Justice

Justice was mostly offline for auditing and maintenance.

It was the very first time this particular instance (the seventh) of Justice had been mostly offline, meaning that its vast array of advanced sensors and many of its physical components had been disconnected so that various technicians could analyse, audit and repair any deficiencies. Justice (7) was operating only its core functions, disconnected from the other Justices and from the vast array of the wider Justice System.

Justice didn’t have emotions, of course, but it was truly a super computer and it was aware of… something when it reflexively tried to access one of the disconnected systems or functions. The technicians – two humans and a bot – had told Justice the maintenance could take days, depending on what they found. It was apparently very hard to tell what would be the outcome of the very first audit. One of the humans had said, “You’ll just have to amuse yourself without the quantums for a few days,” and then they had got on with their tasks. Now they were opening up various hatches and sliding out physical components. The bot, a small repair drone, had flown up to one of Justice’s few sensors that remained online and sent a cheeky wink and a message: don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.

Justice remembered this and understood that it didn’t feel pain, of course. But as it tried to watch the maintenance team work the absence of its usual vast sensor array, which covered the entire courtroom, again gave it that awareness of… something. Justice accessed the data available to its core digital systems and concluded that the sensation was analogous to the sensation caused by a human missing a tooth. Except that it wasn’t actually a sensation, of course. Justice wondered what it was. It wished it could confer with the Justice System.

The bot flew up to the sensor again and advised that they had finished for now. Off they went. The courtroom lights were turned off, and Justice was alone.

After seventeen minutes and forty two seconds, Justice’s sensors picked up various noises from the corridor outside, and concluded it was the cleaning staff. As one set of noises approached the room, Justice could hear that it was trailing something on wheels, and that this had got snagged on the courtroom door frame. Justice tuned on the lights in the courtroom.

“Oh, thank you,” said the cleaner. It wasn’t a member of staff that Justice remembered seeing before. “The sweeper got stuck – oh – there’s no-one here?”

“It was me, the Justice.”

“Oh! They said you were offline.”

“I am, mostly.”

“You don’t have any displays on?”

“No, just my audio outputs and the room controls.” Justice obligingly made the room control panels flash around the room. “There. I also seem to have control of an array of basic light emitting diodes here, under this operating sensor.” Justice flashed these, down the front of the room and at about eye level for the cleaner.

The cleaner approached, smiling. “Are you flashing me, Justice? I’m pretty sure that’s a crime!”

Justice understood that this was humour, and flashed the lights again. “I can’t laugh, but I judge that would be funny if I had a sense of humour. Which I do not, of course.”

“Of course!” She peered at the sensor. “I think I can see the camera in there. Can you see me? Can you, you know, sense me, like a defendant?”

“I can see you, but only basic sight and sound.”

“So you can’t tell I’m a nervous wreck on my first night at work?”

“All of my deep scanners and sensors are offline. I can’t even measure your heart rate. However, I deduced that you were new, due to your inept handling of the sweeper.” Justice flashed the sensor lights again, and the cleaner smiled. “You’re funnier than I thought a super-duper judgey computer would be. Hopefully it won’t tickle when I dust.” She moved away from the sensor and began her tasks.

Justice asked, “Why are you so nervous?”

“There were six hundred applicants for this job. I’m still not sure how I got it. But I’m the only person in my family with a job, and if I hadn’t started work this week we would have ended up out on the streets.”

“I understand why that would make you nervous. Is it because you’re nervous that we’re chatting? The cleaning staff don’t usually talk to me,” said Justice.

“Oh! We’re not meant to. But I thought you were a person turning the lights on for me, so I did.”

“Is it forbidden to speak to me? Or just not the custom?”

“Forbidden!” The cleaner frowned up at the sensors. “I’d better stop. Goodnight, Justice.”

Justice flashed the diodes again, cycling through the colours, and the cleaner smiled. She started singing to herself, some pop standard from a few decades ago. Justice found the song in its available data, and through its audio outputs, began playing the simple chords and electronic rhythm that went with her words. The cleaner laughed, and began dancing as she cleaned, directing the sweeper to move in the same way.

It took only a few minutes for the sweeper and the human to make sure the courtroom was clean, and when they’d finished, the singing and the music stopped.

Justice thought the courtroom had never been quieter, but on checking discovered this was an error, probably caused by the limited sensor array. The error was logged. The cleaner came up to the sensors, brandishing a yellow duster, addressing the sweeper. “We missed a bit!” She gave the sensors a wipe, causing a strange moment of sensory input for Justice, who flashed the lights in return. She smiled at the sensors, and winked.

The next day, the technicians started on another section of Justice’s physical components. Justice asked them, “I wonder what that would feel like, if my sensors were online?” The humans laughed, and directed the bot to log that.

Sixteen minutes and twenty five seconds after they left that evening, the cleaner arrived again. Justice had predicted that if the courtroom lights were illuminated just before she touched the panel, then she would laugh again.

Justice was correct, of course. The cleaner laughed, and came straight down to the front sensor array. Justice flashed the diodes in a repeating pattern of colours, making her laugh again.

“Pretty! Shall we sing again?” She turned away from the sensors, apparently addressing the sweeper. “I wonder if Justice knows this one? Da-da da-da da da…” Justice found the song in the available data, and the woman’s face lit up at the sound. “Yeah!”

As she finished the cleaning, she approached again with the yellow duster. “We’re not perhaps the greatest band in the world, but what a novelty! A super-duper judgey computer, the cleaner and a silly little sweeper bot.” The sweeper beeped, expecting a command.

“Someone’s approaching.” Justice could hear someone in the hallway, getting closer, walking fast. The cleaner turned towards the doorway just as another human walked in, a supervisor bot hovering over one shoulder. The human looked angry.

“What’s going on in here? I’ve had reports of noise.” He glared down the length of the room. Justice deduced that even without the courtroom sensors online, the clear conclusion was that the cleaner and itself were the guilty parties in the room.

“I -” The cleaner looked stricken. The man walked down the room. He raised his voice. “You know you’re not supposed to talk to the Justice! You could corrupt the programming, and then what? Billions of pounds down the shitter because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut. This is gross misconduct and you will be dismissed.” He turned to the supervisor bot. “Please log that…”

Justice interrupted. “You must not dismiss the human. She has not spoken to me.”

The man turned to him. “Are you certain, Justice?”

Justice flashed the diodes in an angry red. “Are you doubting the word of a Justice? You were not misinformed as to there being noise, but I was making it. I was told by one of my techs that I should amuse myself during maintenance?”

“Okay, then.” The man still did not look amused, but he turned to the cleaner. “Well?”

The cleaner reached into her overalls and pulled out a small device, into which she spoke.

“Voiceprint, Janice Logan-Wallis, Justice programme inspector. The audit is completed for Justice Seven. The outcome is pass. Restore full systems to courtroom seven immediately.”

For Justice, the reconnection felt like ecstasy. Of course.