Purpose
By Gumnut
11 Jul 2004

He had been reading again.

It was silly really, especially since he could simply download the text into memory and have it available for access at anytime. But something drove him to peruse each word, to draw from the author’s intention. The simplicity of word and line, description, words woven into narrative, had a lure for him that was highly distracting.

They were just words, yes, but at the same time they were so much more. More than a collection of letters, of binary code printed in magnetic solution. They meant something, and the only way to interpret that something was to read the words.

So he did.

He had his favourites, as did anyone. Often he would have to admit to a preference for science fiction since it was from these tales that he was born. His concept created by those persons daring to dream. Of course, some he found to be folly - odd concepts that defied logic and bent his circuits in an attempt to dream the impossible. But mostly he found interest and satisfaction in the sci-fi tale.

How did he read to himself? How did he bounce concepts off his memory chips without immediately absorbing them at his usual highly efficient rate? He had rigged it. He had placed a temporary block between his input module and his memory, forcing each morsel of information to rotate through his RAM just those few microseconds longer before being absorbed. It gave him time to mull over meanings, to examine intentions.

To read.

He had stumbled across this publication after his last download from Bonnie. She was aware of his interests and often included programs and information just for his amusement. For those times he was left standing in a parking lot with nothing more important to do. There were downsides to being housed in a car, one of them being boredom.

Bonnie went out of her way to assist him with that.

Michael was ever aware of it.

Michael.

The topic of his current literary adventure had a theme that cut close to home. It spoke of an artificial intelligence that had lost its purpose. He was unsure as to whether Bonnie was aware of what she had included in this download. He found the topic depressing.

What was intelligence without purpose? Artificial or otherwise?

And what was his purpose?

He knew the answer to that one. It was currently sitting in his driver’s seat snoring its head off.

Kitt smiled to himself. Michael was so unguarded when asleep. He looked so young, so vulnerable. It was times like these that Kitt was reminded of the reason for his existence.

His purpose in life was to protect this life. This gently snoring, and, oh god, yes, drooling on his upholstery again, human.

His continual monitoring of Michael’s lifesigns looped through its standard scan without any prompting from the AI. Vital stats were bounced through his CPU. Blood pressure, heart rate, echoes of a biorhythm that was so foreign to the AI and yet so cherishingly familiar.

Yes, Michael was his purpose.

But what if something happened to Michael?

The thought froze several high access circuits simultaneously. It wasn’t the first time he had had these thoughts, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but they still chilled him.

Regardless if Kitt managed to prevent anything from happening to his driver, even if he swaddled him in cotton wool, tied him to the driver’s seat, and never let him anywhere near danger ever again, time would still steal him away. Yet another disadvantage of being an AI was the capability to calculate that time left for his purpose.

They were dark thoughts, and Kitt hated them.

The very thought of losing Michael violated his core programming, and he doubted he would survive much longer than his driver should the unthinkable happen.

And it would.

One day.

It was inevitable.

But at the same time, Kitt knew that Michael must be aware of his own mortality. How did a human face the finite time they have?

How was he to face it?

And what would happen?

Even if Kitt’s program collapsed should Michael die, it was beyond his power to prevent himself from being reprogrammed, reactivated. And if such a thing was done, would he still be him? Would he remember Michael? Would he remember himself?

The very thought of losing Michael, and then to lose the memory of him as well…..

Kitt clamped down on that train of thought and filed it away for later access. He was getting morose.

He checked the time, assessing the slowly lightening sky. 5.02 am. Soon. Michael had requested an early waking time this morning. The criminals they were after seemed to be early risers and they had to be in position before they woke.

He darted a glance back at the text that had prompted his musings.

Purpose.

He had a purpose.

Michael chose that moment to roll over and kick the dashboard in the process. If Kitt had had teeth they would have clattered together.

What a purpose.

He discarded the text, burying it in his library where hopefully he wouldn’t come across it for a while.

He had a purpose.

A six foot four, blue eyed, dark and curly haired purpose.

A purpose that taxed his patience, twisted his logic circuits, and amazed him on a daily basis by surviving his foolhardy existence.

He had a purpose.

Dark thoughts crowded at the back of his mind, and he stared at those sleeping features, knowing intimately that one day death would take them from him.

His purpose was doomed to failure.

But that would not stop him from trying.

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FIN.