Chapter 4:
Contingency Plans
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Doctor Kato walked carefully into the office of Director Mamoru Murakami. The Director's office was neat, perfectly clean and organized. Shelves along each wall contained books, plaques, and papers. A hardwood desk dominated the space, with a widescreen computer monitor, a lamp, and a large blotter on top of it. The Director himself was seated in a high-backed rotating chair, typing on a keyboard connected to his personal mobile unit, a seven-inch-tall persocom made to look like an English butler, complete with white hair, tuxedo and mustauche. As Kato entered the room, Murakami looked up, taking his hands off the keybord and steepling his fingers.
"Well?" the Director said. "What happened?"
Kato shook his head. "To be honest, sir," he said, "I can't tell you. Whatever the program was, there's no trace of it on her hard drive."
"Impossible!" Murakami snapped. "That persocom is obviously showing emotional responses that we didn't program it with! The program has to be in there somewhere, causing it all!"
"I've checked every single line of code on the drive and compared it to our last available backup copy of Dita's software. In terms of electronic information, the only difference between them is the fact that our Dita has memories from three more weeks, none of which includes the program itself."
"Then how can it be having these blasted emotions!"
Kato rubbed his Chiin. "It might be a problem in the synthetic neural net. The hard drive stores Dita's memories and all electronic data, but the neural net is used for making decisions based on that data, as it is in most persocoms. It's possible that the program somehow altered the physical arrangement of the synthetic neurons, then deleted all traces of itself from the hard drive, leaving just the reconfigured neural pathways. In that case, it would be virtually impossible to return the patterns to normal."
The Director thought for a moment. "So," he finally said, "what you're telling me is, you can't erase these emotions from Dita or any other persocoms that have been affected, unless we bring in the Chobits-series persocom itself and analyze its software?"
Kato shook his head. "I don't think even analyzing one of the Chobits series would solve our problem. The fact is, I have no idea how a piece of electronic code, however complex, could cause a physical change in a persocom's neural net. We'd be better off just running a path-by-path analysis of the net's physical structure, then trying to work backwards from there."
"Then do it!" the Director exclaimed.
"Sir, I don't think you're aware of the implications of running a nanoscale analysis of a persocom's neural network. To do so would mean running enough current through the net to create a three-dimensional model using an SMT scanner. It would burn out every single pathway in the network, rendering it useless. Dita would be nothing but an empty shell and some stored memories."
"So? It's just a machine, Kato; it was designed to be expendable."
"Sir," Kato began, trying to suppress the horror he felt boiling inside him, "we're not talking about a machine anymore. Somehow, Dita has become a thinking, feeling individual, and I don't think that we have the right to--"
"Oh, be quiet, Kato!" Murakami snapped. "Dita is a piece of hardware - my hardware - and if you don't have the stomach to destroy it, I'll have your job, your security clearance, and every page of documentation you have, then hire someone more reliable to perform the analysis without you."
Murakami leaned forward over his desk toward Kato. "If I have to go before the board of directors and tell them that both of my combat persocoms have been ruined, every persocom they sell might just decide to go rogue like Zima did, and we have no way to prevent it, neither of our careers will be worth more than a postage stamp. At least this way, we can save face by developing a way to counteract Mihara's program before it causes any irreparable PR damage to the Syndicate."
Kato felt like shouting at the Director. You're placing your stock options ahead of a person's life? he wanted to say, but held his tongue. In Murakami's eyes, Dita was only a machine, and the only thing Kato might do by arguing the point would be to get himself fired. And to do so would leave Dita in the hands of the Director and whatever amoral lackey would be hired to replace him.
Kato nodded. "I ... I understand, sir. I was out of line. Please forgive me."
"Hmmph!" Murakami said, settling back in his chair. "Glad you've decided to see reason, Doctor," he said. "Now, how soon do you think you can run that analysis?"
"I'll need to set up some special equipment in the lab. The earliest I'll be able to perform the procedure would be around seven o'clock tonight."
"Fine," Murakami said, already returning his focus to whatever he had been typing. "In case the persocom starts to suspect anything, I'll have every security drone in the building sent to guard the lab. If it tries to escape, we'll cripple its chassis and perform the procedure by force." And if you try anything suspicious, the Director's pointed look finished, I just might arrange an unfortunate mishap in the laboratory.
"Understood, sir. If I finish setting up sooner, I'll let you know."
"Good," said the Director, then went back to writing up his status report as the door slid shut.
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