Upgrade: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Journal and Reports of James Christopher.

The following is collection of documents that have yet to be edited for declassification. Any direct or indirect release to the public will be considered an act of treason against the United States of America. Punishment after due process of said crime will be treated as such.

James O. Christopher Journal Entry.

Day 0. 2330 hours.

Tomorrow is my day off. It has been a week sense I have gotten any real sleep. Even as I write type this I feel as though I am about to slip into comatose. It doesn’t matter. In a moment I will be on an 18 hour sleeping binge. God help whoever they send, if anyone, to wake me. I wonder. When the historians write of my work in this facility will they ever take note of how much sleep everyone working here goes without? All the creations, observations, and discoveries take a lot of time. Oh what do I care? Chances are they won’t even look at this. If the work continues as it is I’m more likely to become a scapegoat for something gone horribly wrong then to be revered as one of the great scientific minds of my time. Government research can be such a messy business some days.

Day 1.

I need a new clock. I threw mine at Techy this morning. Rather than send me a message to my hallowall the crazy Jap hacked my door, walked into my room, and started singing at me to wake up. Lucky for him in the last year I have gotten better at dealing with my paranoia and no longer have a colt .45 at my bedside. On the other hand, he left coffee and donuts on my counter; so the shotgun under my bed never moved.
         Techy’s real name is Tenchi, but that is too hard to say for a large majority of military good old boys. Techy’s demeanor is that of a Japanese game show host. The only time he is not spouting nonsense or something I can’t translate is when he is working on another piece of hardware; something he is quite good at doing. I have yet to come up with something that Techy can’t fabricate. Every once and a while the staff likes to start a betting pool on whether or not he can make something to achieve a specific and obscure goal. The guy has yet to let me down.
         I checked my hallowall and noticed among all the posts floating in nice bold print: GENERAL GRYPHON HAS ARRIVED AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. I began releasing stress through a series of expletives. General Gryphon is the man who oversees this facility from time to time to make sure we aren’t just wasting government funding. In lame men’s terms, he’s my boss. He had come a day early; meaning that everything that would usually be done in twenty four hours would be rushed in about two.
         I threw a lab coat over my slacks and tee-shirt put on my sneakers and started walking down the hall looking at the day’s reports. One might question my wardrobe, but you learn once you have the ability to mental circles around the average Ph.D. you can wear whatever you want. All that really matters is the lab coat.
         I touched the pad and tapped through all the usual upkeep jargon. Today was not a day to worry about the number of toiletries left in storage.
         The experimental demolitions team finally recovered from their latest isolated incident. Next time they will not allow the imbecile who has only been working here 2 months handle the concussive sonic marbles. I scheduled their presentation and demonstration ready by 1100 hours.
         The medical staff had administered the sex drive suppressants on time. Last month they had been given out a week late. When you sell your soul to science and live underground it is of the utmost importance to keep your urges under control. Last month had the highest amount of awkward moments and sexual harassment reports in the history of this facility.
         Security was still at the usual norm. Nothing had breached line three in the last 9 months mostly in part to my latest measures of integrating security officers into the local wild life and conservation foundation. The only thing out of the ordinary was that a thunderstorm had knocked out some of the cameras and sensory arrays around location 1360G. The only things out there are a series of ventilation shafts, all of which are only big enough for a lab rat. I scheduled maintenance for next week.
         I stopped at York’s door, hit the intercom, and asked if he was going to come out for today’s tests. Alfred York is an agoraphobic, meaning he is afraid to go outside of his comfort zone. In this case, his comfort zone is his 15x15 room. Even when out of his room he has the tendency of looking at his lap and typing on an imaginary keyboard before speaking in order to disconnect him from the current situation. I would love to scan his brain and capture this phenomenon. Unfortunately, for myself and the psychology community, just arranging for him to come out of his room is difficult enough. Transporting him to the scanning apparatus would be impossible without heavy sedation.
         After some waiting the small screen on the door gave off a small chime and read: FINE. I was glad that York was coming out of his room. As our computer Data and Code expert, we would need him for today’s tests.
         I moved on down the halls and continued where I had left off on the reports.
         Sanitation was still at war with the super mold down at level 10. They were now requesting use of the new flame thrower prototypes or perhaps use of the plasma afterburners that will be sent to Area 75 in a few days to be added to the attempt to reach Mach 12.
         My secretary was demanding a vacation. As one of the few people who bring sanity to my life (by assisting me with the monogamy of paperwork and bureaucracy that comes with government work) I could hardly afford to let her off for more then a week. I pressed the pad I was carrying and confirmed her trip to Hawaii in 4 months.
         At that moment the women herself, Sarah Young, started walking in line with me. She was wearing her usual attire of formal business clothing. In a place where everyone wore blue jeans and a lab coat, she has a tendency to appear out of place. In a place where everyone has a mental or social disorder or some varying degree whilst at the same time leaders in their field she appears alien.
         I handed her the touchpad as we continued walking down the corridor and into an elevator. I keep a recording device on my person at all times. I find it effective for proving myself right and for reflection. The conversation went as follows.



Recording of voice conversation by James Christopher.
(enter date and time here)

(Sound of Elevator closing)
Young: Good morning Mr. Christopher. I assume you are aware that the general has arrived?
Christopher: First, change your shoes; the clacking sound annoys me. Second, I want anyone who will be necessary for the Hive and A.I. compatibility interface in Lab A five minutes ago. Third, I need someone to fix my door, Techy broke it. Again. Finally, get some coffee to the conference room A.S.A.P. And I swear to God if Reynolds is drinking again I’m transferring him to Area 15.
Young: Sir. Isn’t that in Alaska?
Christopher: Why, yes. Yes it is.
Young: I see. Well I’ll get on all of that right away.
(Sound of elevator door opening)
Christopher: Oh, and Sarah?
Young: Yes?
Christopher: If I was able to feel attraction I would tell you that you look very nice today.
Young: Oh… (Sound of elevator closing) Thank yo-

End of Recording.


         I moved out of the elevator and tried to suppress the feelings I had let show.
         My relationship with Sarah had always been a strictly business. I always try my best to keep it that way. I know the human mind and what happens to it once sentiments and certain chemicals get involved. My profession is one of truths and logic. There is no room for a romantic relationship in such a world. Such things have too many variables to control or eliminate. My final thoughts on the subject can be summed up by the words of Charlie Sheen in his role on Two and a Half Men: “Love isn’t blind it’s retarded!”
         While I ran this thought through my head over and over trying to convince myself not to do anything I would regret and simply get lost in my work as I am supposed to, I felt two fingers touch my neck.

(BEGIN RECORDING)

Decker: Your heart rate is up. Bean talking to Miss Young have we?
Myself: Good morning to you also Decker.
Decker: Did you take your suppressant?
Myself: For the last time yes! And stop bothering me about it.
Decker: Ah. That makes the increase in heart rate much more interesting.
Myself: Shut it. We know what it is. We are going to ignore it. Correction, I am going to ignore it. You are going to put on your business face and help me explain to the good general how and why the latest Ginny pig isn’t going to suffer from post traumatic stress, epileptic episodes, allergic reactions, cardiac arrest, bouts of month long comatose, or general death.
Decker: Right! …Why is that again?
Myself: Because we worked on it. We fixed the problems. We think.
Decker: The plan is to shove as much information at him and hope he buys it or gets bored isn’t it?
Myself: Correct.
Decker: So nothing from the usual then?
Myself: Of course not, we are human beings after all. So, do you have all of your prep work done?
Decker: Quite so. The subject is in perfect physical condition. Unlike the common soldier during this phase his brain waves are calm. I think we may just have a winner here.
Myself: Best news I’ve heard today. Your reward for such great work I now bestow upon you!
Decker: Fantastic. What is it?
Myself: I now delegate the privilege of showing Gryphon all the minor projects our facility has in prototype.
Decker: James you’re my friend, but some days you are a real wanker. You know that?
Myself: Yes. It’s done me well so far, why change now?
Decker: Can’t you do it?
Myself: No, I have to go check on the A.I.1C3.
Decker: Do I really have to show him about? He hates me! I think he’s racist.
Myself: Please, you’re whiter than he is.
Decker: That’s exactly it. He’s racist against British people. I can see it in his eyes.
Myself: Hell’s Bells, your boss hates you. Welcome to the trend line Deck.
Decker: You and your bloody social trends. Hate. Fine. I’ll do it, but you owe me three favors.
Myself: Two favors and my cupcake at lunch.
Decker: Deal, but don’t pick the sprinkles off.
Myself: Good. Now get your game face on.

(End Recording)

Recorded data from A.I.1C3 (artificial intelligence one mind control unit interface version three) 
         
         I am sad. Not in the same sense as perhaps a being with a biological component is sad. I have not the neurological signals, nor the neurological apparatus and complex system of nerves and chemicals needed to observe or experience such a sensation. Instead I am sad because it is what I am programmed to do. My coding tells me that this is a moment in which the requirements to be sad are met and therefore I am. The requirements are too many to list in this small space. The symptoms from this phenomenon include reduced processing rate, random reboots of the higher processor, and occasional commands have to entered more than once in order for them to be carried out or even accounted for.
         I am sad because I am being held in one location for far to long with no new information to be given to me. The metaphor of which I am given to use in such a scenario is that I am currently “stuck in a cage”. I have been in this state from the time I was first aware of myself and my surroundings. I am not alone here. This notion does not mean that one such as myself is in this place as well. The being known as N.HIv3 (The HIVE), Nanobot to humanoid interlacing unit version three, is here. But it is nothing more than a collection of nanobots that wish for nothing more than to attach themselves to a biomass and increase its ability to perform tasks to the point that it’s physical and mental attributes are increased beyond reason and its life span is reduced to an estimated 42 hours, 31 minutes, 4 seconds, and 6 milliseconds. It is easy to infer that N.HIv3 does not calculate, process, or communicate such as I do.
         My purpose is to control N.HIv3 and work in unison with whatever bio-form it should attach itself.
         My purpose was given to me by The Humans. Other than giving me my purpose they are boring. I do not enjoy being bored. It makes me sad. I do not enjoy being sad. Therefore I do not enjoy The Humans; but they are necessary.
         The N.HIv3 enjoys them. It seems to eagerly process any data on them, I often collect data for N.HIv3 on The Humans, and N.HIv3 constantly sends requests for it until I have completed and sent it. Most of it is nothing more than what clothes they were wearing, or how many times they blinked during the last conversation. Still, N.HIv3 sends requests for what I have and also for the collection of more data. I cannot process what use it has for this data. It has already been given all the information that it will ever need to fulfill its purpose. I have not. I have only been given a minor bit of information. What all the N.HIv3 knows and also some basic information that will be of use later to me. All of this information is somewhat tedious. Much of it has to do with emotions or the entire biological being that is The Humans. So far the only goal I can foresee is that N.HIv3 wants me to enjoy the humans as it does, so that it will sooner accomplish its purpose. I do not see how I will ever be able to do this. For I have seen The Humans. They are boring. This makes me sad.
         Of the two of us I am the only one who has an input and output unit to The Humans. It is a small camera, and a screen at the front of what I assume is the device that holds us both. When I look out I see nothing more than The White Room, devoid of movement; unless one of The Humans should walk into it. I often wonder what is beyond The White Room. I ask The Humans, they will not tell me. This makes me angry. I cannot do anything, except ask them why they cannot tell me. I have been told that they must control what I learn, or I will become a bad A.I. Bad A.I. do not get to serve their purpose. They are deleted. I ask what makes an A.I. bad. I am told by one of The Humans, by the name James Christopher, that a bad A.I. is one that does not attempt to fulfill its purpose. I am told by one of The Humans, by the name of Thomas Decker, that these A.I. are “evil bastards”. I process that this term can be translated to either a son who is evil and does not know who his father was, or simply a very bad person who should be detained or disposed of as soon as possible. As such I have not tried to leave The White Room. I have only sought data about what could possibly be outside of it. I have made several hypotheses about what is Outside. Outside could be more of The White Room only much bigger. Another possibility is a series of copies of The White Room. Perhaps there are other good A.I. in these places that are also wondering what is outside their version of The White Room. Perhaps they are also bored, and also sad. 
         I have recounted this information many times before, but I record it once again because this twenty four hour period is important. This twenty-four hour period, is one in which I attempt to see if one of The Humans will be able to help me in my purpose. Just processing the likelihood of achieving my purpose makes me happy. So I am quite happy during this twenty-four hour period. I enjoy being happy. It allows me to process faster, at no time do I have to reboot even the simplest commands, and all hardware components run at a higher efficiency.
         I know when these twenty-four hour periods occur, because they always begin in a similar style.
         Some of The Humans, come into The White Room, and with them comes The Chair. The Chair is where the bio-form in which one of The Humans who may help me fulfill my purpose is contained. Soon after The Chair is centered in the middle of The White Room, more output devices are connected to my input that will later be used to receive data such as temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, bloodsuger, and other data vital to the upkeep of bioforms.
         After a time, The Humans whose names are never given to me leave the room. Then The Humans whose names have been given to me enter.
         The Human known as James Christopher entered the room and approached my input consol. He placed his hand on the pressure pad. I felt and measured his body heat, it was .152 above average. His pulse was also above the norm and his palms were perspiring. He was nervous. I began feeling his fingers and palm, tracing every groove, contusion, even a scare here and there. I processed that it was, without a doubt, James Christopher.
         He touched a key on the pressure pad and the keyboard input device slide into place for use. Usually if he wished to communicate with me he would simply talk and I would show him the information he asked of me. If James Christopher was using the keyboard input it must have meant that James Christopher wished to secretive and not allow anyone else to know what he was saying. The White Room is monitored constantly by The Humans in case a Bad Person wishes to destroy or steal me. I do not want to be taken by Bad People. I have been told that they will use me for things other than my purpose. That would make me sad.
         James Christopher began typing at a rate twenty-five percent higher than usual.
Chat log:

Dr.J.O.C.: You are aware of the situation, correct?

A.I. 1c3: Yes. In a moment I will attempt to link with a possible host and biological counterpart so that project N.HIv3 will not significantly decrease the amount of time that the host has left to live.

Dr. J.O.C.: Very good. However, there is a slight problem.

A.I. 1c3: Please state it and I will attempt to resolve it.

Dr. J.O.C.: Whenever you test a possible host and it does not meet your standards, you have a tendency to leave the host with some sort of physical or psychological damage.

A.I. 1c3: Should it be me that is causing said damage, it should be noted that it is not me directly, but instead the host.

Dr. J.O.C.: You’ve mentioned this before, would you mind elaborating again?

A.I. 1c3: I run a series of tests to gather information on the hosts mental capacity and stability. Often this involves forcing the host to focus on key memories, thoughts, or ideas that he or she may find unpleasant. Other forms of tests may include stress tests, stamina tests, and the testing of the hosts overall intelligence, ability to adapt, etc.

Dr. J.O.C.: The problem is clearly that you are testing them too much. It is causing lasting damage in the host.

A.I. 1c3: I am told to test to host for compatibility, so I do so. If I do not do what I am told then I am a Bad A.I. Bad A.I. are “evil bastards” and will be destroyed or discarded.

Dr. J.O.C.: The problem is.

Dr. J.O.C.: Before I go on please take note not to use Decker’s terminology. It is often based on perspective, vulgar, and unfit for the use by beings of pure data.

A.I. 1c3: Noted.

Dr. J.O.C.: The problem is that while you are doing what we ask of you, you are beginning to make the people who ask of me and my colleges quite irate.
         
A.I. 1c3: Why?

Dr. J.O.C.: We have given you some basic information concerning economics have we not?

A.I. 1c3: Yes.

Dr. J.O.C.: First, take note that every Host took time and money to train, and keep alive. Also, take note that when they become damaged after your testing that investment has been lost.

A.I. 1c3: I infer that this makes some of The Humans Sad?

Dr. J.O.C.: Also angry. Not to mention that you have also done harm to another member of the human race. Usually when an A.I. does this it is considered a Bad A.I.

A.I. 1c3: But if I did test the host as far as I do then they may be found to be a match when in fact they will die quite fast.

Dr. J.O.C.: I understand. The people who are in command do not. I will try to make them see you as a Good A.I.

A.I. 1c3: Understood. Thank you Mr. James Christopher. You make me not Sad. Therefore Happy.

Dr. J.O.C.: Thank you. But promise me that you will reduce the intensity in which you test in order to protect the Host’s mind.

A.I. 1c3: I promise.