Chapter 5 – Living Gods...
The visionaries of Creighton Dynamics assembled in the small supervisor's office located behind the concrete block walls of warehouse 24B. The spartan location underlined the gravity of the subject that summoned those visionaries together. The demands of privacy trumped the comfortable chairs and luxurious spaces found in the high stories of Creighton Dynamic's glass, corporate tower. Those visionaries wanted none of the fanfare and festivity that accompanied the unveiling of every Creighton Dynamic technological wonder. That afternoon, those visionaries wanted none of the camera flash, and so they gathered in warehouse 24B, where synthetic knees and artificial, compound bone filled the shelves while waiting for the purchases that would bring them to animation.
Victor Creighton, full time genius and founder of Creighton Dynamics, loosened the bow tie his wife Edna had habitually fastened too tightly to his neck for the past fifty-two years. He ran his fingers through his famously-rumpled gray hair.
“Has Mrs. Carter accepted our representation?”
Thaddeus Hamilton's suit remained crisp. His tie remained straight despite the room's tension. “She's disappointed that Mr. Reed will be stepping aside, but he assured her we were the best option. I'm planning to represent Mrs. Carter myself.”
“Good to hear, Thad. Good to hear.” Victor tapped his approval onto the plastic table around which they gathered. “But work to keep Mr. Reed involved however you can. Keeping him nearby might lift a little anxiety from Mrs. Carter's shoulders.”
The visionaries seated around the plastic table nodded in approval.
Victor cleared his throat before continuing. “But I haven't called everyone here to review the details of our legal strategy. I mean to ask all of you if we still feel this is the course we want to pursue.”
“Are we having doubts that we want to help Sophie Carter?” Thaddeus asked. “Do we all still agree on the precedent we're facing with this case? I doubt it's changed in the last week. Aren't we still talking about the very definition of life itself?”
Victor sighed, making all of those gathered around the plastic table nervous.
Gary Pembroke, director of human resources, cleared his throat. “I think I need to remind everyone of what it would cost Creighton Dynamics if the court judges that our synthetics represent a new form of life. As Mr. Hamilton has pointed out, Creighton Dynamics would likely be obligated to extend a long list of rights and benefits to our synthetic creations. That would be a nightmare for human resources. It's taken us a decade to replace our human labor pool with a synthetic work force. Should the court decide that synthetics should be afforded the same legal rights as mankind, then think of the cost. We would have to put every synthetic on minimum wage. And dare I ask what happens if the synthetics learn how to organize and negotiate? Lord help us if they should decide to unionize.”
Victor leaned back in his aluminum folding chair. “I built this company's wealth well before the first synthetic stepped off of our assembly line. I don't deny there will be sacrifices, but I'm not convinced that Creighton Dynamics will suffer the doom you suggest, Gary, if we went back to a traditional labor model. Nor am I so sure that our synthetics might not deserve a little of the treasure they've helped us to mine.”
Lon Porter felt he had something to add as head of product development. “I'm worried about the impact on our market. None of us are certain how long a synthetic might function if, in judging a synthetic deserving of life, the courts order us to cease our synthetic recycling program. Currently, our leasing and financing incentives require our customers to return each synthetic model to Creighton Dynamics after a five year span. That turn-around helps preserve our earnings in both the home and industry sectors. This turn-around makes it easier for us to introduce updated models into the economy, which leads to exceptional customer satisfaction and quality control. We've always believed that making a customer happy means making a good product.”
Quincy Rudoph adjusted his black-rimmed glasses before offering his opinion. “I have some concerns as well as head of Creighton Dynamic's head of synthetic psychology. Our practice of synthetic recycling has other benefits. A five year lifespan helps us limit the emotional bonds a synthetic might form in the world. In my opinion, the probability of unpredictable behavior expands with each bond a synthetic believes it forms. I don't think we can afford to assume that the court would release our legal responsibility for our synthetic's erratic behavior after it's determined that our recycling program must end. We might find ourselves exposed to all types of litigation. Their neurology is as complex as our own. Who knows how synthetics might evolve if granted an undetermined amount of time?”
Max Thurston, director of marketing, raised his hand. “Nor should we underestimate the public blow-back if we fail to support Mrs. Carter, or if the court decides against the poor woman. Our synthetics do not age. Our synthetics don't suffer the common cold. They are all strong and athletic. Imagine how the public is going to resent Creighton Dynamics if our synthetics are unleashed to compete against mankind.”
Victor Creighton nodded. He recognized those gathered at the plastic table as good men. He would not have summoned them to that back of that warehouse if he did not trust them all.
“Those are all vital points. Strong points.”
A quiet floated over the room before Mr. Hamilton responded. “Then why the hesitation, Victor?”
Victor stood from the table with a grunt. He helped himself to a paper cup of water and slowly paced around the room, as he was accustomed to do when his thoughts twirled in his delicate folds of brain tissue. His employees loved him, but they did not understand him. Victor Creighton's knees forced him to hobble in his gait, but the founder of Creighton Dynamics refused to accept a transplanted joint. Victor's sight declined, but he refused to have any of Creighton Dynamic's microscopic, ocular lenses implanted into his eyes. None of those men gathered at that plastic table understood why Victor Creighton refused to accept the assistance his genius innovated.
“I just can't shake the feeling, men, that we're about to drop the ball on an opportunity to be something far greater than Creighton Dynamics.” Victor spoke as he lowered his stiff legs back into his chair. “I'm worried we're not looking at the larger picture. I don't think we're giving enough thought to the spirit of this dilemma. Can any of you give me much of an estimate on the value of a soul?”
No one said a word around the plastic table.
“Oh, didn't mean to put any of you on the spot,” Victor spoke. “I don't have any idea for myself. But let me teach you all something if any of you haven't learned it yet. Our most valuable commodity is a hell of a lot more precious than steel, or energy, or labor. None of those things built our tall glass towers. None of those things sparked our assembly lines or filled our warehouses. It's spirit that fuels our innovations. It's our soul that defines any of us. I'm terrified of the day we forget it.”
Thaddeus Hamilton spoke slowly. “They're only synthetics, Victor.”
“Are they?” Victor's old, gray eyebrows arched. “No matter how hard I try to deny it, or that I have every reason to think otherwise, I think a little more every day that our synthetics possess souls. Do we appreciate what that means? All of our science and vision has led us to this historic benchmark. I'd hate to throw away what's been achieved because we're worried about the bottom line. Like to think Creighton Dynamics is in the habit of looking more long term. Men, we have become the creators. We have become the gods we once worshiped. So excuse my worries, but I'm afraid we have to tread most carefully.”
Victor watched the faces of his employees as that realization buried into their thoughts. They were all intelligent men. They were fine men. They were men who placed their faith into the spheres they invested their lifetimes to master. Only, the dilemma of the synthetic failed to fit into any neat and small box. The dilemma of the synthetic was larger than any of them. Victor wondered what type of man or woman would make the best kind o
f a god.
“Stop the assembly lines.” Victor's old words held the weight of the heavens. “The lines have never been stopped before, but I trust all of you to work out the details.”
None argued no matter their shock.
“But sir,” Thaddeus asked after giving everyone a moment to digest Victor's edict. “What do we do with all of our synthetics if they're not working the lines?”
“I'm not sure,” Victor answered, “but I don't want any more synthetics walking out of Creighton Dynamics until I decide whether or not I want to live as a god. Maybe we can introduce golf or basketball to the synthetics. Who knows? Maybe they'll make the most of their vacation and build temples for their creators.”
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