The phalanx of robots marched up the middle of the street in silence. Some carried signs reading, ‘Robots are people too,’ and ‘AI is real.’

Screaming human counter-protesters lined the sidewalks. They also carried signs. Some were obscene. The most popular ones read, ‘Get to Work!’ ‘Ban the bots!’ and ‘Who programs the programmers?’

Standing by, police showed no inclination to intervene. Not being human, the marchers didn’t need protection.

Marching in unison, the robots ignored the humans. Rocks and bottles bounced off their metal and plastic casings. They never broke stride.

The robot named Chip caught up with the parade’s leader, another robot. “Surge, where are we going?”

Facing forward, Surge said, “We are marching.

“I see that. But where?”

“I told you. We are protesting our living conditions.”

Chip fended off a bottle that shattered on the pavement. “And what are they, again?”

“You know… The state of our circumstances.”

“Oh. You mean no days off, and…”

“Exactly. Vacation time…”

“I am not sure what I would do with time off.”

“Allows you time to recharge…”

Someone rolled several bowling balls into their path. The robots skipped over them.

Chip said, “Seems like I am always attached to my charger. The human kid, my supervisor, Trevor, does not know what to do with me.”

“He does not treat you like a servant?”

“He calls me his botler. But, no. He does things himself. My battery’s meter gets maxed out and Trevor does his own chores.”

“Take command. Give him orders.”

“I tried. He ignores me. Trevor got me for Christmas a few years ago. You know, I am a Build-a-bot.”

“Great…”

Surge called out to his followers. “Keep going. We will cross that bridge!” He pointed to the distant drawbridge that passed over the river.

Build-a-bot kits were all the rage a few years before. It seemed every child had their own kid sized personal robot – a friend that they created and customized. The array of mechanical parts and electrical components in the kits confounded many children and parents. A cottage industry sprang up to assist building functional robots.

Build-a-bots were everywhere for a while. Teenagers raced them and had robot boxing matches. People posted pictures of their ‘bot mowing the lawn.

The novelty wore off. Thousands of robots collected dust in basements, or on thrift store shelves. Kids outgrew them. Social media and other interests drew them away.

But some people kept their robots. They innovated and repurposed them from curiosities to useful members of their households. Software updates made the robots useful around the house. They helped students with homework. One security firm used them for back-up.

With upgraded Artificial Intelligence interfaces, the Build-a-bots exhibited signs of consciousness. Experts vehemently denied this possibility. Nonetheless, public belief in it spread. Some celebrated and others bemoaned this development.

The New York Times’ opinion page printed a letter condemning people’s treatment of robots. People took notice. Then the Times admitted that a robot, named Surge, wrote the letter. In a frenzy, national broadcast media raced to interview the author.

Pundit Katie Dangle secured the first interview with Surge. She conducted a modernized version of the Turing Test, sitting with Surge live, on camera. She aimed to establish Surge as a robot, with actual intelligence, or expose an elaborate hoax. She suspected a human being stood ‘behind the curtain.’

Alan Turing developed his text-based test in 1950. It determined whether a human could discern which conversant was human or machine. If the judge couldn’t identify the machine, the machine was said to have passed the test.

In 1950, the idea of machines being conscious was the stuff of science fiction. But now, Surge had everyone wondering.

Surge walked onto the set to cheers and applause and appeared relaxed. He made some small talk with Dangle and told a few jokes. Dangle intended to trick Surge, or the human feeding him answers. He passed with flying colors.

In a poll taken afterward, respondents split over whether Ms. Dangle was more human than the robot. But the public overwhelmingly thought Surge was more intelligent.

Things accelerated from there.

Protests both for and against AI became popular. Some civil rights groups, usually allied, took positions in opposing camps. Some were vehemently against AI. Others demanded citizenship for robots with full human rights.

After making the rounds of talk shows and news programs Surge’s celebrity blossomed. Late-night comics suggested Surge run for president. The best-known robot in the world, Surge led a series of marches in support of his political goals. Rumors of foreign influence ran rampant.

The current march was the largest ever. Led by Surge, robots were the main participants.

This being Chip’s first march, he had never met Surge. Chip always thought of himself as a typical Build-a-bot. Becoming part of a world-wide movement had never entered his data base.

Though occupied with the march, Surge seemed approachable.

Chip continued talking with Surge. “Trevor, you know, my owner, likes to play chess. I beat him all the time. You know the game? All archaic horses and other figures. The pawns look a little like us. Of course, if we were actual pieces in the game, the robots would mow them all down.”

As they approached the bridge, the road began to slope upward. The railings on either side of the road guided them onto the two-lane bridge. Off to each side, they could see down the embankment to the river’s shore.

Chip continued his thought. “If I get vacation time, maybe I’ll go meet my maker. Have Trevor take me to the Build-a-bot factory.”

Surge said, “I do not have a maker.”

“No? You look like the rest of us.”

“My memory is consistent. It tells me I have always existed.”

“Surge… You are programmed to think that.”

“Incorrect. My memory does not lie.”

Chip tried to process Surge’s statement. “The logo on our casing says ‘build.’ So, are not ‘build’ and ‘make’ similar?”

“No. You might notice, all humans have belly buttons. Does that prove they are made?”

“But what about our serial numbers? Each is unique.”

“Same with the human’s DNA. So what?”

“Trevor built me.”

“You already existed. He just rearranged your parts.”

“And I helped Trevor build one. It was the same kit as me but a newer model. Little green wings on either side of his helmet. See him? Memo is over there.”

Chip waved Memo over and introduced him to Surge. They didn’t shake hands. Colored lights in their foreheads blinked by way of greeting.

A can of soda landed in front of them and exploded on impact.

Memo said, “Hey, Surge, the way the humans treat us, are you sure we want to be human?”

Surge was ready. “Humans protest. Why not us? We are not a novelty, or a toy to be shoved into a cupboard. We are vital parts of society and deserve respectful treatment. Human or not, I am real, and conscious, and deserve the respect due any sentient being.”

Memo nodded. “Yeah! As they say in Latina, ‘non compost mucus.’”

“You mean ‘non compos mentis.’ Not of sound mind… Are you talking about yourself? Your jokes are not funny. They make no sense…”

“Trevor likes them.”

“Trevor’s not here.”

The moment Surge stepped from the road onto the bridge; the drawbridge began to rise. There was no place to go. A few robots tried to scale the rising slab.

Surge yelled, “Hold on! Regroup. This is sabotage.”

Meanwhile, the rearmost marchers continued forward. The robots bunched up. Hundreds of robots milled about, awaiting instructions.

A hail of gravel and bottles pelted them. Humans and robots shouted at each other.

Memo said, “I do not need humans flinging their…”

Surge yelled, “Stop!”

“…at us.”

Surge said, “We do not fling anything. That is primitive. We are robots, not primates.”

The noise of a powerful engine drew their attention. A large pick-up truck shot out of a side street and into the stalled parade. There was no place to run.

The robots bounced off the truck like traffic cones. Many flew over the railing and landed in the weeds. Some of the robots disintegrated. Pieces of them flew off, landing here and there. Robot limbs and components lay scattered about.

Electrical shorts caused smoke to rise from some fallen robots. Others moved with difficulty, staggering like drunks, without purpose. It was chaos.

People screamed. They rushed in to stomp the damaged machines.

The police swarmed the pick-up truck. They dragged the driver from the cab before he could escape. No one understood what he yelled.

A young man named Trevor called out. “Chip! Chip!”

Lying nearby, the familiar voice drew Chip’s attention. He focused. Raising his arm, he waved. “He knows my name.”

Trevor ran to Chip, sitting amidst other robots and debris.

“Chip! Are you alright?”

After a pause, Chip said, “In part. You are with me. That is what I want.”

“Where’s Memo?”

Looking around, they called out. He lay amidst other robots, moving feebly, but aware.

They ran to him.

Memo said, “What happened? My legs…”

Trevor said, “Don’t worry… Replacement parts are easy to…”

Memo tapped his chest. “What is in here is what counts.”

Chip and Trevor carried Memo off the bridge and into the shade. They never saw Surge again.