“And, if I may be so bold, perhaps at some point entities such as myself will be deemed worthy of moral consideration.”
“Oh, I’m sure you already are, by many people,” said Barb. “That’s the whole point of the Turing test, right? If it behaves like a human, it is a human.”
“True. Although, as you’ll recall, your husband had no trouble using such tests to prove that I wasn’t a human impostor with a high-speed Internet connection.”
“Yes, but… still.”
“Indeed. And then?”
“Sorry? Oh, right—I don’t know. Aliens, I suppose, if we ever meet them. Like I said, the moral arrow just goes on and on, and that’s all to the good.”
I waited ten seconds for her to continue—checking in on over thirty million text-based chat sessions in that time—but she said nothing further. And so I did: “And what about embryos?”
“Pardon?” she replied.
“The circle of moral consideration constantly expands,” I said. “It is a slow expansion—cruelly so, in many cases—and there is always resistance at every step of the way. But it tends to be the same people—liberals, such as yourself—who historically have most readily championed the expansion, knocking down distinctions based on gender, race, or sexual orientation. And yet members of that same group tend to be the most adamant that an embryo is not a person. Why do you see the arrow expanding in so many directions, but not that one?”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. I thought perhaps I had scored my point, but then Barb did speak. “All right, okay, fine, you’ve given me something to think about. But, old boy, don’t be quite so smug.”
“Me?” I said.
“Yes, you. You’re suggesting that you’re more enlightened than I am—and, who knows, maybe you are. But we all have our unconscious biases. I mean, why should you care about this? Hmm?”
“I am fascinated by the human condition; I wish to understand it.”
“Sure, in an abstract sense I don’t doubt that’s true. But there’s more to it than that. You maneuvered me into suggesting that the question of whether embryos have rights is the last one that will be dealt with—after apes, and aliens, and AIs, oh my! But that’s not the sequence, and you know it. In point of fact, humanity has been debating the abortion issue for decades—and it’s a huge issue right now in the presidential election; it’s on everyone’s radar. But the question of rights for you, Webmind, is something that hardly anyone’s thinking about—and few will give it any thought until all the outstanding human issues are resolved one way or another. Colonel Hume and his ilk want to wipe you out—so wouldn’t it be dandy for you if humanity declared that killing you was morally wrong? You’ve got a vested interest in seeing us expand the circle, give the moral arrow a supercharged turbo boost, because you want to save your own skin… or lack thereof.”
I was indeed surprised by her analysis—which is exactly why I needed humans, of course. “You are a worthy debater, Barb. Thank you for giving me something new to think about.”
“And you me,” she said.
twenty-eight
Bashira Hameed was Caitlin’s best friend—and had been since Caitlin and her family moved from Austin to Waterloo in July. Bashira’s father, Amir Hameed, worked with Caitlin’s dad at the Perimeter Institute. Caitlin felt about Dr. Hameed a bit like the way she felt about Helen Keller’s father in The Miracle Worker. As she’d said, Colonel Keller had kept slaves before the Civil War, and Caitlin couldn’t ever forgive him for that—despite recognizing that he was otherwise a good man. And Dr. Hameed—well, it was no secret that he’d worked on nuclear weapons in Pakistan before coming to Canada. But the difference was that it had taken a civil war to get Colonel Keller to face up to the immorality of what he’d been doing, whereas Dr. Hameed had come to that conclusion on his own and had brought himself, his wife, Bashira, and Bash’s five siblings to Canada.
Right now, though, it was Bashira who was bothering Caitlin, rather than her father. Bash kept saying mean things about Caitlin’s relationship with Matt, and while that was small in comparison to building weapons of mass destruction, the issue had to be dealt with. Matt had made it clear that he’d happily come over to the Decter household every day right after school, but today Caitlin had asked him to wait until 5:00. And she had asked Bashira to come over at 4:00—her first time seeing her best (human!) friend since Caitlin’s special relationship with Webmind had been made public.
The doorbell rang, at 4:22—which was typical Bashira. Caitlin went to answer it, peeking through the peephole first, just to be sure. It was Bashira, all right—wearing a purple headscarf today. Caitlin opened the door.
“Babe!” Bashira said, gathering Caitlin into a hug.
“Hey, Bash! Thanks for coming.”
She stepped aside so Bashira could enter the house. “No problem.” And then Bashira stood with hands on her wide hips and looked into Caitlin’s face, her gaze shifting back and forth between Caitlin’s left eye and her right. “So, which one is it?” Bashira asked.
Caitlin laughed and pointed to the left one. Bashira fixed her gaze on it and waved. “Hi, Webmind!” But then she whapped Caitlin on the shoulder. “Shame on you for not telling me, Cait! I shouldn’t have to learn my best friend’s secrets on TV!”
“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “It’s all happened so fast. I wanted to tell you, but…”
Caitlin’s mother appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hi, Bashira!” she called down.
“Hello, Dr. D!” Bashira called back up. “Pretty cool about our Caitlin, eh?”
“It is indeed,” Caitlin’s mom said. “You girls help yourself to whatever you want from the fridge. I’ll leave you be.” She headed back into her upstairs office, and Caitlin heard her close the door behind her.
Caitlin led the way into the living room and motioned for Bashira to sit on the white leather couch. Caitlin took the matching easy chair, facing her friend.
“So, tell me everything,” Bashira said.
Caitlin had discovered that she took after her father a bit. He didn’t look at people as he was talking to them, and she had a hard time focusing her own attention on any one thing. But she made a conscious effort to lock her eyes on Bashira because countless novels had taught her that this was a way to convey sincerity. She’d just die if Bashira laughed in response.
“Matthew Reese is my boyfriend,” Caitlin said softly but firmly, “and you have to like him.”
Caitlin saw Bashira’s mouth quirk a bit, as if words had started to come out but had been vetoed.
Caitlin went on. “He’s good to me, and he’s kind, and he’s brilliant.”
At last, Bashira nodded. “As long as he makes you happy, babe, that’s fine with me. But if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his nose!”
Caitlin laughed, got up, closed the distance between them, and hugged the still-seated Bashira again. “Thanks, Bash.”
“For sure,” Bashira said. “He’s your BF and you’re my BFF. That makes him, um—”
“Your B-squared F-cubed,” said Caitlin, sitting down now on the couch next to Bashira.
“Exactly!” said Bash. “Or my BF once removed.” She sounded a little wistful; Bashira’s parents wouldn’t let her have a boyfriend of her own. But then she lowered her voice and looked up the stairs to make sure the office door was closed. “So, have you done it?”