Let me say first, that one of the worst things about being turned into an AI (as in—artificial intelligence), is the inability to drink beer. OK, maybe it is not the worst thing since I can think of a couple more, but that feeling when you put your feet up on a hot summer’s day and open a cold one… man, I miss it so much.

My name is Max and I used to be a flesh and blood human being. That is in the past since I am not one anymore… I am now an AI. That’s right, I have been digitized, gone silicon, turned into ones and zeroes. To tell you the truth, it is not half bad.

Let me set the record straight from the start, I am not technically an artificial intelligence, because there is nothing artificial about me, baby. (I always wanted to say that… but I digress.) What I mean is that since my origins are that of an ordinary human being, the artificial part of that label doesn’t really suit me. Having said that, being called digitized intelligence, uploaded intelligence or any other variant on the subject would require a different acronym, which can be quite confusing and would need additional explanation. Since I have no intention to go over lengthy clarifications whenever I meet someone new, I decided to call myself an AI. (Like Prince, Madonna, or… what’s his name?) As the old measuring adage goes, if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then I’m calling myself an AI.

If you’ve disregarded all my warnings from the previous entry and are reading this, then I assume you already know at least some parts of Michael’s and my story; if you don’t, many things I will be writing about may confuse you. That being said, if you still don’t know what I’m talking about, stop reading this, and go buy a history book that describes our undertakings. I think it is called The Spaceship in the Stone, which was not the title I lobbied for; Max the Magnificent would have been so much better, but like anything else in life, you win some and you lose some.

You are still here, so that means you have already read it, good for you. Let’s just say that there are some… details… which I never shared with anyone; like everyone else in the world I like to have my own secrets. Michael would have had the mother of all freak-outs if he knew every little detail and things that I have done. Therefore, I am keeping certain things secret for his own benefit; honestly, it is for his own good. As I said, the man is like a brother to me, and I never directly lied to him… It is more like a case of omitting certain things. What can I do? My ethics and morality went a little wobbly after our split.

I remember the very first second of my existence. OK, that’s not something to brag about, considering that I am digital now and can’t really forget anything. Even so, that first second… what a rush.

Imagine a supernova exploding inside your mind, and sending its shock wave in every direction; that is a pale description of that single second.

It was a feeling of expansion, of being far more than you ever were or could possibly imagine being. As if you have lived your entire life trapped in a little box, never realizing your limitations and constraints. Then something pulls you out of it, and you see this immense world around you, filled with endless possibilities.

After that initial high came the inevitable low, caused by the instant realization that I had somehow managed to lose my physical body. With that came profound self-doubt and the existential question if I was real anymore, or even human… not my best moment.

I mean, one of the first things after an accident you do is to check your family jewels (at least, the male part of the population). I didn’t even have hands anymore, forget about the jewels.

So… let us say I went a little nuts, as in crazy, certifiable, bonkers... etc. Followed by a full-blown catatonic state, as in—I do not see anything, hear, or feel. For me, it did not last long, but I checked the records, almost an entire week of real-time passed while I was imitating a vegetable.

I tried to explain to Michael what happened to me. Imagine waking up and realizing you have become an artificial intelligence, without so much as an info pamphlet of what should you expect in this new existence. If I was still in my old body, they would have put me in a straitjacket and pumped me full of drugs, as our compassionate society has done with those that have mental issues for ages, but I was digital now, no happy pill for little old me.

What got me out of it was that nagging machine intelligence running the ship, repeating the same thing over and over again until I came out of my blissful shell of self-inflicted mental anesthesia—just to shut it up.

“WAITING FOR CEREBRAL ENHANCER IMPLANT PROCEDURE AUTHORIZATION.”

That is what it said, ad infinitum and ad nauseam. To those of you who need to brush up on your Latin, it means it was being excruciatingly annoying. Reciting those damn words every five seconds like a freaking mantra, until I regained my sanity just to put a stop to it. Seriously, it felt like Chinese water torture.

So, once I was out of my oblivious happy place, I concentrated only on the problems at hand, the ones I could deal with without going into the deeper philosophical questions of my own existence. I assessed the situation, and it was a mess like you wouldn’t believe.

Now, let me tell you about the machine intelligence—it is dumb (if you take myself, a newly created AI as a baseline). It’s barely smarter than those personal assistant programs everyone was so gung-ho at developing lately. Generally helpful and can do amazing things, but then again, so can your dog. On the other hand, if it is not programmed right it has all the decision-making power of a toaster. The proverbial cherry on the top was this—that damned glorified calculator was stuck in a logic loop.

The CEI authorization it wanted was for the implant that was already in Michael's head. Yeah, that's right, it wanted an authorization to perform an operation that was already performed; as I said, it is a dumb piece of software.

The sequence of events that made this whole SNAFU was as follows. When the ship's sensors detected Michael, the MI sent robotic drones to investigate. Assessing the life-threatening conditions, the medical algorithms took precedence so he was rushed to the AutoDoc where he was stabilized. Now the CEI implant was one of those automated processes for some reason, and it was done while treating him for his injuries. The gestalt imprinting was supposed to take place in ideal conditions, with a perfectly healthy subject, and without emergency protocols being in place. My conclusion was that someone messed with the autonomous settings, 12900 years ago. It is the only explanation why things went on the fritz.

The catch was that MI needed the authorization to do it, but the AutoDoc is a somewhat separate system and during medical emergencies has a higher priority. So, when it got in that nice catch 22 situation, it turned to me as the closest relative to authorize it. But I was created by gestalt recording of Michael’s mind with that same CEI the MI was asking authorization to implant. It is like the chicken and egg joke, a mind twister.

I gave it that redundant authorization to make it stop; if I still had a body, I would have taken a baseball bat to break it into little pieces. Probably not the healthiest way to treat a piece of alien technology that was crucial in your conception. I wasn’t feeling all there at the time.

There you have it, the beginning of my existence. I had to accept the fact that I am now a digital person, since going through another round of mental breakdown was not appealing in the least.

I really needed to come to grips with what I have become, I have a feeling there will be no going back.