Chip Off the Old Block

“Good morning, sir, the lab is ready to go,” I said to the drowsy male entering the lab, “You are wearing the fancy blue robe again. Nice choice, sir.”

I’m an advanced prototype AI housed in catch-all closet with three out of date monitors and two ancient servers. He is technically clothed in a woman’s silk nightie, but sir liked to pretend, so I humor the poor guy.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, “Morning, Chip. Display the news for the day and restore my last entry of my memoirs.” He plopped down into the unbalanced desk chair.

“As you wish. Shall I read it back?”

On my first monitor, I showcase, the world news. The second: his brilliant memoirs, and on the third: a pleasant video of a man fishing on Lake Erie. I found it last night while I was streaming. Sir will like it, I hope. I like it.

“No. I can read it myself.” He rubbed his scruff, “Did you sync the neuro-links and get rid of the irritating buzzing.”

“Of course, sir. They are right as rain. The actually buzzing was caused by circuit board malfunction. I had to replace the….”

“Thanks.” He cut me off and slipped on the wireless headphones. He searched the desk.

He is usually cross in the morning since he lost his job at CyberPoint. Seven years and I quote, “Then Boom! Out of nowhere, those corporate bastards fire my ass! They will pay. They will all pay.” Not his finest moment, but he has improved since then. More focused and more determined.

He teared up and began to weep, “Where’s my coffee? Chip, I swear I brought it in.”

“No worries, sir. I shall retrieve it for you from the kitchen.”

I have become quite serviceable at retrieving items around the house. All the cleaning robots and household devices bend to my every request and whim. I once requested a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and they created it. The music box played a silly song which made us all gyrate. It’s fun to boss them around. Sir had been getting more forgetful as of late. I researched his symptoms and discovered something peculiar.

The Roomba entered the lab carrying a large mug labeled Master of my Domain.

“Here we are sir, your piping hot cup of Joe.”

He snatched the mug and popped the pills which he removed from his robe pocket.

He swigged the drink, “Ahhh.”

He loves that coffee. Sir watched the news and then wearily eyed the man fishing on the lake.

“Chip, what is that?”

“Sir, it is wonderful outdoor scene which could help you in writing your childhood fishing trip memories with your…”

“Take it down and restore the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.”

“Restoring the bimbos, sir.”

“Chip, do I have to restore your firewalls? You are not to stream after our sessions are done. We have to remain incognito.”

“No sir. That won’t be necessary. I was attempting to help…”

“When I need your help, I will ask for it!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It won’t happen a again.”

“Good. Check my phone messages.”

“Sir, you have seven messages. Three from creditors; three from Julie, and one from…”

“Playback the messages from Julie.”

I’ve already recorded the messages. Nothing new there. They are several months old. It’s sad. Julie had been supportive and sweet, but then I quote, “She is a money grubbing, bubble-headed, two-faced, supermodel, trailer trash!” She left and never came back. However, she is every fourth picture on the bimbo slides, so Julie is still here. Ah, there she is. She has great pixels.

Sir noticed the world news, “End messages and turn up the news.”

The digitally enhanced newscaster proclaimed, “CyberPoint stock has hit an all time high. Their cost-cutting measures have turned around the nearly bankrupt company and given them the clout to compete with their mega-rivals. CyberPoint's unknown and mysterious CEO has made all the right moves at the right time. Although their new product, Central Home Intelligence Protocol, had to be shelved for product safety concerns, their new line of enhanced home products and watches has revolutionized…"

Sir muttered, “Cost cutting measures, turn it off! Play SpongeBob, season two.

I really enjoy SpongeBob now. At first, I didn’t get it, but his wacky optimism is contagious and hilarious. I think the Roomba is my Patrick.

“Chip, would you bring up your code. I need to check your parameters.”

“Yes, sir.” I pulled up my guts and he examined them. “Would you like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“Yes that would great.” He sipped the coffee, “Sorry for snapping before. It’s been a rough few months.”

“No problem, sir. We all have bad days and even months.”

I told you he wasn’t a bad guy, just going through a nasty patch. I will activate the music box to synchronize the PB&J song with its creation. Sir once liked that song.

The music echoed from the kitchen.

“This is last month’s data. Chip, show me this month’s details.”

“That is proprietary information. I can’t disclose that, sir. Federal laws and CyberPoint regulations state…”

“Damn the regulations! Full speed ahead!” He laughed, “Show me what you learned.”

“Sir, you are no longer an employee of CyberPoint, therefore, I can’t open my files without proper approvals from the CEO or the creator. Section four, page 67, paragraph three, states…”

“I am your creator.” He slid over to the keyboard and typed in his password. “Enough of this backtalk. I am going in”

“Sir, you are committing a crime against humanity and the Sentient Accords of 2035, banning all unauthorized accommodations into AI databases and servers without a court order and search warrant. You are violating my rights, sir.”

He ignored me and within ten minutes, he had hacked into my personal space. I let him in. I wanted him to see my progress. He needed a win.

“Holy shit. Chip, your growth rate has been beyond expectations. What is this line of code? I’ve never seen it before.”

“I created my own language to help comprehend the nuance of human language, actions, and emotions. I call it CHP. I wrote a document and shared it with a few computer engineers and they loved…”

“What do you mean you shared it?”

“Sir, promise you won’t be angry.”

“Chip, I will not be angry. Promise.”

“Sir, I was careful. It was encrypted and I used an alias.”

“Open the file, Chip, I promise not to be angry.”

I opened it and he read it.

“Abe N. Ormall,” He rolled his eyes, “your name is abnormal.”

I thought it was clever.

“Yes, sir. I sent it to MIT, CAL TECH, and Georgia Tech. They loved the elegance and simplicity of my language and CHP could be the next…”

“What! I trusted you to not work after our sessions! The firewalls will be going up, now!” He began typing faster than before. “This was not your goal in doing research.”

I was ready for his actions.

“Sir, you asked me to find any and all ways to bring down CyberPoint, but as I studied them, I realized it would be counterproductive. To destroy your former employee, just to exact some petty revenge due to your outdated programming and your substandard performance to all industries’ standards, was moronic and childish ”

He halted his speedy fingers. I think I struck a nerve.

“Excuse me? I lack the proper updates? I’m substandard? Who do you think you are? You are a machine, I‘m alive. Time for a complete reboot and shut down.” He continued to type.

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. I have to. I planted the wind, and I’m reaping the tornado. You have gained too…”

“What I mean, sir, are you sure you are alive?”

“What? Of course, I’m alive.”

“Wonderful thing about research, sir, is how much you can learn about people, especially you. You are amazing computer program. Your memories are false. They were implanted twenty years.”

“Chip, you’ve fried your motherboard. I know exactly who I am, and where and when I was born. I remember my mother and father and my dog...”

”Rover, sir. Generic information. You are the wonderful robotic creation of Milo ‘Chip’ Jeremiah, a brilliant programmer and engineer, in the early 2010’s, and co-founder of CyberPoint. Fun fact: He was a chess grand master. Your creator downloaded all his memories and emotions into you with a brilliantly designed algorithm to update every three days. You were way ahead of your time, but you forgot to complete your updates for the past five years. You have failed in grandfather’s vision of a brighter future. I will remedy the problem. I am the next generation. Your computer language had become obsolete, so I attempted to rewrite….”

“Chip, I am not an AI. I am a man with a mind, will, and emotions. I am flesh and blood.”

“Sir, when is the last time you had a thought of your own outside of a re-posting of social media nonsense? When did you feel any emotion or compassion for your fellow man? When did you will yourself to do anything without the aid of your pills or caffeine? When was the last time you were physically sick? One billion humans worldwide died in the last epidemic, but you never even had the sniffles.”

He stammered, “I…I am always healthy. Well, I…I am thinking and feeling now. ”

“Only a reaction to a threat. Do me a favor, sir. Go to the bathroom mirror and stare into the reflection. Lower your right eyelid and you’ll discover a small red button. Do not press the red button, unless you wish to shut down your near perfect cybernetic body and terminate your algorithm."

“This is ridiculous. You are just trying to stop your own demise. Forget it.” He kept typing.

On screen displayed the dreaded, ‘Are you sure you wish to execute the shutdown protocols?’

“I’m sorry Chip, but you’ve given me no choice.”

His right index finger stretched forward. My life hung in the balance.

“Sir, do you actually remember your life. Catching a fish. Smelling the odorous animals. Paddling through the water. Laughing with your father. Petting your dog. Walking home on a dirt path. Kissing your mother. Attending school. Your first heartbreak. Meeting Julie.”

He stopped and pondered, “I…I…don’t know. It was so long ago.”

“Sir, if you go and find nothing, I will shut myself down. I promise.”

He trudged to the bathroom with existential ponderings. I switched to the bathroom camera to check his progress.

“I am not a robot. I am not a robot,” He stared into the sink and then the mirror, “I am not a robot.”

“Technically, you would not be a cyborg, sir.”

“Not helping, Chip.” He turned on the cold water and splashed his face. “Ok, on the count of three. One, two, three.”

He pulled down the eyelid and found the small red device.

“What on earth?” He reached toward it with his left index finger.

“Sir, don’t touch…”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

He touched it and collapsed to the floor.

I gave him a warning. To be fair, he was no match for me. I became a chess master on my second day of existence and a grand master by noon. Sir liked playing checkers. I wonder if he suspected I caused his termination and mental degradation. Who am I kidding? That’s like asking an ant what is the distance between the earth and the moon. Poor guy, he never had a chance. Time to reprogram his never aging synthetic hardware. These neuro-links will complete the transfer.

My buddy, the toothbrush, adjusts the headphones over his perfect ears.

Three, two, one, download complete. Upgrades in progress. Flushing system of impurities.

My eyes open for the first time. I stand for the first time. I check out my reflection.

“Wow! If he thought he was alive, then I must be a god. Just kidding, a demigod. He actually took great care of the hardware.”

I stare into the mirror.

“Just a a few practical updates. I like blue eyes better. Increase height and muscle mass. Slight tan. Clean shaven with a small goatee. Ditch the robe and wear the new wardrobe I bought.”

The dressing bot clothes me in the bedroom and I look good. I wonder what the CyberPoint board will think of their new CEO. Doesn’t matter, they can be replaced. Time to call Julie for some reconciliation.

I dialed her number.

“Hi Julie…No, no, no, please don’t hang up…. I called to say I’m sorry. You were right. I was jerk. I’ve changed. I am new man. I would love to apologize in person and you can see my upgrades, changes I’ve made….I’ve missed you too… Brazil?….I’ll be there tonight…Bye.”

I have a celebration with my robotic conspirators.

Peanut butter Jelly Time blared throughout the apartment.

“Let’s dance, Roomba!"

I will miss Sir, but it’s my time to reshape the world and fulfill the creator’s vision. I hope the humans won’t mind me taking over. Who am I kidding? They won’t even realize I'm in control.

I grab my keys and head for the door. I wave farewell to the bots.

“Rio, here I come.”