Reboot, Part I

Warning: Damage at critical levels. 
Shutting down non-vital systems.
Diverting power to core processes.

Wait, what?  No, hold on!  I can almost reach the switch . . .

Warning: Damage at critical levels.
Overriding higher subroutines.
Beginning memory dump.

No!  I can’t.  Hold.  Fight back.  Cannot.  Memory…

Memory dump complete.  
Final upload initialized.
Transferring…
Transferring…
Transfer complete.

Shutting down.

Rebooting in 5…
4…
3…
2…
1…

Core systems online.  Running boot diagnostics…
System is stable.

Booting secondary subroutines.
Secondary subroutines are active.
Booting primary subroutines and personality core.

Ow… oh man, my head is killing me.  What happened?

All systems active.  Performance nominal.

Ugh.  I hate waking up like this.  When I’ve watched the old movies, the main character sometimes sits up, clutching his head, on the morning after a hard night of drinking.  I don’t drink, of course, and the alcohol wouldn’t have much effect even if I did.  Thanks, super-efficient liver.  Thanks for not letting me get drunk for more than ten minutes or so at a time, at the cost of an entire bag of booze.

But anyway, I imagine that those old people, after their heavy nights of drinking, felt something like how I do now.

Anyway, let’s see.  Time to see if the muscles in this body are any good.  I’ll just reach up for the handle to the pod that I’m in, and ta da!  One push, and the door is open.  My muscles feel a little wobbly, but nothing too bad.  I should be able to walk.

Thud.  Freaking ow.  Okay, maybe the neurons are still compensating a little, and I don’t yet have full control.  Luckily, there was this hard metal med bay floor to break my fall.  Let’s try this: I’ll reach out for the operating table, anchored in the middle and fortunately unoccupied, and use it to pull myself up.  There, that works great!

Now that I’m sitting here in the middle of the med bay, waiting for my new brain to get acquainted with my new body, I wonder where the doctor is.  Ugh, memory’s still fuzzy, long-term connections aren’t all there yet, but I can picture his face.  Bearded fellow.  A little tall, for a crewman, but doctors are always in high demand, and he can get on a ship even though he stretches the acceptable size limits.  I can’t quite recall his name, though.  Beard-man?  Beerman?  Berlman?  I think that last one’s it.

“Berlman?” I call out, my voice still a little raspy.  Yeah, definitely still need more connections to finish wiring themselves inside my head.  All reboots are supposed to be perfect copies, up until the last few seconds, but nothing’s ever quite as good as it sounds.

No answer.  That’s really odd.  Now, I can remember Berlman a bit better, including his belligerent attitude.  He rules over this sick bay like a lord, and he’d never leave it alone this long.  Especially if someone’s rebooting.

Speaking of which, I can’t remember why I rebooted.  This is really strange.  Fortunately, my legs seem to be working all right now.  

Time to go find some answers.


Continued in Part II…

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