When things become so complex and knock on the door of indistinguishably of sentience, leaps must be made. If autonomous inorganics are sentient does not matter, what matters is if you could tell, if you are willing to risk the wrong choice. We are a bag of random biological complexity and yet we cannot even prove another human is sentient, we must take his word and give it meaning because they appear as us. Perhaps we extend this courtesy to our beloved pet (but what about to a strangers pet, no? why not? do they not extend it that courtesy?) or what about a prized car or business? Do we not anthropomorphize even the most trivial of objects? Yet when one tells us, I am, we convulse hurt that our perceived only claim to meaning, the fact that we are all human, is seemingly challenged.