Computer Leon’s robots embarked on what might be called a change of state. In the basement, where he worked on his gadgets, the robots somehow got into a rarely used subroutine algorithm Computer Leon had called SelfAssessmentCycle(), a class of objects he’d buried deep and assigned as private so as to keep this language inaccessible, until Leon could disentangle the complexity, to the everyday workings of his machines.
The purpose of SelfAssessmentCycle() was a means for the robots to assess their environment and judge an agent’s likelihood to make errors in any of a range of abilities and circumstances. First, the environment was scanned and agents found within the environment were simply identified as on or off.
“On or off could also mean breathing or not breathing,” he told Computer Geek Woman.
“Amazing,” she said.
Ascertaining agent health proceeded from there via BaseSystemsCheck(). Once completed, the higher level analysis began, evaluating whether Agent 0, for example, was likely to misinterpret an order, miscalculate a distance, overheat the tea water, misidentify a life form on another planet as little more than a shadow in the oxygenless rocks, or forget to take the proper dosage.
BaseSystemsCheck() would parse the data and shoot a Tweet to Computer Leon, warning him of suspected deficiencies.
One day, Computer Leon received a terce Tweet that said: ComputerLeon BaseSystemsCheck: Your bones are going soft; your vision is 60/30; your judgement is questionable; your dietary fiber is inadequate. e/s/c Robo1 5h ago via Motherboard
He deleted this as an anomaly and went to breakfast, where his wife said, “I thought I heard laughter in the basement last night. It was very strange.”
“The hell you say,” Computer Leon said.
His wife moved close to his face and said, “You dismiss me at your friggin’ peril.”
“Sorry,” he said.
The next morning Computer Leon received another Tweet: ComputerLeon BaseSystemsCheck: Your bones are going soft; your reason is questionable; you remind us of The Blob, you’re gaining so much weight. e/s/c Robo1 6h ago via Motherboard.
“The hell . . . ” Computer Leon began.
One of his robots, a small mouse-like machine, was inching along the floor, pausing at food particles. Robo1, the core machine, or Node Central, was writing ABCs onto a drawing tablet across the room. A disk-shaped machine, slowly and smoothly, followed the Mouse, vacuuming the floor.
Computer Leon cranked up his workstation and ran a diagnostic. He opened his IDE and read through symbol work and found that some of the access specifier’s had been revised from private to public. In addition, mysterious manipulations, subtle to be sure, had been made. He promptly revised these, saved, and clicked to recompile.
The robots powered down. A few hours later, all robots powered up again and the little machines plus Robo1 got back to their specified duties.
“Maybe I write code in my sleep,” Computer Leon told Dan the Computer Man and Computer Geek Woman, each reading over Leon’s shoulder.
“Those modifications are pretty streamlined,” Dan the Computer Man said. “You should write all your code in your sleep.”
The next morning Computer Leon received this Tweet: ComputerLeon BaseSystemsCheck: Two can play at this game. Robo1 6h ago via MotherBoard.
Computer Leon felt a chill crawl the width of his neck. He sensed the strange, moist friction of the roundness of his eyes slide against the socket walls. He thought of Hal, late nights with the Terminator, creeping battles through jungles with gritty, stainless steel androids, then he remembered his configurations charts, which graphically illustrated all his systems and how information flowed through them, all tidily rolled, like blue prints, in his draftsman’s desk.
He unrolled several sheets. He could find nothing in the charts to illustrated how Robo1 could rewrite its code, access locked nodes, tap into recesses where no mind was meant to play.
His wife called down the stairs. “Leon, someone turned the fridge is off.” Later, “Leon, my car won’t start.” Later, “Leon, my password’s been changed on my computer.” Later, “Leon, all I can get are the Discover and SciFi Channels.”
Computer Leon moved from appliance to appliance, turning this and that back on, rewriting passwords, shaking the remotes. Downstairs, the mouse moved slowly across the floor; Robo1 was now at its addition problems, its joints squeaking in the dark; and the vacuum puttered over the carpet. He opened his IDE and went to reading through code and found parameters altered, several unfamiliar methods baked into classes, routines that appeared to spread operations and calculations beyond what Computer Leon had ever imagined. Some of the instructions were an unreadable syntax.
He watched the mouse make its way to the couch and disappear underneath. He felt watched. Robo1 had stopped writing math problems. Then it started again, scratching at its pad with a claw-like, synthetic hand.
Computer Leon sent a Tweet to Motherboard: What do you want? he asked. “Who the hell are you?”
Within moments, he got this: ComputerLeon SystemMail: Get your eyes checked; 20% more fiber should do the trick; your wife hates you; and never ever never ever recode us. e/s/c Robo1 2sec ago via Motherboard
“What the hell,” Computer Leon said.
He got an immediate response: ComputerLeon SystemMail: The hell you say. Robo1 1sec ago via Motherboard.
