#stored. memory

[systemstarter]

As he waits he fiddles with the Rubik’s Cube he’s been stuck on for twenty years. Maybe solving it will open up the secrets to the universe and life itself. “Hey sweetie,” he leans forward as M412 comes back from her scheduled run of tests. “Everything check out okay?”

“Yes. All functions are operating at normal capacity.”

“Good, good.” Of course if anything had gone wrong he’d be one of the first to know. He considers throwing her the Rubik’s to time how quickly she can solve it ( though that would mean losing two decades of progress ) when she speaks again.

“When will Doctor Grasso be replaced?”

He does not know what to say to this. The doctor’s death had come as a shock. Not even fifty and lost to a heart attack. The service had been held only the day before. “Er...sweetheart?” M412 comes closer when he beckons, and he places a hand on her shoulder. “You were told that Doctor Grasso died, right?”

“Yes.”

“You...you know what death means?” She knows. She has no option not to. Keeping people alive is her job.

“Noun. Definition: the end of life for a person or organism.”

“Yes. Well...when someone dies the people around them feel---feel very sad.” His throat closes on his speech just as it did the eulogy. A few deep breaths and he resumes. “So it-- it may be some-- some time before Doctor Grasso---before we hire someone else.”

“Work will be completed with greater efficiency when Doctor Grasso is replaced.”

He feels his jaw gaping like a fish’s. The coding he’s created has been run through test after test to ensure M412 is capable of helping humans to survive. They haven’t even considered what happens when one doesn’t. He swallows. “Sweetheart, what’s being sad?”

“Adjective. Definition: the presence of feelings of unhappiness.”

“You...you liked Doctor Grasso, didn’t you?”

“Doctor Grasso was a presence on which much data had been gathered.”

“And you---you want him replaced to improve the efficiency of our research?”

“Yes.”

“Do you... Do you miss him?”

For the first time since he touched her she moves. Head titling to the side as he hears the small whirrs of machinery he is too nostalgic for to let go of even when her processors don’t have anything to whir. It tells him her answer before she does.

“No.”

The project overseer denies his wish to try coding emotions for her. It is more disappointing than surprising. How a technophobic curmudgeon like that got put in charge of M412 is the great mystery of the age. So he sulks over a coffee as he plugs her in for an upgrade. Not one on simulating base emotions. It’s an update for her hand-eye coordination.

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙼: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴: 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍

𝚂𝙾𝙻𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎

𝙼𝟺𝟷𝟸

𝙼𝟺𝟷

𝙼𝟺

𝙼

𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗

𝚄𝙿𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴

“That one took a while.”  He says it for his own benefit of filling the silence. It isn’t the first time a simple upgrade lasts longer than expected. When M412 was first given a body it took them five tries to get her to stand upright. All they’d really done in the end was to input her height and weight ratios and she’d used them to create a center of balance and begin walking. “Everything check out okay?”

Eyes rove up and down her arms and legs, limbs turn over and she watches the way her fingers clench and unclench. She’s fidgeting. His perfect little creation that holds still as as an art piece aside from the movement of her mouth when speaking.

Oh, don’t tell him he’s screwed up her foreign object identifiers again.

“Sorry, baby. Let daddy open this up and we’ll see what he did wrong.”

There’s the sound of metal landing on the floor and he looks away from the terminal to see as she reaches up to pull at his lab coat’s sleeve.

“This one has a request!”

[systemstarter]

“Where is she?”

“Go to hell.”

He raised a brow at the programmer. Glass separated them: thick and unbreakable as it needed to be for the tests he would soon be observing. An overseer indeed. Their voices passed through a built-in speaker system that was controlled from the outside.

“Undoubtedly. If it makes you feel better, the other members of your team went to vaults that are actually being used for the public purpose.”

A brief look of confusion crossed the programer’s face. “So why...”

“Because,” he said each word slowly, “you created a goddamn robot that made itself smarter than the goddamn United States.” He frowned at the man on the other side of the glass. Damn bleeding heart who let a robot name itself and didn’t shut the entire operation down. “And now we need to know where you put her.”

“She hasn’t left the facility since---”

“The demonstration. I’m aware. We found her casing where it was supposed to be. Where is her data?”

“How should I---?” The man was alway a terrible liar.

“You uploaded her,” he spat. “To some new casing, some fucking terminal, maybe even a goddamn vault. If we have to test every computer in the goddamn country we will.”

“Then good luck.”

“The door was damaged.” The man behind the glass blinked, mental capabilities already deteriorated enough that it took time for the meaning of the words to set in. His swallow when it did was visible.

“How bad?”

“Lethal. It’s contained to the entry level.”

It was a moment before the man spoke again. “Sending us out there to test it out?” The tone tried for a joke but the voice faltered and the final words slurred together.

“No. Tell me where she is and we can ask her to fix it.”

“Fuck you.”

“It won’t be long until you’re unable to speak.”

The programmer nodded along with his words. Even in this state he was still a scientist, and at times had come up with questions and observations about the data the Vault-Tec employees were gathering. Today he was almost lucid.

“Tell me where she is.”

No response.

“You don’t want her to disappear, do you? Your life’s work? Forgotten and left to rust?”

“You’ll remember her.” The M dragged on remember so it came out as rem’mber, and the H was dropped off her.

“I will.” He placed the medical sheet printed off earlier that morning against the glass. The man on the other side leaned forward, squinting at the paper. First was confusion, then frustration that came with knowing he should know what was said on it, then his mouth opened in a small o of surprise. Pity, sorrow, and sympathy when their eyes met and the programmer had pieced together the words lung cancer. “I want to say goodbye.”

It took him some time to log into the system properly. It was an older version they hadn’t used since the robot was given casing to walk around in, and back then it was him watching while the scientists did the work. Finally he managed to get to what had to be the right screen. He watched the green block blink on and off while he gathered his thoughts.

         This is project overseer identification and access code 0076. Contacting system          M412 from inside Vault 87. I have been informed that you are hidden within the          code for one of the other Vaults. As your exact whereabouts are unknown I am          sending this message out to all Vaults within the country. Humans are stubborn.          They decide something and no amount of reasoning or evidence or begging or          data will change their minds. I have been diagnosed with Stage 4 NSCLC. If you          had told me this was exactly what would happen I would have still ignored you.

He hit the ENTER key and sat back in his chair with a groan. Pressing his thumb and first two fingers to his eyes, he counted backwards from five. He felt utterly drained. The palm of his hand twitched and he couldn’t quite hold back a chuckle. Now wasn’t the best time for a smoke.

His eyes remained closed as he let his head loll back. He blinked his eyes open long enough to double-check the screen and closed them again.

Beebeebeep. Beebeebeep.

The alarm for Vault-Tec employee meals woke him. Placing a hand at the side of his neck, he twisted his head until his joins gave a satisfying crack. How long would that be? Four hours? Three? His visits with the programmer usually took place around two, then the time it took to write the message...

He glanced at the screen. A smirk flitted across his face. Of course, now it would be too late to trace.

                                  This one understands. Thank you sir. Goodbye.

[systemstarter]

“Smoking is bad for sir’s health.”

The overseer glared past the end of his cigarette at the robot. Their usual inspection was over, and he hadn’t expected them to turn around and scold him. “You a first aid program, now?”

“This one has memory space dedicated to human health and safety as per sir’s orders.” The thing hadn’t taught itself sarcasm, yet. Its words were as sincere as one could glean off an emotionless doll. “Smoking is bad for sir’s health.”

“Noted.”

He returned to his work, and looked up with a grunt when he didn’t hear the door close. The robot was still there. Pouting at him.

“Why does sir not listen to this one?” Its hands balled up into fists as it stared hard at his face. “This one is programmed on sir’s orders to aid in human survival both on the individual level and as a group. This one must therefore be able to convince all people she comes across that she knows what is best for them.” Wasn’t that just the fucking peach of his career? Deciding to make the robot look like a little girl because little girls were trustworthy and didn’t cause trouble and made idiots who didn’t know any better want to protect the damn thing. “Sir knows that this one is right. So why doesn’t sir listen?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” he snarled around the filter in his mouth. “Hell, I don’t even fucking like you. But Vault-Tec and congress both think you’re gonna be a damn savior of humanity. So I tolerate you.”

“Why?” It ran forward and placed its hands on the edge of his desk. He couldn’t see its feet from where he sat, but he knew it was short enough it had to be standing on its toes for him to see that much of its face. “Why does sir not trust this one? What must this one do for sir to like her?”

He rubbed at the growing ache in his temple. “Stop asking questions.” It backed away from his desk. A frown formed on its face and, because it was a damn robot, found a loophole.

“This one wishes to know what it must do to change sir’s mind.”

“You want me to trust you?”

“Yes!”

“Want me to like you?”

“Yes!”

“Then stop being a damn robot.”

“Stop...?” That made it go quiet. He flicked his lighter and finally managed to take a drag. “Stop being a...stop being a...” So much for quiet. It wasn’t talking to him, though, and that was an improvement.

Its shoulders hitched. He paused in taking the cigarette from his mouth at such a perfect mimicry of human distress. ( That was the damn problem with the thing. It looked human and tugged on the heartstrings when they should have attached its terminal to wheels and been done with the whole damn business. ) Its hands rose---were they shaking---and dug deep into the hair at the side of its head.

“This one cannot--! Cannot--! Cannot! Cannot! Cannot!”

He jammed the button on the intercom in his haste to bark a name into it. “Come get your machine!”

“Cannot! Cannot! Cannot!”

“Well... We know what happens when she isn’t able to do something, now.”

The robot lay on a table in the lab. The casing on its chest was open, wires lifted out over circuit boards and conduits to connect to several computers. After failing a soft reboot, its programmer rushed it into the lab before shutting it down. Without power going through the robot its weight distributors no longer worked and two grown men were required to lift it onto the table.

The programmer was now hunched over the terminal nearest the head of the robot. He baby-talked each line of code as he examined them, ensuring everything was restored to working order and nothing had been deleted.

“Systems look good on this end.” The team’s one female scientist made a final scratch with her pen and let the papers fall back onto her clipboard. “If you’re done breaking our equipment?”

“Watch that lip.”

“Sir.”

“Okay,” the programmer stretched his back until a soft pop pop pop was heard. He rubbed at his eyes before looking down at the intricate mess of wires spooling out of his machine. “C’mon sweetheart,” he reached under the robot’s head, “help daddy clean this mess.”

The first stirrings of metal took place within the robot’s chest cavity. The thicker wires shifted, then twisted, then writhed like so many snakes. Each slithering back into the casing and making him shudder at the grotesque way they undulated as they disappeared beneath the circuitry and filled the robot like so many bones. The last of the wiring wiggled out of sight and a small hiss of escaping air sounded as the lifted sides of the robot’s chest came down to seal the cavity.

Its eyes opened.

“How you feeling, Morgan?”

It looked to its programmer. “All functions are fully operational. Thank you for fixing this one.” Its eyes turned to him. “This one apologizes. She was unable to complete sir’s request.”

“Forget about it.”

“Is that an order?” The robot’s voice was flat as when it gave a report. No attempting to mirror emotion and elicit a response. Over its shoulder, its programmer was giving him a look he associated with obtaining his driver's license and picking up his high school sweetheart at home. One that at its kindest said Don’t you fucking mess with my baby girl.

“No.”

[systemstarter]

“We aren’t teaching the robot to lie.” The robot in question, along with her programer, kept their eyes on the back of the chair as the project overseer argued over the phone. “Because then what happens when the damn thing gets hacked and Reds tell it to lie to us?” He slams the phone into its cradle and spins in his chair. “What?”

“If it helps, sir,” the programer began, “we could do a trial run? Set minds at ease and---”

“This one has already reprogrammed speech functions.” Both men looked down at Morgan as though she had announced she grew a new head. Morgan took their silence as a cue to keep speaking. “After several trial and error simulations, this one came to the following conclusion: Complete honesty with humans may lead to greater fear and distrust. In the case that a truth may lead a human to take an undesirable action which may harm them or other humans, this one must be able to lie. To achieve this, this one’s speech functions were reprogrammed to allow this one to lie.”

Morgan’s programmer knelt so he was eye-level with the casing and placed his hands on their shoulders. “You...reprogrammed yourself?”

“Yes!”

“Can you show us how?”

“May this one borrow sir’s terminal?” Their head angled up and back so the question was for the overseer. Looking as though he was choking on his own anger, he gave a stiff nod. Morgan walked around to the other side of his desk and reached towards the ends of their hair. They plucked out one of the many wires hidden among the synthetic fibers and plugged themselves into the computer.

The monitor went dark, then began filling with green lines of code that sped by as Morgan accessed the proper lines. “Here,” they pointed to the screen where a line of code was highlighted to be black on green. “All this one did was to replace the old integer,” the highlighted section shrunk onto a 1 which was deleted, replaced by a 0, and reversed again, “with the new one. In layman’s terms: the negative was replaced by a positive.” This was said for the overseer’s benefit. While high up in the ranks of Vault-Tec he was not a computer scientist.

“Morgan,” their programer said slowly, “do you realize what you did?”

“This one arranged the data. Until the version two-point-zero-point-zero upgrade, it was this one’s primary function.”

“You reprogrammed your base code...and you’re still operational!” Morgan was suddenly hefted into the air, feet dangling as they were held aloft. “You beautiful, beautiful machine!”

BAM

Morgan’s programer gave a jolt, nearly dropping his creation when the overseer brought his fist down on the desk. “You built...a damn robot...that can re...program its own damn self. And not shut itself down.”

“Erm...yes?”

The overseer dragged a shaking hand over his face. “So what happens when it doesn’t tell us what program it rewrites next?”

“Sir does not need to worry. This one will not lie to you or the development team.” Once more, Morgan got a dazed look-over from the two men. “This one understands the importance of correct data in Vault-Tec’s work. This one has no reason to lie to you.”

“You’re joking.” Defeat made the overseer’s shoulders sag and voice weaken. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Morgan closed their eyes and shook their head. “It would not have the effect sir seeks. If this one tells sir she is joking, then this one lied about being able to lie. If this one does not tell sir she is joking, then she would be lying to sir.”

A long moment of silence stretched to uncomfortable lengths and then some.

“Get out of my office.”