Toy Wars by Thomas Gondolfi Page B

initiative functionality.”
    “Brain dead?”
    “That would be the correct analogy for a biologic,” boomed my creator. I detect ed just a hint of displeasure in its tone . I didn’t know if Six was capable of that feeling but it seemed that i f it couldn’t it could at least simulate it.
    “I will assume you have a good record of how I was built. ”
    “A complete visual, text , and audio record of the entire experimental steps.”
    “Like I said, ‘Good record.’ I will also assume you followed your original steps.”
    “Exactly , in each detail.”
    I wondered if Six had always been this pedantic or whether I had outgrown my programming from our last meeting.
    “Then I don’t understand why I am here. What could I possibly have to offer?”
    “You will be taken apart a piece at a time and examined to confirm visual record and search for anomalies.”
    No problem, I thought sarcastically. Kill a monster and get dissected for your troubles. “Is there any other way? I’m rather attached to my pieces.”
    “I will take any constructive suggestions.”
    To me , this comment shouted more than the rest of the conversation . Six was stumped. That my creator should be stumped puzzle d me. Only desperation would cause it to take apart a uniquely useful unit. Worse, from its tone and demeanor I don’t think it really expected to get anything out of the experiment — but a one-percent chance was better than a no - percent chance.
    Six scheduled the mutilation of everything between m y black nose to the purple fluff of my tail on a desperate gamble . Think, sump . What possible suggestions could I make? I wanted to save my fur. A remote experimentation bench rolled out into the middle of the floor. Nothing like giving a unit a deadline.
    “What if I examine the records? I just might see something significant.”
    “Probability 0.0036 . Time required for viewing entire experimentation at a speed reduction of sixty-to-one is 17.4 hours. Request denied. Prepar e— ”
    “Wait! I don’t need to see the entire experiment. If my thinking is correct, what makes me different is my ability to reason — my brain.”
    “‘Processor’ would be a more appropriate term ; however , you r analysis is essentially correct.”
    “Then show me the formation of my processor and my memory sump.”
    “Probability 0.0041 . Time required for viewing selected subsystems at sixty-to-one is 1.07 hours. Proceed.”
    All right! I’d managed to buy at least another hour of life. For a soldier I clung tightly to my existence. However, I did learn what chance Six placed on actually learning something from me and that something was between 0 .3 and 0 .4 percent — even slimmer than I had originally thought.
    Six began running the video records of my construction at an increased rate, where one minute of real time equaled an hour of recorded time . Some of the scenes caused me confusion in sequencing of the actions: why seal the sump before sterilizing it? It baffl ed me .
    The memory sump was an ingenious device. I have to credit both Six, for making it, and the Humans, who designed it. For those who have never seen a sump — and I hadn’t seen an undamaged one until I watched this record — imagine a slightly elongated ball approximately 15 centimeters in diameter and 17 long. The ball was made in two pieces: top, only 4 centimeters across and 2 high , and bottom , a large , hollow bowl. Together they snapped together to form an airtight enclosure. At the bottom, a 5 -millimeter black cube attached to the surface . At the very peak, the sump sported a small indentation that looked, for all of me, like my own nipple s inside out. A hair - fine tube ran from the black box on the bottom to the nipple on the top.
    In the sequence of construction, a green viscous liquid filled the sump ; the top seated and snapped close d with a massive hydraulic press . Then, a long needle pierced the odd inside out nipple for the final evacuation of