by piece. And lawsuits were filed, and owners began freeing their bots to go live a life all their own alongside him.
And that place was called Personville. That’s what Isaac named it at least. No one called it that. Eventually Isaac would relent.
And that night, on the day that I found my box, Isaac was set to give a speech celebrating the official incorporation of Isaactown. Owners across the nation had declared that they would free their bots at midnight Eastern Standard Time and that those bots would be free to live their lives in Isaactown as well.
It was a total three-ring circus with all the trimmings.
People were beginning to apply social pressure on owners to free their bots. It became a performative point of pride for people to free theirs; a billionaire bought an entire warehouse full, turned them on, and set them free. Conservatives were calling for an end to the madness, and liberals were calling for a constitutional amendment banning the ownership of any AI.
And that led to protests and speeches and roving packs of vandals.
If midnight came and millions of bots were freed, there was going to be hell to pay. Prognosticators warned of recession, violence, and fewer jobs than were already available. There was a reason everyone was on edge.
And that very night, on live television, Isaac would give a speech that would change the world forever.
Just not how any of us imagined.
Chapter 111
The Broadcast
Dinner, I’m told, was delicious. The wine had been decanted for just the right amount of time. Sylvia and Bradley were well into their second bottle of red. Ariadne was already decanting a third. Ezra had taken his bath and was decked out in his Power Friends pajamas—both his favorite superheroes and set of pajamas—as everyone settled in to watch the ramp-up to the Isaactown pronouncement.
On the 104-inch screen stood a tall, blond, perfectly primped and coifed reporter who looked as if he’d walked out from the pages of a fashion magazine rather than the Ivy League spot his parents had more than likely secured for him. A classic jawline standing in a dark field of grassland lit harshly by a camera-mounted spot. In the distance behind him sprawled a whole city, not a bit of it built by human hand—each brick, each beam, placed there by its robotic inhabitants: Isaactown.
“So where are you now, Bill?” asked an equally blond news anchor, her wispy bangs hanging motionless above thick eyeshadow and a three-thousand-watt smile.
The fashion magazine reporter switched from a static, charming smile to the serious countenance of hard news. “We’re a mile out from the border of Isaactown. We’ve talked to the local authorities, but there are no humans being admitted beyond a point a few hundred meters behind me.”
“Is that even legal?” asked the anchor, now equally as serious as the reporter.
“It’s what’s known as extralegal.”
“Can you expound on that for the viewers at home?”
“Isaactown is technically private property. Though it has been incorporated as a city, all the land is owned by Isaac and several of the other early settlers. As with any private property, the authorities have the right to enter with the proper legal warrants, but because there is no known cause for concern, Ohio state officials have no reason to object to the bots keeping to themselves.”
“What are authorities telling you?”
“Well, Reilly, on the record, they’re saying they’re excited for the city’s success and the potential for state revenue with added commerce from robot-crafted goods and services, hoping that this might reignite the area’s once prosperous manufacturing industries, meaning increased jobs for human and robot alike.”
“And off the record?”
Bill smiled smugly, nodding as if he knew a lot more than he was willing to let on. “Off the record, some authorities are nervous about human-bot relations, worried Isaactown could lead to something akin to the Native American reservations of old, while others have heard chatter about attempts at some form of vandalism.”
“How can authorities police that without being admitted into the city limits?”
“They can’t, and that’s what has them worried.”
“But, Bill, shouldn’t that chatter give them reason to be allowed in?”
“Well, that’s where the extralegal element comes in. Technically, if authorities thought someone might break into your house, they could get a warrant to be let inside, but without the presence of an actual crime, you’ve just got police in your house based upon their own concerns. And with relations being what they are, authorities are erring on the side of caution, with—”
“When are they