Free The Metal Maiden Collection by Piers Anthony Page A

looking guilty as they squeezed breasts and buttocks. But as Moncho had said, how else could they tell? This further explained Moncho’s use of his daughter here: how could he have asked any other person to do this? She was one nervy woman, regardless. Until someone tickled Elasa, and she squealed. She remained in tickle mode, ever since she had invoked that circuit for Banner.
    But even with this hands-on examination, the jury members were unable to form any firm conclusion. “Time for the vote,” Moncho said briskly as the jury members returned to their seats. “This is informal. Show of hands: how many think Black is the robot?”
    One man and two women lifted their hands, uncertainly.
    “How many think Red is the robot?”
    One man and one woman signaled.
    “How many are hopelessly confused?”
    A woman raised her hand.
    “That leaves six unaccounted for,” Moncho said. “What, then is your opinion?”
    The foreman was one of the six. He spoke. “We suspect that this is a test of our objectivity. Both are human.”
    Moncho smiled. “Then I suppose I had better demonstrate my case.” He turned to the two women. “Ladies, will the real femdroid please reveal herself.”
    Mona dropped her bra and put her hands to her breasts, drawing them outward. They stretched a little, but did not give way. “I guess it isn’t me,” she said as if disappointed.
    Elasa did the same. Her breasts swung outward as the panel doors opened, showing the battery pack cavity behind. “Then it must be me.”
    The members of the jury stared, not from any lasciviousness, but in amazement. Elasa had completely fooled most of them, and the two who had selected her had plainly been guessing.
    Elasa closed her cavity. Then she removed her red wig and let her natural hair emerge. Now she looked like herself. She smiled at the jury. Several of them smiled back.
    “Now you know what it means to pass the Turing Test,” Moncho said as the girls dressed and went to their table. “These machines are very realistic. And, to answer your likely questions, yes they can shop for groceries, watch children, and perform sexually without betraying their nature. Femdroid Inc. has any number of similar machines that can do these things.” He winked. “I understand that the only thing that gives them away in bed is that they are better than real women care to be. You will never see a man complain that his fembot ever left him unsatisfied. They can all pass the Turing Test, though generally they don’t eat and eliminate.”
    He paused meaningfully. “What, then, is the difference between my client Elasa and those other femdroids? I will tell you: it is that she is conscious. That makes her infinitely more valuable to the company than the others, because she can survey the available options in any given situation and select the best one. That saves an enormous amount of programming for every possible alternative. It would take an encyclopedia to list every theoretical response to even an ordinary question, and that would burden and drastically slow the machine. But with conscious choice, the most effective one can be crafted ad-hoc.”
    He took a breath. “For example, when you asked Black for a date, she gave the likely programmed answer, emulating a femdroid. An ordinary femdroid would then either have restated it, or said something like ‘I agree.’ But Red was not limited in that manner. She chose to be original, saying ‘echo.’” He glanced at the opposition table. “Would one of your other machines have done that?”
    The answer was prompt. “No.” Then “Not yet.”
    “You can program anything,” Moncho agreed. “As you originally programmed my client. She had an excellent basis, and could readily deceive the average person. But when she became aware, her capacity multiplied. That is why you want her back: so you can make thousands more just like her. And we don’t begrudge you that. We would gladly share the key to consciousness,