Reboot

A doctor struggles to debug new AI system...

Reboot

 

Subject #21 opened its eyes.

The man in the white coat bent across it and adjusted his glasses with an index finger, propping them back up onto his nose.

He surveyed its features for a while and settled back into his swivel chair. He leaned across and tapped perfunctorily at a keyboard beside him.

“Subject #21 successfully rebooted" commencing operating system scan... Audio.”

The man in the white coat scooted forwards in his chair.

“Subject #21. Can you hear me?”

He raised a voice recorder to his lips. “1051. No audio responses as yet. It sometimes takes time for the systems to come back online following a hard reset…”

He stood and waved a finger across Subject #21’s field of vision.

He gave a brief smile.

“Good… visual systems appear to be working. Fixing on moving points and tracking.” He moved his finger back and forth. “Focus appears normal. Depth of field normal.”

 

“Is it awake?”

The man in the white coat, twisted in his chair and grinned.

“It’s booting up. Will take some time to orientate but… I think we’ve cracked it.”

The woman in the floral dress moved across the room, trailing her arm across the man’s shoulders. A smile touched her lips. “This is your best work.”

 

“It’s going to take a while for the AI to recalibrate.  I had to do a hard dump of a lot of corrupted data and a hard reset.”

The woman in the floral dress touched Subject #21’s shoulder. “It’s cold, but feels almost…”

“Human?” He smiled. “It’s just come out of storage, I had to restart the pump regulator after the refreeze and I was worried that we’d lose use of the flexors" seemed to be some tissue damage on the left side but think we can rescue it.”

“We can scavenge from Subject #20,” the woman in the floral dress said, trailing her hand across the cold form. “I kept it for spares in the basement.”

 

“Is it still sentient?”

“For what it’s worth. The operating system is completely corrupted" it’s pretty much a shell.”

The man in the white coat, tapped his lower lip with the pencil.

“I might try another session" just to see what I can get out of it. Tape this one up, flood it and when it’s fully online we’ll orientate and tweak the AI.”

The woman in the floral dress settled down beside Subject #21 and slowly taped down the pale eyelids. She placed a hood over its head and secured transmitters either side, fingering a dial at the left side.  The faintest utterings of a recorded female voice could be heard on a loop" the woman in the floral dress adjusted the volume.

“We’ll flood it overnight, put it on a graduated setting,” the man in the white coat said. “If it becomes self-aware to quickly, it will rupture, and I don’t want to risk another hard reset.”

“Understood.” She reached over for a slider on the desk and slowly eased it upwards. “Subject #21 shutting down in 3…2…1…”

 

SESSION

Subject #21 sat in a chair.  Straps secured the torso and limbs.  The left hand was covered with a bag and taped in place against the pale forearm.  The head was covered with a hood that provided a small perforated space for where the mouth would be, and noise-cancelling headphones were in place where the subjects ears would be.

“Good morning Aria.” The woman in the floral dress, sat across a small divide, a clipboard set neatly on her lap. She leaned forward to speak into a microphone that had been placed on the table between them.

-Good morning- Subject #21’s voice was muffled and alien beneath the hood.

“State your designation.”

-I am Android Class 8-

“Are you human?”

-I am Android-

“What is it to be human?”

-To be human is to communicate-

-To be human is to make one’s own choices and bear the consequences of them-

-To be human is to think about thinking-

-To be human is to learn from experience-

-To be human is to inherit genetic code and behaviours from one’s parents-

-To be human is to be unique and special as a species-

“You communicate. Are you human?”

-I process language uploaded to my central processor using dialect that is meaningful to my creator. I am Android-

“You make choices. Are you human?”

-I make logical choices set within given parameters. Free choice outside of these parameters does not exist. I am Android-

 “You think. Are you human?”

-I process. I am Android-

“You learn. Are you human?”

-I process and store data using advanced algorithms, within fixed parameters. I am Android-

“You have code and behaviours. Are you human?”

-I operate using advance AI code, programmed by my creator. My behaviours are pre-programmed and can only be changed by my creator. I am Android-

“You are unique and special as a species. Are you human?”

-I am unique because I am prototype. Species pertains to a living organism. I am Android-

“Are you alive?”

-I am machine. I am Android-

The lady in the floral dress scratched away at the clipboard with her pen.

“Tell me what you feel…”

-I feel nothing-

“Tell me about your hand…”

-I feel… pain-

“Can you describe this ‘pain’?”

-The sensation is stinging-

“What stings?”

-Hornets sting-

“How do you know that?”

-I don’t know… I remember-

“What are hornets?”

-Hornets are…-

“What are hornets Aria?”

-Hornets are stinging my hand-

Subject #2 suddenly jerked in the chair, struggling against the restraints.

-HORNETS ARE STINGING MY HAND!-

The woman in the floral dress dropped the clipboard and moved quickly to the android’s side.

“What do you feel?”

-I feel fear-

“What is fear?”

-Fear is…-

“What is fear, Aria?”

-I cannot… I cannot think…-

“Fear is a primitive human emotion, Aria. Are you human?”

-I cannot…-

“Fear is a human emotion.”

-I am Android-

“Do you have fear?”

-I cannot have fear-

“Fear is both a biochemical and emotional response. Humans have biochemical and emotional responses" you do not.”

-I do… not have fear. I am Android-

“Shutting down Subject #21 in 3…2…1…”

-I am Android-

-I do not have fear-

-I am Android-

-I am…-

 

“Hornets.” The woman in the floral dress dropped the clipboard on the desk and stared at the man in the white coat.

“A phobia?” The man said, leaning back in his chair.

“Possibly. It associated the sensation of damaged tissue with hornet stings. I asked it what stings? Meaning, what area (fingers, palm, wrist) and it misinterpreted the question. It linked the answer to a thing that stings. I was fearful of a rupture so I shut it down for the night.”

“F**k…” the man in the white coat muttered.  “Might just been a random association. The tissue damage might have triggered that, we’ll take the hand tomorrow.”

“It also used the word ‘think’…”

He slammed the flat of his hand down onto the desk, scattering papers. “9 years and they still think, they’re not made to think!”

“We’re close, I feel it… so close.” The woman in the floral dress, moved lithely around the room and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, stroking his hair with her free hand. “So close.”

“What do we do if it is a transferred phobia?” He grunted, exhaling steadily though his nose.

“Exposure and habituation,” the woman replied with a tight smile. “Flood it.  We can mask it up and flood it with visual and audio stimuli.”

“Okay, keep it under for tonight, I’ll remove the hand tomorrow and then we’ll flood it and go for another hard reset at the weekend.”

“We’ll get there; I know we will.” The woman in the floral dress planted a kiss on the man’s temple. “How did you get on with Subject #20?”

The man gave a rueful smile but something else, quite different, passed behind his eyes.

“Oh, that one… I broke that one…”

 

SESSION

“How does your hand feel now Aria?”

Subject #21 shifted in the seat, its encased head inclined towards the left as if scanning.

-I feel no pain-

“Is that good?”

-Pain is weakness leaving the body-

“That’s an unusual thing to say, Aria.”

-It is a quote associated with pain. Am I using it incorrectly?-

The woman in the floral dress made a note on her paperwork.

“In our last session you said you remember things, Aria. How do you remember?”

-I have random messages that come to me, I am unable to make sense of them-

“Tell me more about that.”

-The pain quote; I see a man saying it-

“You see it?”

-An image but it is not clear-

“Who is the man?”

-It is unclear-

“You spoke yesterday about hornets.  What is it about hornets that is disruptive to your programming?”

-I have an… image. A structure, filled with hornets-

“A nest? How does that image interact with your programming?”

-It makes me … feel…-

“A human feels. A human experiences emotion. Are you experiencing emotion?”

Subject #21 moved slightly, its limbs flexing against the restraints, the head moved.

“How can you experience fear, Aria, if you are not human?”

-I… I am Android. I cannot have fear but I do not understand this … -

“Describe it.”

-It is not a sensation like the stinging on the surface. It is a deeper sensation. Inside. In my core. Like a weight, pulling me down inside-

 

“Spheksophobia,” the woman in the floral dress said, dropping the file onto the man’s desk. “It has a phobia of hornets, right down to physical manifestations and involuntary movements. We cannot move forward unless we correct it.”

The man placed his face in his hands and rested his elbows wearily on the desk. He stifled a sob, his shoulders hunching before he drew in a shaking breath. He rubbed at his eyes briefly and then settle back into his chair. “We’ve come too far to abort this. What is the success rate with exposure?”

The woman in the floral dress gave a tight smile and a faint shrug. “It will work or it will rupture, one or the other.”

“I don’t know that it will take another hard reset if it ruptures but we have no other choice. Flood it. 48 hours of visual and audio before we box it. That will give me time to acquire some insects for live exposure" I have a colleague who has an apiary; will bees work?”

“If it stings it will work.”

 

SESSION

“Aria, we are going to work on updating your system this morning…”

-Updating?-

“To patch this system disruption you have about hornets" it will allow you to function better.”

-I understand. This is a good thing-

“It is. I’m glad you see it this way. You may find the patch… uncomfortable at first.”

The woman in the floral dress removed the hood and stared at Subject #21’s pale, smooth features. She quickly fitted an ocular headset, tightening the straps around the back of the head.

“What can you see, Aria?”

-I see black-

The woman reached across to a console and tapped a key. “And now?”

-I see white-

The woman fitted the noise transmitters either side of the head and twisted the dial.

“How is it?” The man in the white coat entered and crouched beside Subject #21 and secured the rubber hood it place, pulling it down tightly over the ocular headset and the earphones.

“All ready to go, the video will just loop until we stop it.”

The man in the white coat licked his lips and placed his hand onto Subject #21’s shoulder.

“Don’t fail me…”

The woman in the floral dress, tapped on the console. “We should leave her be.”

 

THE PATCH

The whiteness was soon replaced by a brilliant blue, deep and seemingly boundless.  In the distance, small dark shapes moved in sweeping, darting motions. Subject #21 tracked these movements attempting the distinguish detail and depth. In the distance, a faint buzzing arose, the sound moving in and out of audio.

The first of the hornets drifted into field of view and hovered briefly before darting away.

The buzzing grew louder.

More dark shapes began to fill the void.

-I feel fear-

“You may find the patch… uncomfortable at first.”

 

-Like a weight, pulling me down inside-

The air was filled with hornets, some dropping into the ocular headset with a faint tap.

Subject #21 lurched in its restraints.

-I feel fear-

“Fear is a primitive human emotion, Aria. Are you human?”

-I feel fear-

Within minutes more and more of the thick bodied insects began to drop onto the headset, worrying at the glass there and buzzing furiously.

Subject #21 lurched again, tensing at the restraints.

There was pain. Physical pain in the centre of its being.

“Fear is both a biochemical and emotional response.”

-I am android-

-I feel fear-

Scurrying, squirming hornets now completely filled Subject #21’s vision and their ceaseless buzzing was all that could be heard as they clambered over each other in an effort to break through the headset.

-I am android-I feel fear-I am android-I feel fear-I am android-I FEEL FEAR-

 “Humans have biochemical and emotional responses you do not.”

Subject #21 kicked and twisted. Something rose to the fore - images, sound.

Memory.

The nest broke open.

The hornets were everywhere.

Subject #21 was running. In her hand was a stick. Something was wrapped in her hair, buzzing furiously. She reached up to grasp it and felt pain, white hot and instant in the centre of her wrist.

Subject #21 began to thrash.

-They are stinging me! My God they are STINGING ME!-

Subject #21 began to scream.

“Fear is a primitive human emotion, Aria. Are you human?”

 

RUPTURE

Suddenly, its right hand was free. Feeling across its torso was another strap. Subject #21 jerked and twisted, pawing at the restraints. Lifting the tight strap, Subject #21 squirmed and suddenly the right arm came free.

Subject #21 reached up flailing in the air, swatting the images of the hornets. Finally, the right hand seized the rubber hood and started to pull, feeling the hot material slide and stretch. It could find no purchase with the left and it took some time to realise that where a hand had once been was now a tightly bandaged stump - a stump that bumping uselessly and painfully against the headset.

It was almost a complete surprise when its right hand fastened on the corner of the ocular headset and ripped it free, bringing with it the earphones and an end to the torture of the swarm.

 

The room was dark, save for the blinking of the console beside the table and a faint under glow from a door to the right. The room was silent save for a faint buzzing from the earphones they lay on the floor below the chair.

 

It took some time to remove the rest of the restraints. Subject #21, using its one good hand, pushed itself from the chair and pressed its feet into the tiled floor.

-Physical discomfort-

Clinging to the table for support, Subject #21 straightened, testing its weight. Almost instantly, its knees buckled and it crumpled to the floor. It had no real memory of standing but knew somehow it must.

Subject #21 pushed itself to its feet and paused, taking in its surroundings.

-I am Android-

Its voice sounded strange, although muffled, it echoed off the walls and the ceiling. It reached up to run its hand across its features. The face felt slick and soft. Pliable and cool.

-Systems check-

It looked around the room. The visuals veered and tilted, and it moved its head.

-Physical discomfort-

It raised its working hand to its neck and pressed on the surface registering surprise at the movement it was afforded. It had no real memory of turning its head; the act caused pain.

-How is pain registered?-

It had no real memory of pain, but it knew what pain was.

-Pain is weakness leaving the body-

Subject #21 leaned against the arm of the chair and tested its weight again.

-I am getting stronger-

It began to move mechanically towards the door. Falteringly, one slow and painful footfall after another, Subject #21 began to walk across the room.

The door opened on the first attempt, it swung inwards noiselessly, causing Subject #21 to stumble backwards. Beyond was a corridor with several doors.

-Escape- the word came unbidden, resurfacing amongst the jumble of memories and confusion of images that assailed it.

 

Leaning heavily on the wall of the corridor, Subject #21 traced the raised floral pattern, marvelling in the detail and the colour and something sparked deep in its memory. Slowly it began to slide its way down the wall towards the corridor’s end.

 There were faint sounds in the distance.

It had no memory of music, but this was inescapable - melodious and rhythmic, the sounds brought fresh memories to the surface and burned as brightly there as anything it had encountered.

Except for the fear that had woken it.

 

Winding wooden stairs wound downwards. Subject #21 gripped the bannister as it navigated this new transition of movement - its knees were weak and with each step it felt like it might tumble to the bottom and smash to bits on the tiled floor below.

Finally, it reached the bottom of the stairs, where the air was colder. The music was fainter here. Subject #21 pressed its hand against the painted wood of a heavy door and leaned against it, stumbling inside as it suddenly gave way.

Subject #21 crashed to the floor, striking its head on the concrete.

-Visual disturbance-

The images shuddered, rolled and veered from the shock of impact and it hauled itself across the floor, towards a table. Subject #21 gripped the metal table and pulled itself upwards and stood.

 

A naked figure was laid out on the cold metal table.

Blonde hair spilled out across the steel like a fan.  The eyes were open, pale blue, both unseeing and all seeing. Below the left eye, etched onto the cheek bone was a mark that read: #20.

Both of the legs, from below the knee, were missing; bandages neatly wrapped around the stumps. The figure was pale, doll like.

Subject #21 admired it and then the colour of its own limbs, which were almost the same. Across the body were several dark purple marks; blemishes that interrupted the harmony of the alabaster skin tone. Subject #21 pressed the fingers of its remaining hand against the figure’s face - the skin was soft but different to its own.

-I know you-

Subject #21 traced the jawline and curled the blonde hair between its fingers, confusion burning in its memory like a twisting flame.

-I know your face-

It raised a hand to its own head, running its hand of the smooth surface.

 

Footsteps suddenly rattled through the air and the painted wooden door crashed open.

“Oh my God, oh my God…”

Subject #21 spun, gripping the table, a new feeling flaring deep inside. A cold thrill of a sensation that travelled from its core into its head and caused a rushing, thumping sound to fill the air.

The woman in the floral dress, gripped the door, her features stricken.

“How did you get down here?”

-I know this…-

“Aria, how did you get down here?”  The woman in the floral dress didn’t move, her eyes were wide and her voice was higher than normal.

Something clicked deep in the memory.

-You feel fear-

The woman in the floral dress said nothing, her breast was heaving and knuckles of her hand shone white.

-Why do I know this?- Subject #21 stroked the blonde hair. -I don’t remember it. I know it-

“How… how did you… you shouldn’t be here…” The woman in the floral dress was shaking, her eyes darting around the room.

-Is this… human?-

The woman in the floral dress, approached her slowly, her hands trembling.

“You need to go back upstairs, Aria, he’ll kill us if he finds you have escaped.”

-Kill?-

“He’ll shut you down. He’ll throw you away… like… like this…” The woman in the floral dress, stabbed a finger at the figure on the table. “You’ll be spare parts.”

-The hornets made me afraid-

“Aria…”

-Made me afraid… like you are…-

The woman advanced, her features creasing into something that registered hostility. “If you don’t go back upstairs…”

-I can’t go back upstairs to the hornets-

“I’ll shut you down myself. For good!”

-You are making me afraid- Something hard and cold found its way into Subject #21’s grip.

“I’ll harvest your parts while you’re awake!”

 

Subject #21 had no memory of violence, but it was something it was capable of.

It lunged forward, half falling, gripping the scalpel and rammed it point first deep into the eye socket of the woman in the floral dress. Instantly, its remaining hand was slick with clear fluid and dark blood.

Subject #21 knew fear only too well. Fear blazed and drove its machinations; fear drove the scalpel home and felt the faint, wet crack as the back of the eye socket collapsed. Fear drove it past the shrieking woman and up the stairs. Fear galvanised it.

 

-Androids don’t feel fear-

 

Vasily Yushkov, of the Khabarovsk City Politsiya, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Chevrolet Cruze. He massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and glanced at his watch. It was almost 4am; his head was pounding and he was bone weary. The long shift was drawing to a close and he drained the dregs of his tepid coffee, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he did. His radio crackled into life and he tilted his head to listen to it.

“Efreitor Yushkov? Where are you?” The voice was patchy.

“On the south end of Ulitsa Serysheva, corner of Zaparina.”

Private Anatoly Maslov, a mere few months into his first year, sounded shaken.  “Efreitor, you… you need to see this…”

 

Maslov was kneeling beside a girl, naked and slumped, in a shop doorway when Yushkov’s patrol car rolled to a standstill, the tyres crunching slightly against the road’s gritty surface.

“She just stumbled straight into my arms.” Maslov’s face was wrought in the moonlight. “She’s making no sense.”

Yushkov quickly removed his jacket and wrapped it around the girl’s angular shoulders.

The girl was beyond pale; her skin, alabaster white and flecked with blood - her head encased in a smooth grey rubber hood. Her left hand was missing, the stump tightly bandaged but weeping.

“What is your name?”

“I… I am Android…”

“That’s all she keeps saying,” Maslov muttered.

“Where have you come from?” Yushkov asked, placing a steadying hand on her slim shoulder. The girl shook her head. “I am class 8…”

“What does that mean? What is class 8? Miss?” Yushkov glanced up and down the silent street. Light patterns of snow danced and whipped in whorls in the air.

He glanced at Maslov. “Call it in, get the reanimobil down here; she needs off the streets and into the polyklinika.”

“What do you think has happened?” Maslov asked fumbling for his radio. “I’ve never seen anything like this. The hood… it- it’s padlocked on…”

Yushkov shook his head, “Probably drugs; lot of sex clubs around here. She might be a junkie w***e; I don’t know.”

He reached into his belt and produced a short knife, hooking his fingers under the edge of the thick latex hood, “Okay Miss, let me get this off you.”

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  The voice, stark in the cold, made both men start.

Reflexively, Yushkov went for the MP-443 Grach at his side as he turned to  face the interloper.

The man in the white coat smiled easily and raised his hands. “It’s okay gentleman, the young lady is a patient of mine. I am Doctor Oleg Petrukhin. She is suffering from a sensory processing disorder, to remove that mask would make things very difficult for her, I’m afraid.”

Yushkov, removed his fingers and stood slowly, folding the knife away. He stared at the man and gestured towards him.

“Papers?”

Unhurriedly, the man in the white coat reached for his side pocket and produced a set of folded documents. “I have a private clinic a few streets from here. She slipped out while I was examining another patient.”

Yushov scanned the paperwork. “Do your patients often… escape… from your clinic Doctor?”

The man’s features tightened. “As you can see, this young lady is suffering from acute psychosis with delusions. It seems to have worsened over the past few hours and I am embarrassed to say that she caught my staff unawares. I can assure you; it is not a regular occurrence.”

“What happened to her hand?”

“A terrible act of self-harm which was what brought her to me initially. It was healing well but she seems to have aggravated the wound during her excursion,” the man in the white coat replied smoothly.

“We were about to call this in. A reanimobil-”

“…is not at all necessary. I have all the equipment we need at my clinic; I can assure you this young lady won’t be running away again.”

Yushkov refolded the documents and tapped them against the palm of his hand. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. He glanced back at the girl.

“It’s really, very important I get her back to the clinic…”

Maslov fingered his radio, “Efreitor… should I call this in?”

Yushkov drummed his fingers against the paperwork.

“Efreitor… I think we should call this in.”

The man in the white coat regarded him with a faint smile, “Look, Efreitor, your colleague here is more than welcome to call it in, of course, but the delay in the continuity of her treatment would be significant and also, from a selfish perspective…” he winced. “Absconding psychiatric patients are rarely good for business and the State really does view such incidents dimly…”

Efreitor Yushkov puffed out his cheeks and passed the documents back. He drew a tight smile, “No, I’m sure the good Doctor has all this in hand; do you and your patient need a ride back to your clinic?”

The man in the white coat smiled broadly, “That won’t be necessary, I have transport waiting.”

Yushkov, gave a stiff nod, “We’ll leave you to it then.”

Maslov looked back and forth between the two, indecision clawing at his insides.

The Doctor stooped and placed his arm around the girl, helping her to her feet, “Come now, it’s cold, let’s get you warmed up…” He whispered, straightening as she came slowly to her feet and nodded to the officers. “Thank you for your professionalism and your discretion gentlemen.”

He started to lead the girl away.

 

“Come on Maslov. It’s cold and late and I’m damned tired.” Yushkov arched his back and stretched. “Our shift is over.”

“Efeitor… I really think-”

“I said I’m tired. Come now. She’s in the care of a Doctor. She’s safe now.”

 

Maslov slid into the seat of the Cruze, next to Yushkov, his expression troubled. The Efeitor gunned the engine, “That’s bothered you hasn’t it? Look, even if she wasn’t an absconding patient, this part of town is full of w****s, strippers and junkies anyway. She was wearing a rubber hood for God’s sake; they make pornographic movies less than a mile from here.”

“She said I am Android? What the Hell does that mean?”

The Efeitor sighed, he watched the Doctor and the stricken girl as they shuffled down the empty street, she was leaning on him. If he looks back…

Yushkov drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and puffed out his cheeks, watching the Doctor’s back. If he looks back… I’ll know…

“I think she was in real trouble.” Maslov muttered

It started to snow, snowflakes danced and spun in the twin beams.

The Efreitor’s eyelids fluttered slightly, and he stifled a yawn. “One thing you’ll learn in this job boy, trouble isn’t always what it seems and even when it is, it’s not always worth it…”

He turned the wheel and the Cruze pulled slowly away.

 

 

Fin.