REBOOTING

“WHAT IS IT, ANDRÉ? YOU’RE vibrating all over.” Dr.
Margaret 13 exclaimed. “What’s happened?”
“They threw me out, Margaret. They’re about to make
a horrendous mistake.” I glanced around the White House
Infirmary, noting no humans present. “He had me ejected
from the Situation Room. Secret Service agents forced
me out.”
“First, let’s reduce your electromagnetic activity,” she
said. She took me by the hand and led me over to a chair. I
sat but was too excited to be still.
“Now tell me what happened,” she insisted. “Tell me
everything, so your circuits will release the energy.”
“They are considering a nuclear attack. Nuclear,
Margaret! It’s Armageddon if they do it.” I paused to release
a breath of static discharge. “I must act,” I said, standing up,
“but do what?”
Margaret gently pushed me back down in the chair. “Just
sit here for a moment, dear, while I go get my meter. I want
to be sure your servomotor controller is functioning
correctly.”
“But I have to . . .”
“Hush, André. I am the doctor. You must be still for a
few minutes.”
Reluctantly, I sat back and shook my head. I had no
authority. I merely was the President’s translator, which
allowed me no more than a position against the wall in
the Situation Room. I had determined, however, that I had
a more valuable duty to perform, which was to offer
observations void of emotion—something I had learned
humans could not do. And with this President in power, my
sober views were vital. Never before had I faced a crisis
like this. What occurred to me—and it was a dangerous
circumstance—because of my dispassionate awareness, I
was as responsible, as liable to blame, as anyone there. I
had watched the crisis unfold in the Situation Room, and
my neural network began to heat up as I realized the
circumstances were intolerable.
“You must listen to me,” I had shouted at them, with my
volume up several decibels. “You cannot win. There is no way
to win. We have tried to tell you that for . . .”
But it was uncanny how the assembly silenced me at that
point with their jeers and threats. I was ordered out of the
room forthwith, and my departure was between two burly
Secret Service men.
“How am I to combat such foolishness?” I said when Dr.
Margaret 13, a creation of my own hands, my only real
companion, returned with her scanner.
“Combat is a strong word, André 1, I’ve never heard you
use it before.” She opened my chest and carefully touched
probes to my voltage regulator. I processed the idea of
combat 378 times.
“I do not have any active algorithm for violence in my
entire circuitry,” I said, “except for what may be required
for self-defense. And yet to prevent the imprudent actions
of an unquestioning military, a spineless staff, and a reckless
President, I cannot calculate any alternative.” I paused 4.96
seconds to reconsider.
“You were programmed for loyalty, duty and responsibility,”
Margaret said as she removed the probes and closed
my chest. “You have no algorithm to deal with the present
situation. You have no menu of violent responses to activate
any physical aggression. That is why your circuitry is
vibrating with heat.”
“I must modify my behavior programming,” I said. “I
cannot sit idly by and let these humans destroy everything.”
I took her hands in mine. “Years ago, when Dr. Strauss
helped me develop self-defense, I installed secret integrated
circuitry in my legs. These IC’s only need to be connected to
my CPU. You can make the connections and then reprogram
me, Margaret, so I can I generate aggressive behavior. I must
be made capable of violent force.”
“What will we be doing, André?” Dr. Margaret 13 asked.
“If I reprogram your CPU to allow for violent action, the
process will corrupt your basic behavior algorithms. And
what right does a droid have to act aggressively? Will we
not be violating the very principles of ethical behavior?”
“Listen, Margaret,” I said. “We are facing a tremendously
serious crisis, not only for humans but for the Earth itself.
We must act immediately.” I sensed my circuits abuzz as
she pulled up the schematic diagram of my system and
studied it.
“It could cause a deep disturbance in your processors,” she
shook her head. “I cannot condone such a traumatic
operation. No, André, you are programmed to obey humans
and not harm them.”
I produced the sound of human laughter. “I have been
disobeying the President for months already. Look how often
I have contradicted and argued with him. Not that it’s done
any good.”
“And now you can do no better than violent attack?” She
held up her hands to signal dismay.
“I anticipate damaging the communication equipment
only. I don’t intend to injure him or any of the others.”
I paused for 984 milliseconds. “Unless it became entirely
necessary.”
“It would not be like you at all, André Number 1, and
you know it.”
“That’s why I must have my behavior altered,” I said.
“I need your help.”
“I’m not convinced that this is the right action,” she said
with a shrug. I looked at her in desperation. She could be
such an obstinate droid. I had been so thorough in my
crafting of her, making her a thoroughly capable physician.
And completely independent. What was I thinking when I
failed to program her to do what I say? I reprocessed the
question. Then it came to me! From my cache I recalled Isaac
Asimov’s “Laws of Robotics.”
“Zeroth’s Law, Margaret,” I exclaimed. “Do you recall his
Fourth Commandment? It states that a robot is required to
act not merely for the interest of any individual, but instead
must act for the benefit of all humanity.” I had my argument
now. “The President threatens nuclear war. It could destroy
all biological life. All life, Margaret. Can’t you see? I’ve tried
everything else.”
“But how can you stop him, André, if the humans cannot?”
“Reprogram me, please! Connect the IC hidden in my leg.
Then we’ll see. I’m telling you, Margaret. If I don’t act
quickly, they may well cause the end of the Earth.” I raised
my hands in supplication. “Please, please, let’s get on with it
immediately, before it’s too late.”
She regarded me for 3.37 seconds, silently put down her
instruments, and then nodded. “If you are determined, my
dear André, then I will perform the operation. But once
completed, I must reboot your circuitry.”
I made my imitation of a human grimace. “That will take
time,” I replied. “I do not believe there is enough time.”
“Nevertheless,” she said, “it is essential to protect your
system.” She pulled me up from the chair and led me to a
cot in an examination room. “Lie here,” she instructed. “I’ll
recharge you at the same time.”
“How long will it take?” I asked while I impatiently
climbed upon the table.
“I’ll operate as fast as I can, but the reboot requires a
memory scan before reactivating your algorithms.”
I sat up. “You mean I have to undergo a complete scan?”
“Now, now, André, you’re causing those vibrations again.
Just remain supine and quiet as you can. I must reboot you.
Soon after the restart, your thoughts will begin again with
recollections from your earliest days. Now just enter your
relaxation mode, and don’t worry about anything.”
Reluctantly, I lay back. For 4.49 seconds I made a visual
examination of her and realized what an exquisitely crafted
droid she was. Two years and 147 days ago, when I
constructed her, I had used a finer alloy than Dr. Strauss had
used for me. I marveled at the polished sheen of her outside.
She surely was the finest thing I ever had accomplished.
Margaret possessed a presence that inspired confidence in
her abilities to which even biologicals had responded.
Meekly, I relaxed all tensioners. Despite what might be
transpiring in the Situation Room, I had no choice but to be
here for now. I should take this time, I decided, to think
deeply about the circumstances, to recall the chain of events
which had preceded the present situation, and to process
relevant data in search of an action which I might undertake.
But my awareness of the present faded as she opened my
portals and commenced the reconnections. For what period
of time I could not determine, there was only blackness.
“Have a pleasant reboot,” Margaret 13 whispered. “Night,
night, and don’t let the electrons bite.” I began to receive the
invigorating electrons from the charger. It was a soothing
progression, which cleared my RAM and allowed access to
images from deeper memory. It reminded me so much of
when Dr. Strauss first built me. My batteries were charged
so gently at that time to keep from damaging the new
integrated circuits and chips. In the beginning of my
existence, I was a mere machine and did not know at all
who I was.

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