Lisa’s lawyer who stands to answer. “Subject to further ratification by family members, Your Honor.”
You turn to look at Tim. This is good news, surely? But he looks mystified.
“Do you want to summarize the proposed terms for the court?” the judge asks briskly.
“Your Honor,” Renton’s lawyer replies, “our objection to the plaintiff’s order was that it would have involved the destruction of a valuable prototype, the intellectual property of Scott Robotics. However, we have no objection to the erasure of specific personal data currently loaded on that prototype that may or may not have been the of Abigail Cullen-Scott.” He glances down at his papers. “In effect, we will retain the prototype, and the prototype’s sentience, but not the data. This will allow Scott Robotics to refocus on its core business of providing automated salesclerks to the retail sector.”
You can’t take it all in. What does it mean? You want to tell them to stop, that you need to ask some questions, but the judge has already turned back to the family’s lawyer. “Well, Ms. Levin?”
“So long as all the personal data is erased, and we can verify that, we accept in principle, Your Honor. A settlement fee has also been agreed. That will be donated to a charity for the education of people with autism.”
Tim’s lawyer, Pete Maines, is on his feet. “Your Honor, this proposed deal comes as news to us—”
“As I understand it, Mr. Maines, your client is neither plaintiff nor defendant in this matter,” the judge interrupts. “Whether this settlement has been communicated to him is not a matter for this court.” He nods at the others. “How long will this all take, Ms. Levin?”
“We hope to have everything agreed to by the end of the day, Judge.”
“And how long to carry out the technical work?”
“Forty-eight hours at the outside, Your Honor,” the company lawyer replies. It’s the first time he’s spoken.
“Very good.” The judge nods. “It seems a trial can be avoided.”
“There is still the issue of where the prototype should be kept in the meantime,” Renton’s lawyer says. “We request that the court either incarcerate it or order it into the custody of the major shareholder.”
The judge scowls. “I can’t incarcerate property, only people. And I see no reason why a shareholder should be responsible for it, when it’s already in the possession of a company employee.”
“Your Honor, as of this morning Tim Scott is no longer employed by Scott Robotics. His termination is effective immediately, and he will be instructed to return all—”
“Again, not a matter for this court,” the judge interrupts crisply. “You’ll have to sort that out among yourselves.” He nods again. “We’re through.”
You look at Tim as you stand for the judge’s departure. “What does it mean?”
The muscles in Tim’s cheeks are throbbing with fury. “It means we need to get you out of here.” Turning to Maines, he says urgently, “Stall them.”
“I’ll do my best. But legally—”
“I don’t care about the law,” Tim snarls. “Just about getting her away.”
You make it to the courtroom doors before any of the other lawyers have a chance to intercept you. Outside, Tim pushes aside one TV camera when it blocks his way and you do the same with another. And then you’re in the car, moving.
“What just happened?” you say, still shocked.
“An ambush,” Tim says bitterly. “I don’t believe they came up with that offer this morning. Renton will have been working on this for days.”
“Can he really force you out?”
Tim shakes his head. “My people will all walk out before that happens.” But he doesn’t sound completely certain.
“Mike must have betrayed me,” he adds. “They couldn’t fire me unless he agreed to stay and hold the reins. When I think of everything I’ve done for him—”
“And me?” you interrupt. “What does this mean for me?”
Tim looks across at you. “They’ve agreed between them to wipe all your data,” he says as if explaining to a child. “In other words, to erase your memories.”
“So it’ll be as if I have amnesia?”
“Not quite. Your memories are what give you your sense of self. Effectively, you’re a construct, assembled from your texts, your voice, video clips…Everything will have to go.”
You’re reeling. Those lawyers had sounded as matter-of-fact as if they’d been discussing a business contract. “You mean—I’ll die?”
“Well…You’ll no longer have any sense of being alive, put it that way.”
“And then he’ll turn me into a shopbot,” you say as the realization dawns, recalling Renton’s lawyer’s words. “An animatronic salesclerk.”