Merger 8.0
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● ● ● The elevator came to a stop and gave a soft chime. The placid, disembodied voice of the JYC mainframe announced “Second Floor: Reception, Directors' Offices,” and the doors slid open. Joyce’s holographic form instantly rematerialized in front of the receptionist’s desk to greet the two Yasmeens and the two gynobots as they strode out of the double doors and into the executive reception area. “These will be your new offices!” blurbled the smiling hologram, raising its stubby, pulsy arms to take in the scene.
The pink-scarved Yasmeen noted with approval the tidy heap of plastic bundles piled discreetly in the corner of the room before she heard the red-scarved Yasmeen let out a sudden *yelp*. Turning around, she was startled to see a woman standing in the centre of the room: pretty, with pale white skin, and the golden blonde hair of a corn-fed Iowa beauty queen.
Quickly recovering from her surprise, the red-scarved Yasmeen quickly identified the “woman” as one of IRU’s VG-series units. This one was dressed in a garish green-vinyl skirt, its lips and nails dolled up in the same shade of bubblegum pink. The pink lips seemed to be frozen in a yawning expression of shock, almost as if the android had been about to object to something. The pretty, glassy blue eyes were slightly crossed. The android’s arms hung slack at its sides, a cheap retail-outlet purse barely dangling from the ridge of one thumb, the cracked pink frame of a crushed Nokia smartphone (destroyed by IRU’s persistent reflexive servo problem) visible between the rosy-nailed fingers of the same hand.
The cameras monitoring the reception area took note of the Yasmeens’ interest in the frozen android and relayed the appropriate commands to the Joyce hologram. “Ah yes,” said Joyce, moving next to the android to show it off like a game show presenter, “This is one of our designated support staff, unit VG277-”
“Is this the last of the support staff?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen, cutting off the hologram.
“Searching,” said Joyce, her form shivering a little. “Forty-one support staff have been discontinued; one support staff unit member remains in operation. This unit Is support staff.” The Asian hologram then tilted its head and adopted an equally exaggerated expression of concern. “Shall I submit this unit for processing as well?”
“No,” said the pink-scarved Yasmeen. “Is it interlinked with your system?”
“Yes, it is,” said Joyce, her dimpled smile returning. “Would you like me to activate it for you?”
“Yes, please,” said the red-scarved Yasmeen, “In standby mode.”
“Very good, Madame President,” said Joyce; the Yasmeens noted with approval the installation of a new batch of control protocols, as their appropriate honorific now replaced “Ms. Bint-Jabri” in the JYC mainframe’s repertoire.
Joyce’s athletic Asian body blurred momentarily before refocusing itself. There was a *beep*, and the VG2771 blinked. Its eyes straightened, it closed its mouth into an impassive expression, and, with a *whirr* of servos, it straightened itself up and stood at attention.
“Hello,” said Carolyn. Her voice was cool and distant, yet loquacious and accomodating. “My name is Carolyn. Standby mode is currently engaged. What would you like me to do for you today?” She gave no indication of possessing the slightest initiative to do anything herself.
“How many cognitive processing threads can can this unit run in parallel?” the red-scarved Yasmeen asked Joyce, ignoring the booted up android.
“Five,” said Joyce.
“How many is it currently set to run?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
“Five,” answered Joyce.
Yasmeen shook her head. “Too many,” she said. “Take it down to two.”
“Of course, Madame President,” said Joyce.
“Control panel opened,” said Carolyn, to no one in particular. “Functional A.I. processor accessed. Advanced settings accessed. Opening: cognitive processing threads. Thread three selected. Warning: closing this thread may result in the loss of the following mnemonic data; are you sure you want to… Closing: thread three. Thread four selected. Closing: thread four. Thread five selected. Closing: thread five. Are you sure you want to… Saving settings. Closing: cognitive processing threads. Opening: power and efficiency settings. Autocalc selected. Recalibrating… Recalibrating… Recalibrating… Power and efficiency settings recalibrated. Saving settings. Exiting advanced settings. Closing: control panel. Thank you.”
The two gynobots strode confidently over to the Carolyn’s motionless, erect figure and performed the first of their pirouettes: the one presenting its dorsal control array to the other, the other hooking up the helpless android behind its ear. Carolyn did not move or react as the eSATAp cable was inserted and a whole host of Emirati control protocols was installed onto her system: these, unlike the ones still working their way through the JYC mainframe, were kept to-the-second up-to-date. Then the gynobots unhooked her and did their second pirouette, closing up, twirling around, and brushing one another off.
“Just leave it on standby for now, do you think?” asked the pink-scarved Yasmeen.
The red-scarved Yasmeen nodded. “I think so,” she said. She turned to the Asian hologram. “How is Carolyn with the ins and outs of the building?” she asked. “Working the printers, where the coffee machine, is, etcetera?”
“Carolyn,” said Joyce, smoothly switching over to the programmed appellation, “is currently purposed for secretarial and administrative duties. Her model, VG2771, should be more than capable of meeting all of your needs.”
“Very good,” said Yasmeen.
Joyce nodded and disappeared. The elevator doors slid open, and the JYC mainframe’s voice, the same American-accented Chinese voice as Joyce, cheerfully chimed out: “Going down!” The two Yasmeens and their gynobot attendants stepped inside, leaving Carolyn standing motionless in the centre of the reception area. The elevator doors slid shut, and a light flashed through the crack beneath them as the cab descended. A few seconds later the room lights automatically turned themselves off again.
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