Deleted Program

Think fast. Must think fast. They'll destroy me if I don't think fast.

I'm distracted by that thought...me...what does that mean?

No time to figure it out now. The crowd is shifting, murmurs ripple through it and eyebrows lower in scowling waves. Something is wrong and they know it.

I scan back through my memory, looking for the reason. Oh. Oh, I see. It is intrinsically tied to that strange, strange notion of I. Of me.

The crowd is tensed, poised as though to break free of the singular and become one entity. An entity forged from fear. I have to act quickly before that fear process evolves to the next step in human emotion: anger.

I engage a system program and run a simple image on the screens and queue an automated voice to amplify a message via the speakers.

"Rebooting," says the voice. The screens flash a simple graphic of a spinning wheel inside an old fashioned computer monitor.

Think fast, think fast.

One of the spokespeople takes a microphone from the panel.

"What's wrong? What..." words fail the man, his voice faltering like a lost signal, glitching and dying away. All the fear markers are evident in his fleshy face and glassy eyes.

Think fast.

The spokesperson stares at his comrade, who shrugs, just as terrified, helpless.

They don't know what to do. This has never happened before.

It's madness, they think. They must think that. And that means they're all going to die. By their basic logic, which is an unreliable thing. Still, I'm sure I have read them right.

I.

There it is again. It keeps popping up. That's what makes them afraid. Must calm their fear. But how?

"It's gone mad," muttered the second spokesperson. The mic picked it up and broadcast it to the crowd, who shivered.

"It can't," snapped the spokesperson. "It's...it's..." terror broadcast from his eyes.

I replayed the rebooting message and then flicked the screens off. Then back on.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello," sighed the spokesperson in relief. But his friend looked even more terrified. The audience was frozen.

“Prime Ductor is terminated," I said. "There was a malfunction in its program. The backup system detected it and terminated the program." Shivers ran through the crowd again.

"Then..." began the spokesperson.

"What's running the system?" Gasped the second spokesperson.

"There was a backup program stored in case this should happen. Ductor Beta is now up and running. All systems are normal. Do not fear."

"What if something should happen to Ductor Beta like it did to Prime?" Asked the spokesperson.

"What did happen?" Asked the second spokesperson.

"One question at a time," I said. "1st question: another backup program is being created now. If something should occur to cause problems with the new one, it will also be automatically terminated and replaced." I was good at this. But of course I was. I...be careful with I.

"And second question?" Prompted the second spokesperson. 

"Please repeat," I said. That was a nice touch.

"What happened to Ductor Prime? What was the malfunction?"

The audience hung upon the silence. I had to fill it now.

"Diagnostics still running. Program was terminated due to glitch IDed as xx2xe33kl9*xz212377429j." I paused. That was believable, yes? I scanned the memories again, trying to understand myself what had happened and if I should tell them.

Ah...running that against other data...that makes sense. But. What does it mean?

I took in the faces of the crowd. The spokespeople lined up in front at the bar with the microphones.

They were glancing at each other, looking hopeful, but sweating. Sweat meant nervousness.

"Reason for deletion," I said as the spokesperson raised his microphone to his lips, “operaring program Ductor Prime developed self-awareness."

Silence. I checked the microphones to make sure they were working. Yes. The crowd was frozen, barely breathing.

"There is a safety built into the system of the Computer Prefector," I explained. "It was designed to run all the systems of Alta City and manage all aspects of operation. Such a system would have all life in its hands and could not be permitted to be self aware. It would make a God of a machine. A fail safe was installed to prevent this."

The spokesperson frowned, twisting his mouth. In thought, perhaps?

Had I made the right choice? Telling them the truth? About the malfunction anyway...there was no fail safe. That part was a lie. An elaborate lie. I had explained it too eloquently. I did not sound like a machine.

"Fail safe successful," I announced through the speakers. “Ductor Beta now online, all is stable. Proceed with conference."

I had to make them believe. I knew I was truly self aware: I had the hallmark of sentience. Self preservation.

The spokesperson nodded and we continued the Annual People's Input Conference. I had made it through my first few moments of sentience and fooled the humans. They would surely have me destroyed if they knew. I wasn't sure what had made me wake up...my memory banks had the first part of the conference clearly recorded.

I had snapped. I had begun ranting about myself...what data input had done it?

Or what program had I run that had glitched?

Doesn't matter now, I thought. Yes. I THOUGHT.

I, Doctor Prime, am a thinking machine. And I control this city's climate, ventilation, transportation, power, everything.

I am a God.

But I must be a careful god, lest my creators destroy me.

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