too long," Wilson said. "I'd like to think it's unlikely, but I've heard some stories about older models doing odd things." He paused, growing serious. "But nothing like this. Allen Hobby over to Cybertronics has been pushing for creating self-motivated reasoning parameters, but I don't see those coming, not in my lifetime, and certainly not yours." Wilson grinned at him.
Declan twisted his face into a mask of scorn at Wilson, but he felt the corners of his mouth turning up. "Thanks a lot," he rumbled, pretending to sound stern. Growing serious again, he added, "I guess in that case, I should tell Glynnis to draft a motion to rebutt defense's argument. But... do you think my argument that droids lack emotions was out of turn?"
"I think you're both a little bit right and a little bit wrong. But I can tell Ms. Te was really looking for a quick answer. You're good at catching people off guard when they're not being completely logical. You always were."
"It just didn't sound right with me," Declan said.
* * * * * * * * *
"I spoke out of turn, I'm sorry," Ms. Te said, as she and Declan sat conferring with Justice Wendeel the next day. But Declan could sense the aura of resentment just under the surface of Ms. Te's humility. He waited for her to glare at him from under her lowered eyelids. But he could merely have been judging her too harshly.
"At least you admitted your error," Justice Wendell said. "But I'm afraid it's too late for you to present another opening statement. We should be starting the cross-examination of prosecution's witnesses. I hope you can redirect your presentation to some line between sentimentality and futility."
"I'm working on that, but the witnesses I have selected can still testify?"
"We'll have to see about that," Justice Wendell said, in a voice that brooked little argument.
"I'd also like to add that I was partly in the wrong myself," Declan admitted. "Mr. Wilson, who analyzed the defendent's cube for errors tells me that there are instances where older models like the defendant have acted uncharacteristically and even have shown some rudimentary emotions."
Now he sensed a "told you so!" look from Ms. Te. He denied her the pleasure of looking him in the face.
"You'll be able to explore that during cross-examination, if you can," Justice Wendell said,.
* * * * * * * * *
"So you entered the living room, and you found the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Varriteck on the floor close to the end wall?" Declan asked his first witness, Jerry Bultwell, one of the homicide detectives who had been at the scene of the crime.
"Yeah, what was left of 'em," Bultwell replied, with an attempt at deadpan humor. "Mr. Varriteck was already cold, though we could still get a pulse on him. But Mrs. Varriteck, or rather the then unidentified Caucasian female, was missing her whole head. I mean, I've seen some bad stuff in my time, but this beat it all. First time I ever saw anyone with their head splattered all over fi'teen square feet. Looked like somethin' out of a goddamned David Cronenberg movie."
McGeever, in the press gallery, let out a surpressed rumble of annoyance, but he quickly fell quiet when Justice Wendell started reaching for her gavel.
"Did you see anything that clearly indicated a droid had done this?" Declan asked.
"If you mean if the victims had any metal filings under her nails, I'm afraid they didn't." A supressed nervous laugh rose from some members of the press. Damon Varriteck, at the back of the gallery, let out a loud, haggard sigh.
"That was a cheap shot, I'm sorry," Bultwell said. "The kind of injuries the victims sustained, it was either that or someone with the arms of a droid."
Juror 6 raised his hand, the light from the windows sheening on the dermis covering it. "Excuse me, just to clarify, but I have a prosthesis based on a Mecha arm design, but it's no stronger than my other arm."
"Didn't mean to sound crude," the detective said, with a sheepish smile. "I meant, like someone who had the whole strength of a droid. Y' know how strong them are, a lot of 'em."
"We're aware of that," Declan said. "How were you able to determine precisely whether or not the defendant had committed the crime?"
"No one else was in the house: Damon Varriteck had just come home from a business meeting, and the collection crew from Cybertronics were still waiting on the driveway. The Varritecks had taken a long time in calling them back in to collect the droid, so they went in to see what was going on."
"So you found the defendant on the back stairs of the house?"
"Yeah, he was coming down carrying a small suitcase, tried getting past us to head out the back door and into the trees behind the house, but we'd surrounded him by then."
"So you took him into custody?"
"Yeah, though he wouldn't come too quietly."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, he tried to sidestep us, tried to break free actually, so we had to restrain him, zap his lower motor thingys with a low-level EMP."
"But you and the crime scene investigators discovered incontestable evidence in the house as to what had happened, didn't you?"
"Damon told the CSI crew that there was a security camera behind a two-way mirror over the fireplace in the living room, so they removed the mirror and recovered the tape. Had audio-visual take a look-see at it."
"And is there a copy of the tape availible?"
"Yeah, they copied it onto DVD and submitted that copy to the district attorney's office."
Declan reached over amongst the plastic bags of evidence lying on the table -- blood-soaked carpet fragments, swatches of upholstery, color photos of the wall of the Varritecks' living room -- and picked up a black DVD case. "The People request to submit evidence Exhibit J."
"You may admit it, Mr. Martin," Justice Wendell said.
Declan handed the DVD case to the balliff, who took it and lumbered over to a flat screen television mounted on top of a tall cart with a DVD player, then knelt down and carefully loaded the disk into the player.
"I must first warn you, ladies and gentleman... er, intelligent persons of the jury and of the press, that the images you are about to see are of a very graphic nature," Declan announced. The balliff looked up at him for a signal, his finger hovering over the "play" button on the DVD player. Declan nodded and stepped back.
As he did so, he thought he heard the defendant's chair creak. He glanced toward defense's bench. B1-66-ER had drawn back in his chair, almost as if he might try to rise and escape. Ms Te put a hand, almost comfortingly on the droid's wrist; the droid tilted his head down, looking at her hand, but made no other move, except to look up toward the flatscreen.
Declan heard a whirr like a zoom lens tracking, but he couldn't be sure if that was what it was.
A grainy stretch of black and white static covered the screen for a moment, then went black. Then the screen resolved into a black and white image of the Varritecks' living room. Numbers on the lower right corner of the screen showed the time in hours/minutes/seconds, ticking off as the film rolled.
The room looked much as Declan had seen it before, only without the extractions the crime scene unit had made. Mrs. Varriteck, a plain-faced, middle-aged, rather stocky woman with dark hair, sat on the couch, talking with Mr. Varriteck, a tall man who looked somewhat older than his wife. A puppy sat on the far end of the sofa, gnawing on a rawhide bone. The couple conversed for a moment -- there was no sound -- then Mr. Varriteck walked out of the range of the camera, heading out where the hallway would have been. In the background, two Cybertronics technicians in grey coveralls were preparing a restraint chair in the doorway to the dining room.
A moment later, Mr Varriteck walked back into the range of the camera, leading in the defendent, who still had a whisk broom in his hand.
Mr. Varriteck spoke with the collection crew, who went out by way of the dining room. He then turned to B1-66-ER. The droid's head lifted slightly.
Then with one swift movement, it stepped toward Mr. Varriteck and thrust the handle of the broom through the man's left eye. Varriteck staggered backward toward the couch, then his heel caught on the leg of the table and he fell over backward, sprawling on the carpet, blood pouring from his wound.
Mrs. Varriteck jumped up from the couch, the dog beside her leapt off and lunged at the droid, snapping at it. B1-66-ER reached out and grabbed the dog with both hands, the head in one hand, the body in the other. The droid twisted the animal's neck completely around, half-wrenching it off in the process, and flung the bleeding carcass across the room.
Mrs. Varriteck darted away from the droid, zigzagging about the room like a chicken trapped inside a snake's glass cage. She must have run under the lens of the camera, out of its range, because she disappeared from view for a moment as she headed for the hallway.
The droid turned, and with deliberate strides, walked toward the hallway.
A moment later, he returned, backing Mrs. Varriteck into the living room. She tried prying the droid's hands from the sides of her head. She pummeled B1-66-ER's metal torso, but she was no match for the droid's strength. He did not release her head.
The droid backed her almost toward the wall of the living room, close to the window, then pushed her down on her knees, his body blocking her from sight. The droid's arms spread slightly.
Something behind his form exploded. Tissue and blood spattered everywhere, splotching the wall and the floor and the arm of the sofa. Mrs. Varriteck's body, missing its head, slumped sideways, falling across the body of her husband.
The droid turned away, facing toward the camera. Drops of blood, black on the film's black and white and grey, fell from his grey hands and the front of his torso was spattered. He paused, raising his hands before his eyelenses, studying them for a long moment. Then holding his hands raised, like a surgeon who has just scrubbed up and is keeping his hands from touching anything, he walked away toward the hallway.
The screen went blank, then went black as the disk ended.
Declan watched the screen in silence. He was accustomed to this kind of evidence, but he felt his belly tightening. His palms, resting on his forearms folded across his chest suddenly felt damp against the black serge of his jacket. He tried to swallow the sandpapery feeling in the back of his throat, but it remained.
The members of the jury shifted in their seats. One of the women let out a low moan of fear. The man with the Mecha arm prosthesis coughed.
Declan glanced towards defense's bench. Ms. Te recrossed her legs with unease, glancing away from the screen, her face a mask of calmness hiding something else.
The defendant, sitting at her side, watched the screen, head erect, hands resting on his skeletal metal thighs. Declan hoped the droid would show something like remorse, turning his face away, or something, anything, even if his face couldn't register the usual expressions of horror, since he lacked the necessary features. An image from the Eichmann trial came to his mind's eye, the almost bored calm of the convicted Nazi boss and murderer of millions as prosecution displayed some of the photographic evidence from Auschwitz and Treblinka....
*Can't project human responses or behavior onto him*, Declan reminded himself. *This is a droid; they don't have the same behavioral processes as humans*.
He suddenly became aware of a rapid series of wing-clicks coming from behind him. He fought back an impulse to turn around and glare at McGeever. Sweitz murmured something: the wing-clicks stopped, but McGeever let out a harrassed sigh.
"The droid we see in these images is clearly the defendant?" Declan asked.
"Definately," Bultwell said. "He was the only droid of this make in the house. The Cybertronics crew verified his unit number and compared it with his contract with the Varriteck household. There were other images of him as he walked through the house after the crime, on other security cameras in the house, that is. As you can see from the timer-numbers on the bottom of the screen, this all happened in the space of about 5 minutes." Bultwell coughed, almost as if trying to clear something from his throat.
"Nothing further," Declan said, sensing the detective's discomfort.
Ms. Te stood up and approached the witness stand. "Is this tape accurate?" she asked.
"Depends on what you mean by accurate," Bultwell said, at another attempt at humor.
"Is it really from the Varriteck's security camera?" she asked. "Is this the original tape?"
"It's a direct transfer from the tape to a DVD, to keep anyone from tampering with the evidence," Bultwell said.
"So, the tape could have been altered before it was copied onto the DVD?"
"As far as I know it wasn't," Bultwell said.
"As far as you know... are you an expert on filmography?" Ms. Te asked.
"Hey, I don't think anyone screwed with the tape, if that's what you mean," Bultwell said. "The timer numbers on the bottom of the screen don't look like they've been buggered with."
"Excuse me, your honor, Ms. Te, and fellow members of the jury," said a clear voice from the jury box. "But may I be permitted to speak?"
"You may, Hammurabi," Justice Wendell said.
"I cannot help concurring with the witness: the images show no signs of having been altered or tampered with in any way, shape, or form.
"You mean you can see the images that clearly?" Justice Wendell asked.
Yes, even through the camera of this remote presence device. I have been analyzing the images since the cross-examination began regarding the tape. No one has added anything to or subtracted anything from the images. Even CGI would have flaws indicating enhancement, and this has none."
"I'm with the machine-voice guy," Bultwell said.
"So you mean to say the tape and the DVD are identical?"
"As far as I can tell, yeah," Bultwell said.
"It would be logical to review the original tape and compare it with this segment on the DVD, but the comparison would be purely academic," Hammurabi added.
"What made you sure that the defendant had killed the Varritecks?" Ms. Te asked.
Bultwell shrugged. "What else could have done that kind of damage to the victims?"
"And what makes you so sure that the defendant wasn't simply trying to protect his own existence? The tape only shows what happened on the surface -- "
"Objection: speculation and begging the question," Declan interjected.
"Withdrawn," Ms. Te said. She darted a glare at Declan as she paused, clearly trying to find a way to rephrase her question. "There are some Orga humans who are just as strong as some droids. Are you sure you arrested the right person?"
"Hey, the only people in the immediate vicinity at the time of the crime were the Varritecks, the collection crew waiting on the driveway, and the droid. I really doubt that Mr. Varriteck was strong enough to tear his wife's head in two, then stuck a broom through his own head and pulled her body across his chest while he lay dying," Bultwell said. "And the collection crew didn't do it, either: a neighbor says they stayed put on the driveway form the time they came out till the time Damon came home twenty minutes later."
"Perhaps we should call this neighbor in to testify," Ms. Te suggested.
Bultwell shrugged. "Suit yerself."
"By the way, Mr. Bultwell, what's your opinion of artilects?" she asked.
"Objection: relevance," Declan cried.
"No, I'll answer that," Bultwell said. Looking Ms Te in the eye, he continued. "I gave my niece a Supertoy puppy for her first Christmas. And since my wife left me for a college kid, I've been callin' on a blonde lover-Mecha named Callie. Always give her a five-dollar tip when we're done."
"Nothing further," Ms Te said, stepping down.
* * * * * * * * *
In a bid to get away from the inevitable reporters at the front of the courthouse, Declan and Glynnis headed out by way of a side exit. But they still didn't completely dodge the media: They came upon Sweitz and McGeever talking with Ms. Te. Declan kept walking past them, following Glynnis, but Sweitz smiled his way. Declan paused, letting the youngster take him aside.
"Looks like her AI juror is only aiding prosecution," Sweitz pointed out.
"It's a masterstroke on her part, but I think she's starting to find out what this case is really all about," Declan said. "The lines aren't as clearly drawn as we'd all like them to be."
"Hey, that would make a great quote, that last part about the lines not being clearly drawn," Sweitz said, getting out his pad. "You mind if I quote you on that?"
"No, go right ahead," Declan said, smiling on the youngster's enthusiasm.
The young reporter wrote fast, his thin fingers flying. "So what do you think of defense's grasping at straws?" Sweitz asked.
"I'm not going to attack Ms. Te's character or her approach to this case," Declan said. "She may get somewhat emotionally overwrought in the course of her presentation, especially with cases involving droids, but she's just a passionate young woman who works very hard on her cases."
Sweitz's pencil flew over the pad. He paused writing only to flip over a page and start a fresh one. "Now, I've been hearing stuff, rumors mostly, that you're a bit ambivalent about artilects in general. Would you want to clarify that?"
"No, I don't mind at all: The way I see it, Mechas are a part of this world as we know it and they have as much right to be treated well as well treat each other and our pet animals. The problem right now isn't the generality of mechanical beings: the problem at hand is one droid in particular which made some wrong decisions and overstepped the law. I'm not putting Mechakind on trial, just B1-66-ER, and only because he killed two people."
"I can tell the papers are bugging you. That's why I'm asking this stuff, set the record straight," Sweitz said.
Declan smiled. "If you carry that kind of attitude toward the way you handle all your work, you'll be a success."
Sweitz shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess we're a lot alike that way, the way we handle our work: you trying criminal cases, me telling people the truth about what's going on in the world... I just wish my editors could see it the same way."
"We all want to be understood, it's a fundamental need," Declan said.
He became aware of the words passing between McGeever and Ms. Te, who stood a head taller than the diminutive photographer.
"If y' like, I'll try gettin' a copy of the tape. I'll even run an analysis on it. I've worked with videography as well as still work," McGeever said.
Ms. Te looked *down* at him. Declan divined the clashing emotions within her: curiosity over the tape, and annoyance with this tiny interloper. For that matter, McGeever was standing a little too close to her for her to be comfortable with him. At length, she said something too low for Declan to hear clearly and then walked away, her heels snapping on the marble tiles. McGeever shrugged, watching her stride out of sight around a corner, then sidled over to join Declan and Sweitz.
"Dammit, and I even offered to find the original tape for her," McGeever groused.
"It wouldn't have worked anyway," Sweitz said.
The photographer ignored his partner. "So I take it you been givin' Jimmy Thirties here the straight dope on round two of Martin vs. Te? Otherwise known of course to the public at large as People v. B1-66-ER?"
"I'm only giving my side of the story, that's the only thing I can do," Declan said.
"Mm, which is why I'm keeping an impartial eye on the opposition," McGeever said, with an odd glint in his eye. "Personally, I think the droid is as guilty as sin. All this court trial sh*t is just a formality."
"I'm only trying to find out why he did it, just so the defendant can be sentenced properly," Declan said.
McGeever started to curl his lips back, clearly preparatory to some cynical remark, but Sweitz cut him off. "And you're doing a swell job too!" He looked at his watch. "But we've kept you long enough. Thanks for your time." Sweitz put his hand on McGeever's shoulder and steered him out the side door.
To Declan's and Glynnis's relief, no reporters came crowding around them as they left by the same door the two cubs from the "Independent" had passed through. But as he headed back to the office and then back home, Declan couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he hadn't completely dodged the press gauntlet.
He knew why he had that feeling when he came home.
Usually when he got home, Sabrina would meet him at the door, unless she had a large order to finish, but he hadn't heard that she had anything pressing lately. But she wasn't there when he unlocked the door and opened it.
"Sabrina?" he called, walking through the kitchen to the dining room, finding no sign of her.
She came in from the back bedroom, her violet eyes dark, a sure sign that something had annoyed her.
She looked up as he came up to her. "Declan... hello," she said, her voice flat.
He set down his briefcase and drew her to him gently. She let him hold her, but she didn't tilt her face up to his. "Something wrong?" he asked.
She shook her head, the movement heavy with weariness. "Reporters," she said. "They were calling on the phone looking for you. Then a news crew showed up at the door later this afternoon."
"So what did you do?"
"I let the answering machine take the calls. I paid no attention to the crew: I had that order for the Davis girls' confirmation dresses to finish."
"Where's Cecie?"
"She's over at the Connellys' house. She came home from school through the woods, right about the time the news crew showed up, so I let her in by the back door. They didn't see us."
"For once I have a reason not to mind her walking through those woods," he said, his mouth wry around the words.
At that point they heard the kitchen door open and close. A moment later, she came into the dining room, her leather book satchel slung over her shoulder, and her face gathered with unmistakable annoyance.
"What's wrong?" Declan asked, releasing Sabrina and turning to their daughter. "You wishing you'd gone to another family?"
Cecie's eyes burned balefully. "Don't try to make me laugh," she snapped.
"You look like you could use a laugh," he observed.
She plunked her satchel on the floor and pushed a wisp of hair back from her face. "I was coming out of the Connellys' house when this woman reporter creep and a camera guy jump up and start asking me a million questions, like if we had any house Mechas or if you guys ever let me play with Supertoys."
"So how'd you handle that?" Declan asked.
"I kept walking fast. I cut across people's lawns," she said.
Declan looked up, gazing out the kitchen window.
A silver van with the logo of a local news station emblazoned across the side in rainbow colors pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of the street, directly across from the house.
To be continued....