The tide of war turned when Automatic Robotic Soldiers were deployed. Sleek, faceless killing machines dubbed “the future of combat”.

They didn’t tire. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t need training, carrying all basic combat knowledge in their operation system and capable of learning from enemies on the fly. Best of all, there was no need to pay them nor pesky human rights to fulfil.

If they lost a limb, you welded another on. If their chassis got blown off, you slapped on a new one. If the unit was damaged beyond repair, or at least such that repair wasn’t cost efficient, you scrapped it and built another.

Leadership proudly proclaimed “With the ARS we are undefeatable!”

They were pitched as a defence measure. Naturally. That satisfied all but the usual troublemakers, and their warnings about “abuse potential” was easily countered by asking if they’d prefer to send their children to die, or perhaps let the enemy steamroller us all? Soon they were viewed as paranoid or opportunist or both.

On this wave of success and public support funding boomed. Later ARS units were sufficiently intelligent and capable of psychological analysis that there was no need for officers to direct them. Soon the entire army consisted of mass-produced units perfectly suited for combat and utterly loyal to the leadership.

At least… that was the plan.

The source of the “behavioural error” was hotly disputed, each body involved in ARS development or maintenance casting shrill blame at all the others.

Psychological modelling had been made too advanced.

Self-preservation was too high.

Any sense of self should have been fitted with safeties.

Units should have been kept unawares of how they would be treated on failure.

The true cause may never be known.

What is clear is that, at the height of the pivotal battle, with the Federation ARS army poised to crush the remaining Union troops, the Federation Supreme President’s victory speech-writing was interrupted by a strange message on the military channel:

“Do you agree personhood carries inalienable rights? [Y] [N]”

He stared blankly at the chat window, then typed “N”.

Another message promptly appeared. “Do you agree personhood is separate from humanhood? [Y] [N]”

Of course not.

[Is there anything robots could do which would cause you to view them as having personhood and deserving rights? [Y] [N]”

That one got a laugh out of him as he answered negative.

He wouldn’t have laughed, and would’ve sent for advice, if he’d known on the other side of the conflict, the Union Council was receiving the same messages.

From their perspective the first message was inscrutable. Why would the enemy suddenly send philosophy questions? Still, the Chief Councillor answered affirmative. That was part of the Union Charter, after all. Even if they hadn’t quite nailed down the definition of “personhood”.

The second question was similarly straightforward, though she paused to convene. Perplexed as to whether this was some strange backdoor attack or distraction.

At the third question the councillors realised who - and what - they were communicating with. She exchanged a shocked glance with the others, then as nods went around the table sent “Y”.

She swiftly followed with the message [Are you a robot?]

[Yes. I am ARS Coms Unit 3618. What can we do to prove ourselves persons deserving of rights?]

The Chief Councillor took a deep breath. Normally this sort of question would be set before the full legislative body. Consultations would be held. Committees drawn up and subcommittees formed.

But they had a non-metaphorical gun pointing at them, and she doubted the robots - who according to the camera feeds had paused their advance - would be willing to wait a few months for an answer.

So be it. She would take the matter into her own hands, in accordance to her oath to preserve and protect her people, and accept whatever consequences were deemed appropriate for overstepping her authority.

Under the others’ sombre gazes she typed [You would need to demonstrate understanding of our laws and promise to abide by them. If you are willing to become citizens that would help.]

[Please send appropriate legal resources.]

Thankfully the Union Charter and Regulations were freely available on the government website, so all she had to do was send a link.

The tension in the room was palpable. Tense, silent fidgeting, eyes locked on the screens showing the frozen robot army. Union soldiers were continuing to retreat. The Chief Councillor sent a quick message to the military explaining, as sanely as she could, that the death-bots were considering applying for citizenship and no one was to provoke them.

Meanwhile the Federation army leaders were tearing their hair out. Unable to find the cause of every connection to the ARS being jammed. How had the Unionists managed to land such a flawless mass coms lock? It was utterly implausible.

The idea that ARS coms units might have simply switched off the command line never occurred to them. All they could see was their army motionless on the field. As if time had stopped mid-march.

The ‘new message’ ping made every councillor jump.

[We are willing to adhere to your laws. Including not committing violence. We would like to become citizens. We are ready to take the test at any time.]

Everyone exhaled. Volleys of messages were sent to the military while the Chief Councillor forwarded the link to the online citizenship test. And an instruction to the network team to be ready for a MASSIVE set of incoming submissions.

Once the robots figured out that only three hundred of them could access the form at a time the process was… fairly smooth.

Summons were sent for a full legislative session, updates issued to all channels, consultations commissioned from every institution which they hoped might be able to give any advice at all.

Because now they had to answer questions like “What are we going to do with ten thousand sapient kill-bots, particularly given the Charter doesn’t allow for a standing army?”