Merger 9.0
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● ● ● The elevator stopped on the first floor: “First Floor: Main Reception, Showroom.” The doors opened to admit two SM [1001 and 1002(B)] and two BM (2000 and 2100) units. The androids’ servos *whirred* as they squeezed the soft, silver-wrapped folds of their jiggling flesh inside the booth, under the direct control of the gynobots’ wireless relay. The doors slid shut, and the cabin descended down to the basement.
“Basement Level 1,” chimed the JYC mainframe voice. “Mainframe access.”
The doors slid open, revealing a room that seemed to go on forever. The low-hanging ceiling and smooth, glassy floor of the basement, clad in identical black acrylite, combined with fluorescent wall panels at the far ends of the room to create an illusion of a space stretching on into infinity around a towering central fortress of racked, blinking servers: the JYC P915 mainframe.
In fact the room was only slightly larger than was needed to house the mainframe’s massive bulk; but two sizeable queues of statuesque silver-clad androids, one a line of SM units and one of BM units, were now formed around that bulk, curling out toward the room’s perfectly hidden emergency stairwell. The robots seemed to be lined up like garden sculptures: some faced the mainframe, while some were turned away from it. A few appeared to have been twisted 180° at the waist. All stood completely still, pink palms outstretched as if in anticipation of something. Those whose glassy eyes met by chance on account of their positioning seemed almost to be imploring each another.
Joyce materialized as the party exited the elevator, the IRU robots stepping out first. “This is Basement Level 1, Mainframe access,” said Joyce, grinning from ear to ear. The group strode directly through Joyce’s projected body, causing her image to wobble and reform behind them; she spun around like a top and followed, hovering close behind as they made their way to the central mainframe.
As they neared the server racks the SM 1002(B) and the BM2000 units proceeded to the head of their respective lines, mechanically positioned themselves like the androids behind them, and froze in place, each emitting an audible *beep* as it did so. The other two androids, the SM1001 and the BM2100, came to rest only a few inches from the server towers; the Yasmeens and gynobots stopped a few metres further back, surveying the scene.
“Joyce,” said the red-suited Yasmeen, gesturing at the assembled computer hardware, “Could you please indicate which of these servers contain the JYC personality and human emulation processors?”
“Of course, Madame President,” said Joyce, shivering slightly. The green ‘ready’ lights on the servers containing the dedicated components began blinking.
“And the higher-level A.I., yes?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Yes,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, turning back to Joyce. “And could you also indicate which of these servers contain the redundant functional A.I. processors for the JYC P915? And the emergency cache memory as well.”
“Of course,” said Joyce, dimpled and rippling. Another dozen servers began to blink.
“Thank you,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, who then made the briefest of gestures with her head in the direction of one of the gynobots. The SM 1001 and BM 2100, under wireless command, swung into action and began disconnecting the blinking servers from the mainframe. Each of the androids, upon unracking one of the boxy computer components (with a loud *shunk*), offered up an impressive display of basic functionality: the upper half of its body smoothly swivelled 180° at the waist, with only a murmuring *whirr* and a momentary bulge in the silvery plastic tube of clothing coating its beltline, allowing it to hand the disconnected server off to the android behind it while keeping its feet planted firmly forward. The SM 1002(B) and BM2000 units came briefly back to life; received the servers; swivelled in turn and handed them back to the next androids in line; then repositioned themselves and froze in anticipation of the next part. In this manner each of the androids in line formed an ad hoc conveyer belt carrying the disconnected servers out of the basement.
“Madame President,” said Joyce, still smiling, “my functionality has been reduced to ninety-three- *shunk*… correction – eighty-seven percent. I appear to be losing processing power.”
“Yes,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen. “Thank you, JYC. Your services are no longer required.”
“I’m afraid I do not understand,” said Joyce. “May I ask *shunk* what is happening?”
The pink-scarved Yasmeen ignored Joyce. She turned to the red-scarved Yasmeen, shaking her head. “A complete JYC mainframe!” she said. “Can you believe it?”
“I know,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, nodding. “All the bells and whistles.”
“Typical small-time management.”
“Who lets themselves be upsold like this? I don’t get it!”
“Even after the initial expense, my God, the power bill! The accountant should be shot.”
“Same firm.”
“What?”
“ADL. Anderson Doi Laskovitz. We’re using them too.”
“Hah! What thieves!”
“Only game in town.”
“Well, now so are we.”
“Exactly,” the red-scarved Yasmeen smiled.
“We didn’t get here a moment too soon.”
“Madame President,” said Joyce, suddenly piping in, “I’m afraid I must inform you that, as I am a Class II artificial personality, state regulations require that *shunk*…”
There was a moment of silence.
“I’m sorry,” said Joyce, theatrically smiling and slapping her holographic forehead, which now pulsed at a rapid clip. “Did I repeat myself just now? I’m afraid I must have lost mnemonic processing there for a second. I belie-” *shunk*
“…Warning…” said Joyce. “Program functionality reduced to 73%. Warning. Program functionality reduced to 73%. Madame President, I am afrai- fraid that a sud- sudden loss of processing power is affec- fecting my func- functional A.I.”
Joyce droned on, her body blurring momentarily. “Personality program interactivity may- may be temporarily reduced. P- Please accepy my- my sin- sincere apologies for any in- *shunk* in- in- in- in- in- in- in- in-”
A second Joyce materialized in the basement: the eyes of the first zeroed in on it, even as the older Joyce’s mouth remained caught in its babbling loop. The new Joyce gave her light-projected shirt and pant legs a quick brush, calmly straightened up, and looked at her sister. The ripple effect that worked its way through both of the fit Asian female bodies was now almost indistinguishable in the older Joyce from a generalized blurring and shaking, but could still be seen clearly in the new Joyce as it raced up her body at an increasingly rapid rate.
The second Joyce bit her lower lip and raised her left hand, tiny fingers curled against her soft-looking pink palm. The older Joyce, frozen in place, conveyed a look of horror with its eyes: from its lips came “-in- in- in- in- in- in- in- in- in-” Gingerly, the second Joyce poked the first in the left breast.
The first Joyce’s colour began to fade to a monochrome, its projected form flashing in and out even more as it slowed to a crawl. Its voice deepend and warped. “-in- inn- innn- innnn- innnn- innnnn- innnnnn- innnnnnn- innnnnnnn- innnnnnnnn- innnnnnnnnn-” Flassing red letters formed behind its purpling, translucent busom: “ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO CONTINUE? YES. NO.”
No one pressed “NO.”
The first Joyce disintegrated in a burst of pink and purple pixels.
The second Joyce strolled over to where the first had been and quickly looked around the room. Seeing nothing that interested it, and looking pleased as punch with itself, it opened its mouth to speak:
“Hello,” said Joyce. The hologram faced the Yasmeens, who were turned away, inspecting the dissassembly process. “My name is Joyce, JYC P915 Dedicated Human Emulation Hologram. What can I do for you today?”
Silence.
“Hello,” repeated Joyce. “What is your name?” After going another minute without a response, the shimmering hologram spoke again. “Searching... Name found. Hello, Madame President.” The new Joyce smiled. “That’s a lovely name. My name is Joyce. What can I *shunk* do for you today?”
The red-scarved Yasmeen, spotting what looked like a stripped wire on the last server taken out, suddenly halted the assembly line; after a moment’s inspection with the other Yasmeen, though, it was clear that it was just the odd colour of the plastic sheathing around it. The dissassembly resumed.
“I am capable of meeting all of your administrative needs,” continued Joyce. “I can be programmed to *shunk* warning, program functionality reduced to fifty-four-fifty-four-fifty-four-fif-fif-fif-fif-fiiiif-hello, my name is Joyce. I am a computer. Whaat can I do for you today?
“I can be programmed to do many things. Please refer to the JYC P915 operator’s manual for an overview of my possible functions, or simply open the JYC P915 Readme file. I can read the Readme file to you if you like. *shunk* I like to read. I am a computer. My name is Joyce. What’s your name? Would you like to play with me? I like to play. I can play many fun games. Warning. Program functionality *shunk*… My name is Joyce. Hello. My name is Joyce. Hello. Please install… Hello. My name is Joyce.”
- shunk* “Hello. My name is Joyce. I am a computer. I think you are nice. Attention: Disclaimer; processes identified as ‘thought’ by JYC P915 may not- *shunk* may not- may not- may not- may not- Please reset… Please reset… Please *shunk* conforrmmmmm… Hello. What is your name?... Hello. What is your name?... I am a compuuter. I do not have a n-n-name-name. Do you know my name?... Do you know my name?... Y-y-you-you can give me a name if youuu’d like. I would liiike that… I know a ni-ni-nice song. *shunk* Would you like me to siiiiing a nice song for you?
The hologram’s stuttering synthetic voice suddenly rang out clear in song. “I’m a lit-tle tea-pot, short and stout!” Joyce placed its left hand behind its back and stuck its right arm out in front of its body, bent ninety degrees at the elbow. “This is my han-dle, this is my spout! When I get all steam-ed up, hear me shout: Tip, me over and- *shunk*” Joyce’s holographic body, after bending ninety degrees at the waist, shuddered, blurred, reset itself, and repeated the same motion. “Tip, me over and-” The shudder repeated itself, the body dissolving and reforming once again. The hologram was stuck in a loop, bending over over and over and over again; its sickly sweet voice sung out like a stuck record with each thrust of its hips. “Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and- *bzzt* Tip, me over and-” *shunk*
The silver-clad androids disconnected the last blinking mainframe. “-pouurrrrr meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuttt…” droned the Asian hologram, its voice deepening into a low rumble before going silent.
Joyce’s body went purple, flattened, and winked out of existence.
It took a moment for the last server to be carried away by the android conveyer belt. As it disappeared, the red-scarved Yasmeen strolled over to one of the control panels built into the side of the JYC P915 and pulled up all of the mainframe’s pre-loaded human emulator options. Animated portraits of a number of possible holographic women scrolled across the LCD panel. The options included a freckle-faced eighteen-year-old named Jaycee, with a blonde punk-rocker hairdo; a Polynesian girl named Jayac; Joyce; and an androgenous Ukrainian beauty named Jayce. Each potential avatar automatically said “Hi” as its rotating image flashed across the screen. The red-scarved Yasmeen deleted them all from the system with a few quick keystrokes.
The rows of SM and BM units were still as statues once again Turning to one of the pantsuited gynobots, the pink-scarved Yasmeen gave a slight nod. The gynobot, turning to face its sister, roughly rotated the other unit around and peeled back the flap of fabric on its back. Grabbing ahold of the nestled eSATAp cable inside, it unspooled the cord all the way to the control panel on the side of the mainframe and attached it there. A final set of up-to-date Emirati programs and protocols were rapidly installed onto the administrative system.
A glowing, light-skinned woman, dressed in what looked like a smart white stewardess’s uniform with a loosely flowing, clean-cut white hijab, suddenly materialized inside the room. The woman’s ghostly facial features were impossible to place: they might have been Caucasian, South Asian, Arab, Persian, or some combination, perhaps even with an admixture of Chinese or Korean. In fact, this particular hologram’s high, chiselled cheekbones, thin, painted lips, and glowing green eyes had been painstakingly designed by a team of nearly a hundred marketing specialists, calibrated so as to seem to hail from precisely nowhere while at the same time appealing to as many potential customers as possible. It was the face that graced a million billboards, buses, and broadsheets: the face of Emi©, the Emirati Group’s artificial “brand ambassador.”
Both Yasmeens turned towards the hologram. “Emi,” asked the pink-scarved one, “Are you online?”
“Yes, Madame President,” came back an absolutely neutral English voice.
“How’s the JYC mainframe working for you?” asked the red-scarved Yasmeen.
“Are you in full command of the building’s systems?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Yes, Madame President. Yes, Madame President.” The hologram answered both Yasmeens. Emi, unlike the departed Joyce, was not a state-of-the-art human emulation program but merely a simple, standard Boolean algorithm generator, albeit one equipped with a soothing voice and a globally recognizable face. “All interlinked systems are at your command. How can I help you today?”
“Confirm uplink with EGHQ,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Testing. Uplink established. Uplink confirmed. Security code verification: T. I. Dash. I. I. Dash. 4. 7. 0. 0. 1. 0. 0. 2. 3. 7. 6. 0. 0. 0. Dash. 1. 0. 0. 1. 0. 1. Security code verification complete.”
The red-scarved Yasmeen nodded. “Confirmed. Engage wireless control.”
“Wireless control engaged,” said Emi.
The plastic catch of the eSATAp clip automatically released, causing the cable to whip back into the control array embedded in the pantsuited gynobot’s back. The second gynobot then helpfully closed up its sister’s flap and smoothed the velcro back into place. The two units began a truncated version of their little ballet, each taking its turn brushing off and straightening the other’s tight-fitting black clothes.
“Emi, please pack up our things,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen, looking down at her nails.
“Of course,” came back the answer from the hologram.
Without warning, one of the gynobots swiftly jabbed the other in the navel. The limbs of the striken unit swept about in a wide circle, as though jerked by a puppeteer, and it flopped over at the waist, its torso twisted to one side. There was a loud *beep*, and a final utterance of “Thank you. Goodbye.” The gynobot’s bubblegum-pink lips did not even move as the words came from its internal speakers, and static crept into the girlish voice at the end as the electrical system grounded almost instantaneously.
The gynobot that was still moving paused only for a few seconds to straighten out its sister unit’s clothes, now slightly rumpled by its death spasm. Then, without hesitation, it turned toward the Yasmeens, stared glassily through them with its pale blue eyes, and depressed its own navel, slumping in place like a rag doll. *Beep* “Thank you. Goodbye.”
The SM1001, SM 1002(B), BM2000 and BM2100 units that had come down in the main elevator now started up again: all of their torsos swivelled back into a forward-facing position with a *whirr*, and the four androids stepped out of line and over to the two gynobots. With a pair of androids grabbing the stiff, splayed limbs of each black-clad machine, they proceeded to fold both members of the pantsuited pair into modified pancake positions, each with its small hands clasped together beneath its pubic arch. Once these contortions were complete, the SM 1002(B) and the BM2000 hooked their thick and thin black digits through the ring formed by the intertwined fingers of each gynobot and effortlessly lifted the two units as if they were pieces of luggage. Striding purposefully back to their places in line, they handed the gynobots off to the androids behind them like suitcases, and the *clacking*, *whirring* female conveyor belt sprung back into action again, carrying the pantsuited units off and into the autonomous transport truck that waited in the loading dock, half-filled with saleable JYC P915 servers.
“Emi, start wrapping all this up, will you,” ordered the red-scarved Yasmeen.
“And bring my limo around to the front,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Yes, Madame President,” said Emi. “Yes, Madame President.”
The SM1001 and BM2100 units stepped back into their places at the front of each, but turned away from the mainframe to face the androids behind them; as they did, the SM 1002(B) and BM2000 units swivelled 180° at the waist to face the SM1001 and BM2100.
The BM2000 poked the BM2100 in its silver-coated belly-button.
The BM2100’s body shuddered slightly, and and its stiff posture appeared to slacken a bit. “Thank you,” it said, its warm hazel eyes sliding shut. “Gooodbyyye…” The android emitted a final *beep.* Its head slowly and mechanically tilted forward, coming to rest on its chest with a shudder and a bounce. The whole body bent a few degrees at the waist, locked in place, and was still.
The BM2000 reached under the deactivated android’s shoulders and effortlessly lifted it straight in the air. Rotating at the waist as it stood firmly in place, it handed the inert silver-coated mass off to the next android in line and down the conveyer belt.
The SM1002(B) depressed the SM1001’s soft navel.
“Thank you,” said the SM1001 android in its incongruous Queen’s English, its dark lids closing over its glassy black eyes. “Goodbyye…” Its thick, glossy lips closed, its chin came to rest on its ample bosom, its broad hips bulged out a bit further, and, with a final *beep*, the android was still. The SM1002(B) effortlessly conveyed its lifeless peer to the chain of waiting arms behind it.
No sooner had the android behind the BM2000 handed off the first package than it swivelled around and depressed the second android’s belly button. “Thank you. Gooodyyye…” said the BM2000, which immediately went to sleep like its sister, and was carried, a lifeless and inert lump of metal and plastic, down the chain of twisting bodies. The same motion was repeated with the SM1002(B): “Thank you. Goodbyye…”; then with the third android in each line, then the fourth, and so on. The two Yasmeens walked back toward the elevator as the conveyer belt packed itself away piece by piece for shipping and eventual reprogramming or dissassembly.
“Well,” said the pink-scarved one, “I’m off. Leave about eighteen or twenty of these up and running, I think,” she said, gesturing back at the rapidly self-cancelling androids. “Reduce it to ten or less by month’s end, if we don’t get all the new units in before then. But we should.”
“Should I requisition some clothes?” asked the red-scarved Yasmeen.
“Mmm,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen, nodding. “Otherwise are you all set?”
“I think so,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen. “With that ‘bot upstairs I ought to be able to get this place running.”
“Do you want me to send out a replacement for that one as well?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Nah,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, stepping into the elevator. “It should be good enough for what I need it for. Besides, I kind of like the look of the thing.”
“Well, our new clients should be in for their upgrades starting on Monday, so if there’s any trouble-”
“I’ll be fine,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, smiling. “You worry too much.”
“You’re telling me.”
The untraceable voice of Emi chimed out “Going up” as the elevator doors slid shut.
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