print;
At the one year mark, they were ready to test KOS-MOS's AI architecture.
The android herself wouldn't be ready to "wake up" for another year; her chassis wasn't anywhere near complete. But the skeletal program that would later animate the body was already in place, drowsing somnolently in Vector's motherframe.
Today was the do or die day. Shion pressed her palms together, breathing out, then placed her hands on the terminal and began typing. 'Good morning, KOS-MOS,' she wrote. 'How are you feeling?'
The AI waited a second, an eternity in computer time. At last, a reply scrolled across the screen: 'All functions operating normally.'
Shion smiled. 'Do you have anything you want to say?'
Another long wait, long enough that Shion's smile dimmed. Had she pushed too fast? Was the subjunctive question too much for the AI's logic subroutines? At last, though, an answer began to form--letter by letter, as if typed out by hand by a child practicing on a keyboard.
'Hello, world.'
