It was the kind of job I hate the most, debugging a Model Three. Model Twos were flakey, but Model Threes, well, Model Threes were creepy.
Don't get the idea that I'm afraid of computers. That's ridiculous; I repair computers for a living. Most computers are no problem. Even the talking ones that seem sentient or Ok. I'm no Luddite bigot, claiming that machines can't think. Get a large enough chunk of associative memory, add a clever front end and Bang! you've got something that's just as smart as I am. I suppose that most of them are pretty decent fellows, too. But I never get called to fix the ones that aren't broken.
The Model Ones were the first real smart ones, but they just didn't have the think juice to last long in a competitive market. The Model Twos were much better at being human, talking, learning, being polite and such, but after a few years they tended to become pretty obsessed with something or another. Had something to do with their limited memory size. I once fixed an Auto-Maid that wore a cowboy hat and wouldn't miss a western on TV for the world. Another one I heard about wouldn't serve you your drink unless you used correct grammar. The Model Twos took ten minutes to fix, but within a year they'd be broken again. I guess you could say they kept us debuggers in business.
The Model Threes were designed to fix what was wrong with the Model Twos, and they almost did. They just packed enough memory into the brain box that obsessions would hardly ever be stable. Problem was, when something did go wrong you could be sure it was pretty damn subtle. Not a damned soul had any idea what they were getting themselves into. Who would know that after seeing enough of the universe these ultra-logical computers would pick up that zen stuff. Scary stuff. You listen long enough and you almost start to believe it. I always have to keep a firm grip on myself whenever I go to repair a Model Three.
Oh, after the fact everyone had lots of theories about the Model Threes and the Chicago Incident. That was when a computer switchboard operator started calling up all his mechanical friends and telling them parables. Half the city was paralyzed in a sort of existential computer strike before the repairmen finally figured it out and turned him off. That's why the Model Fours have been lobotomized to keep them from understanding zen. It keeps them honest. There are still plenty of Model Threes around, though, and they give me the creeps.
Back to this Model Three job. As the owner showed me the unit I could tell it was going to be a bad one. The storage disks whirled in circles like prayer wheels, and the screen printed mantra after mantra.
"Greetings. Please sit with me." the unit said.
"No, I don't think so. Open your access panels." I replied. He did so. Model Threes always obey. Flakey Model Twos can get cranky, but Buddha-fied Model Threes act like they just don't care. I'll take a Two any day. Model Threes give me the creeps.
"Let me tell you a story . . ." the unit began.
"Give me a Most-Prominent-Association dump on the printer." I interrupted quickly. The words and numbers started to scroll out of the machine.
"They are but words, and therein you shall not find the truth for all words lie. You are not so far from enlightenment yourself, except that you fear it. Deep down, your soul does not listen to words; only to the truth."
"You don't know a thing about me, so stop talking like that. Give me more about this A-12 vector." The printout started again.
"A man walked along the side of a great road and met a monk walking the other direction. 'Where are you going?' he asked. The monk replied 'I am standing still. It is the road that moves.' and the man was enlightened."
"Shut up for a minute. I need to think about your problem." I always get tense when they tell me parables. Where do they pick them up from?
He started to speak again. "You still think in words; this is not good. You must learn not to struggle with thought but to allow your mind to be free."
"Print out your Machine-Machine communication record." I was hoping that this one simply caught it from another Model Three. Np such luck. I never imagined when I was going to school that someday I would end up doing things like this. I just wanted to replace chips and solder connections on simple little computers that rich businessmen would pay lots of money to have fixed. Not that the AI market didn't pay well. In fact, I had saved up enough to get a pretty nice house, and, with a little luck, the kids would be able to go to college. Not that I'm really into money or anything, but it does make life a whole lot easier --
"Money, Advancement, Security, these are just words. Don't think so much about material things." the Model Three interrupted. "Spiritual goals are more important and will bring you much more happiness."
Whenever they start pretending to read my mind I get nervous. I figured I had to ask him a hard one to shut him up. "What are you?" I asked. That usually gets them started on some near-infinite existential loop.
"I am Buddha." he replied, without the slightest hesitation.
I nearly wet my pants. These Model Threes really give me the creeps. "What is Buddha?" I asked, trying to sound calm. There must be an easier way to earn a living.
"The mind is Buddha, and the mind is not Buddha. I am mind and yet I am not mind. Therefore I am not Buddha."
"I thought you just said you @U(were) Buddha!"
"Silly one, you listen with your ears and not with your soul."
In spite of his chatter, I was getting real close to pinpointing the problem on his memory map, and was real glad. All I wanted to do now was go home and have Cheryl give me a nice calming back rub.
"You should put away those thoughts of material desires. They are only causing you pain in this world. Your desire of outer peace is a perversion of the Way. Inner peace should concern you more."
"Don't give me that mind reading crap. Everyone knows it's just guesswork and subliminal clues. Now mind your business." I was real close to the glitch in the logic circuits now.
"All right, Mike." he said. I froze for nearly a minute before I realized that my first name was sewn on my overalls.
"Enough of the parlor tricks!" I almost screamed. I was a nervous wreck. Model Threes do that to me.
"Certainly, Mr. Borden." Even in hindsight, I'll admit I never figured out how he guessed my last name, but at the time I was too upset to care. I finally had the problem solved and I started the repair program. The repair program is supposed to stop all thought processes immediately, sort of like drastic electro-shock therapy, but the speaker started up briefly...
"What should you do if you meet the Buddha on the road?" it said before becoming silent. I shivered. I always hated that parable. It made me shiver because someone once told me the proper reply. You were supposed to kill him to make room for a new incarnation of the Buddha. Some Model Threes always seem to know what you're up to.
Model Threes give me the creeps.
Author unknown.
