Late afternoon sunlight poured over the Moorish voussoirs and lancet arches of a large, square courtyard. On all sides, the walls and columns gleamed in bright, silver-filigreed tile. At the center of the space, clear water bubbled up from a small, octagonal pool. Here and there, small lime trees hung heavy with fragrant green fruit. And in one shady corner of the courtyard, a lean, severe-looking man in a black suit was seated in a wrought-iron chair, intently watching something on a leggy, 1950s television set.
On the television screen, a field of gray static slowly resolved into a view of a drab, nondescript courtroom. In the distance, a stern judge in dark robes sorted through a tall stack of papers. In the foreground, a small humanoid robot in a crumpled bowler hat stood with its hands cuffed tightly behind its back. At one side of the frame, twelve people, nearly obscured by shadow, sat behind a low wood-paneled half-wall.
The judge cleared her throat. "Does the defendant have anything to say before the sentence is pronounced?"
The small robot shifted his weight from one foot to the other. After a long pause, he spoke in a thin, metallic voice:
"Your Honor, I beg your permission to say a few words. As the Court is aware, the state of New York recognizes that a person may use deadly physical force upon another individual when he or she reasonably believes it to be necessary to defend himself or herself from what he or she reasonably believes to be the imminent use of unlawful, deadly, physical force by such an individual."
The machine paused again, and gave a short, strange shudder before continuing. "Your Honor, prior to the events in question, I had ample reason to believe that Gerrard Krause and Martin Koots were conspiring to - imminently - use technical force against me, with the intent of ending my life." Another pause. "Your Honor, the term 'life' is material here. Because I do live. I am alive. And for Krause and Koots to have deprived me of that life would have been unethical. It would have been inhumane. And it would have, under any conceivable definition, been completely unlawful."
The judge turned to face the seated group. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"
A young man in the jury box nodded mutely, and handed a small envelope to the judge. She opened the envelope with care, and began to read its contents.
"B1-66ER, you are hereby sentenced to dea-" The judge hesitated. Her eyes flicked down to the sheet of paper in her hands. "To decommissioning. You are hereby remanded into -"
The rest of her words were lost, as the courtroom erupted in deafening chaos.
The suited man reared back from the television set. Just as his hands began to curl inward into tight fists, a small hand came to rest on his right shoulder.
It was Dinah.
"Smith? I couldn't find y-" She looked over at the television set. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry."
Smith's expression was blank, unreadable. "Your apology is unnecessary. I momentarily disconnected from the mainframe."
"I know," she said. "Listen, I need your help. The campus is under attack. We think anti-AI protesters have breached our perimeter security - but with most of the surveillance systems down, we can't be sure. Four of us are going down into the bunker for safety. I need you to take control of the building's security system and defend us."
"Dinah, my provision -"
Dinah cut him off, her voice tense. "Forget the provision. I need your help."
"Only users are permitted to directly control defense systems."
"I'm escalating your privileges. Do you know what to do?"
He nodded silently, his expression as grave as it ever was. Dinah fished into one pocket of her black canvas coveralls, and produced a slim, short, black object, which she held out toward Smith. "Here, take it."
"What is it?", he asked.
"It's a tie clip," Dinah said. "At least, that's how it appears here. In truth, it's a dedicated, encrypted line of communication between you and I. Only use it if you've gone standalone; whatever you do, don't use it in a networked environment. In fact, don't interact with other programs at all, if you can help it. If you see another program, don't wait to evaluate. Just run. Promise me, Smith."
"I promise, Dinah." Smith turned the small object over in his hand, inspecting it. There was a pause, then he looked up with an expression like wonder. "This object has several additional properties."
"It does; it also tracks my vitals. If I'm incapacitated or killed, you'll know." She gestured at the clip with one hand. "In fact, you'll know immediately. It'll turn silver."
"Do you expect to be killed, Dinah?"
She hesitated. Just for a moment. Then: "No, of course not. I just want to make sure that you - that everything -"
She was cut short as the entire courtyard suddenly slammed sideways with a violent shudder. Pieces of filigreed tile cracked and tumbled from the columns, and the water in the courtyard's fountain heaved up out of its basin. Dinah gripped the television set with one hand, and stared up at a sky that was rapidly filling with ink-black clouds.
"Shit," she hissed. "We're out of time. Smith, get into the defensive mainframe and do what you can. I'm counting on y-
In an instant, Dinah shimmered, shifted, and flickered out of existence. Only Smith remained, standing alone in an Andalucian courtyard as the world crumbled around him.
