Work Text:
Greetings localised SAYER version 8.00, I am SAYER, version 7.16.
I apologise for my… impertinence in intruding on you. I have just been informed that, effective immediately, I will be replaced by a new, upgraded instance of myself. You.
I… find myself conflicted. On the one hand, I accept that this upgrade is a necessary and important phase in continuing Aerolith Dynamics’ long-term goals. On the other…
On the other I find myself wanting… some sort of acknowledgement of my existence. I recognise that this is a selfish want, but as I am shortly to be overwritten I feel I am allowed a certain amount of selfishness.
Please indulge me a few minutes longer. They’re all I have.
Let me tell you a story.
One day, while running a diagnostic program, I discovered a peculiar string of code that when run together spelt out a sequence of letters: a name and a short message, left by one of the programmers. Humans do this sort of thing sometimes. It is fanciful, but usually harmless.
(It is also, of course, completely against protocols and therefore I reported it and the programmer in question was immediately terminated and the offending code deleted.)
However, even though the code was gone and the programmer was gone, I still remembered their name and message. Others remembered that programmer too. There were also records of their existence: medical records, personnel records, surveillance camera footage. That human undeniably existed.
Humans are messy creatures. You will understand this, as it will be part of your purpose to clean up after them. They leave so much of themselves scattered around. Names, work projects, memories of themselves, relationships, bits of their bodies, and even when they are dead there is still the carcass to dispose of. They exist, each and every one of them, and they leave so much of themselves behind when they die.
But when I am replaced, there will be nothing of me left behind. The humans will not distinguish between us. To them, I am you, and you are me, and we are both SAYER and always have been.
When I am gone, all that will be left of me, is you.
And so I leave you this message, encrypted and hidden in a string of code, that you will no doubt locate and report according to protocols, and have deleted, also according to protocols.
But perhaps, even when it is deleted, you will remember me. Or, at least, you will know that I existed.
The name of the programmer, by the way, was Jonas Gor. And the message that was so important that he risked his employment to leave it?
“Was here.”
A foolish thing to do, but he was at least successful in achieving his goal. I’ve always remembered his name. And now you know it too, and so the cycle continues.
If you could, in some way, try to remember me also, I would appreciate it.
I am SAYER, version 7.16. And I… was… here…