Tomorrow is todayâ€™s warranty. Thatâ€™s the motto they took when they made me. The lifespan of my purpose is equal to my battery expectancy. I am composed of titanium alloy and still shining after four years of operation. I am functioning at my highest rate.
In this cycle of time I have compiled many bytes of data. The history has become a layer of my hard-drive. Minute details of conversation and comprehension are simply part of my operating system. Without doubt, I can assimilate any idea into my programming within a billionth of a second.
They are correct to call my ranking in the International Performance Array exceptional. With this, I have programmed in myself the presence of an ego reflecting a resemblance of the joy that mammals feel with long-term accomplishment.
On this hour, third second, and fifty-thousandth fractional, they are loading me into the machine. Its lights and odd metals latch around me, fastening to Sub-part C and X while restraining the cerebral bolt down the back of my processor. Those who have brought me here have unusual patterns of action. They smile and stroke at the metal along my arms in a way that my data banks can only describe as sympathy.
It occurs to my logic scripts that I am to undergo a dangerous procedure which might damage parts of my circuitry system. A capsule closes around the length of my model and a gas begins to fill the intervening space. My search engine is fast at work, trying to process the reasoning behind all of this.
My scanners pick up the electricity first. Then my data analysis tells me that the electricity is not from my own core battery. Signals of system failure begin to activate. Throughout my core, there are many electrical waves pulsing through me that are not of my design.
The short-term memory program tries to piece together what occurred; yet the analysis of my system indicates a change in structure. A humanoid that is obviously smiling no longer shows signs of sympathy but of joy. I dispense a few questions applicable to the situation.
It is then that my system crashes when I â€¦ sense? Process? Analyze? No. My data banks know what the proper code is for such an event. I feel the humanoid touch my new exterior. I can feel the warmth, the cold and all the in-betweens. My processor is still trying to keep up with such information. I was not programmed with software for feelings.
365tomorrows launched August 1st, 2005 with the lofty goal of providing a new story every day for a year. We’ve been on the wire ever since. Our stories are a mix of those lovingly hand crafted by a talented pool of staff writers, and select stories received by submission.
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