"Jerry Davis - Strong Metallic Arm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

ignored the messages on the screen and typed in her code, hit the
ENTER button.
SHUTDOWN PROCEDURES STARTED, the screen read.
PROCESS 1 COMPLETED
PROCESS 2 COMPLETED
PROCESS 3 COMPLETED
PROCESS 4 COMPLETED
PROCESS 5 COMPLETED
ALL CONSCIOUS PROGRAMS REMOVED FROM MEMORY
"Yeah, take that," Erin told the screen. She flexed a muscle
that should have been in her stomach; a panel opened on her
robotic body and a reel-away cable popped out. She grasped the
fiber optic link at the end and gently inserted it into an
auxiliary input port on the deck's cabinet. To Erin it was like
putting a phone handset to her ear; she could suddenly hear all
sorts of interesting noises on the other end. She rasped out the
machine language address of the Mass Storage Device and, for a
brief few nanoseconds, heard the voice of the imposter AI. It was
trying to load through the cable and into Erin's robotic body. Had
her mind been in Random Access Memory instead of running on a Read
Only Memory pack, it would have been the end of her.



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In machine language she ordered the MSD to erase all data.
Then, reluctantly, she began making a Backup of the twisted,
crashing version of herself that was running, the only copy of
herself that was available to her at the moment. While the Backup
was in progress, she became aware that someone was banging on the
door, demanding entry. It was distorted, unclear, but Erin
recognized the voice as her husband's. She checked her Backup,
found it finished, winding down to the point of recording her
current conscious thoughts. She made sure to record a few last
notes then ended the process, uncoupling the cable from the port
and reeling it quickly back into her body. There was a painful
muscle spasm as the panel closed. Erin ambulated over to the door
and unlocked it.
Duane and the woman rushed inside, looking around wildly for
the intruder. "Well Duane, who's your friend?" Erin asked.
Duane whirled around, staring at the little robot. "What?"
"Duane, darling, didn't you miss me?"
An expression of shock and horror crossed Duane's warped,
distorted face. "My God, it's Erin."
"No way," the woman said, taking a step backward.
Duane fumbled with one hand inside his jacket. He looked
furious. From his inner jacket pocket he produced a small
projectile gun.