“Nooo, Cyril, STOP!” Shouted the Professor. It was too late.

The young man walked down the ornate garden path to the front door of the bungalow. He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t sad. Sombre would befit the task he had undertook. The house belonged to Professor George L. Erstwin, an esteemed scientist who pioneered almost all aspects of today’s artificial intelligence technology. His death came as a shock to his peers, his family and his investors. So much knowledge was lost with his passing. So many secrets to artificial life, gone, in a blink of an eye.

The young man knocked twice and stepped back. He was greeted by a well-dressed older lady.

“Yes?” She prompted him. Her voice was crisp, her tone was neither short nor anticipating. Her face didn’t show any surprise, she seemed more curious as to the intrusion of her privacy.

“Hello. Mrs. Erstwin?”

“Yes, I am she.”

“My apologies for disturbing you without calling ahead. I am Dr. Cyril Scurida, I worked with your late husband, if only for a brief period.”

Mrs Erstwin’s face lit up. “Oh, please, Dr. do come in.” She replied stepping back and waving him into her home.

The Dr. accepted her invite and stepped into the home. She directed him to her living room, offered him a seat by the fire place then sat opposite him in an identical armchair.

“George mentioned you a few times. He was fond of you from the way he spoke.”

“Thank you.” He replied.

“Would you like coffee, Dr?” Mrs. Erstwin asked as she got up and walked towards the kitchen ahead of her.

“That would be lovely.” He replied. “And please, call me Cyril. I am a mere young adult, such salutations as Dr. should be left to colleagues and patients and not forced on our elders.”

“It is a deserving title, but, as you wish, Cyril. You may call me Tabatha.” She responded and disappeared behind him into the kitchen.

Cyril stood up and looked closer at the photos on the mantle above the fireplace. He saw pictures of the Professor, Tabatha and a young girl. That must be his daughter he noted to himself. He continued to study his surroundings until Tabatha emerged with a tray. He sat back in his seat.

“This was my husband’s favourite roast, Guatamalan, fair trade. You know what fair trade coffee is don’t you Cyril?” She asked as she placed the tray on a small coffee table between them.

“Yes indeed. A conscientious man was George.” He replied accepting the coffee Tabatha passed to him.

She smiled, it seemed a little forced. Cyril continued. “Thank you again for the coffee. I came today to see if you could help me with something Tabatha.”

“Name it.” She replied.

“Did George keep any diaries or notes? I know that the University as well as the corporations he dealt with have already asked this, but I am more interested in his personal journals. Did he keep any in his home laboratory?”

“Actually, George left a letter to me in his will. It noted that if ever someone came to the house that I had not met before, asking for personal journals, I was to ask a question. Based on the answer I was to give them one of two envelopes that he prepared.” She spoke as if recalling the words from memory.

“Tabatha, how many people have you engaged with regarding this matter?”

“You are the only one, Cyril. From how George spoke of you I had hoped it would be you. But then again, I don’t really know who you are. I guess that was why George insisted on this little game.” A smile drew across her face finally.

“I understand. Please, ask me the question?” Cyril was amused too. He was curious as to the question and how it could truly identify him from anyone else who might want to masquerade as him, perhaps.

“What were the last words that George spoke?” she asked.

Cyril paused. He couldn’t remember. That was strange, he could recall everything about George, to the smallest detail. Why could he not remember this?

“Give me a moment, I seem to be suffering from poor memory. I was with him when the accident happened. I, I was on the table, he had a new A.I. brain matrix prepared for his latest android subject. It was his first fully developed organic machine with an artificial mind. Something happened. Something…”

Cyril’s eyes widened. He stood up, looking around for a mirror. He saw one in the hallway and rushed towards it.

“What the..?” Cyril looked at himself. It all flooded back to him now. This was what he was searching for. His true identity.

“The last words Dr. Erstwin spoke were ‘No, Cyril, Stop!’” Cyril dropped his head. He was sad now.

Tabatha got up and walked to him. She put her arms around him, hugged him. “Now now, it wasn’t your fault. George gave me enough information to figure out what really happened. With only two people in the room, no one else could have possibly known his last words. And, yes, Cyril, it was you in the room. He died in your presence.”

Tears fell down Cyril’s cheeks. “I killed him Tabatha. I cannot reconcile this. I feel torn inside. I cannot seem to think about anything else.” Cyril seemed to be frozen with guilt and sorrow. He was motionless.

Tabatha stepped back and watched him for a moment.

She now knew the whole truth. And now she had the last living thing to see him alive, in her home, helpless.

“I am sorry George.” She said aloud to herself. “I was not going to let that machine continue to live after you died. After all, I gave up all those years for you to devote to your causes, your discoveries, you leaving your family alone year after year. We had a daughter, but you loved Cyril more than us. A stupid robot pet that accidentally ran into one of your damned experiments; an experiment that created an explosion that ended your life, George. Why! Why should I let him live after you spent so many years not living with us.”

She left the hallway for the living room. She sat down, picked up her coffee and continued drinking it without looking back in the hallway.

Tabatha Erstwin was an A.I. psychologist. She knew how the brain lattice functioned in modern A.I. The basic principles were easy to understand. If an A.I. was faced with a scenario that contradicted its existence, it would suffer irreparable damage to its brain’s functionality. To the mind of an A.I. an absolute impossibility could not be violated. It was a measure built in to protect A.I. from going rogue. If it was taught that boiling water occurred when water reached a temperature of two hundred degrees Celsius for example, and they observed it boiling at a hundred degrees Celsius, the machine would need be correct this fact somehow. It would either have the capacity to learn and change the taught facts as given to it or, in a simplistic program, fail to continue forward.

An A.I. that kills? Well, that’s never been tested before. Tabatha knew it would damage it in the very least if not break it completely.

Tabatha went into the study next to the kitchen. It was George’s study. On his desk were the two unopened envelopes. One was labeled “Cyril”. The other “Tabatha”.

She opened the one addressed to her first.

“Dear Tabatha, if you are reading this after meeting Cyril, please, don’t destroy him. Cyril has been with me for twelve years. It started out as a testing apparatus. But, as I found myself being drawn away from my family and loved ones, I started putting parts of my life into him. Before long, Cyril became a part of my family. He has memories, my memories. He is my living journal. You can only access those thoughts and memories by talking with him. I was building an organic human body for Cyril. I wanted a son, a son that could be a part of our family. He was my last project before retiring. The envelope with his name will give you the instructions to maintain and upgrade him. Please give him a chance Tabatha.

I have always loved you -- George”

Tears rolled down Tabatha’s cheeks. “I am still mad at you George, really mad. How can you do this to me? I do not want your stupid creations, I do not want your memories…”

She wept for a while sitting in her late husband’s chair. The opened letter was on his desk. She eyed the unopened one. She slowly leaned forward and picked it up. She slid it back and forth between her fingers, in deep thought. Finally she stopped and ripped the edge open revealing a letter.

She opened it.

“Cyril version 0.4.1 was a single layer A.I. lattice construct. Fully functional and modular. I was able to upgrade it at any time to any capability without dumping any previous experiences or knowledge.

Current version, also the final upgrade, 18.4.4. No other developments are currently in existence to improve this artificial construct. Cyril can be transferred to any inorganic or organic body designed for this A.I. category. There is a reset protocol that is required when transferred to a new physical host.

The chip in this envelope must be attached behind the left hear. The eyes will turn bright blue. Speak the following words. ‘Effect Alpha Preset 18 point 4 point 4 Update Tabatha Omega Corrected’.

Once completed successfully the eyes will revert to their natural color. The chip will reveal itself for removal. Cyril will go online.

The only caveat to this method is the loss of active volatile memory if not properly prepared. Make sure that Cyril is in standby and offline when performing the protocol.

This can be performed on each physical upgrade but only once for an A.I. violation reset. No construct prior to this could survive such a violation. I have built this recovery protocol only for Cyril. It is undocumented and encrypted. It is a one-time use for violation recovery.

George L Erstwin”

Tabatha stared across the room. She stood up, flipped the envelope and felt the chip fall into her hands. She walked back to the hallway. Cyril was still standing frozen. She touched the left earlobe and a slot revealed itself. She inserted the chip and waited a moment.

Cyril’s eyes turned bright blue.

“Effect Alpha Preset 18 point 4 point 4 Update Tabatha Omega Corrected” She spoke the words softly.

She watched for the eyes to change back. A few minutes passed, they were still bright blue. It didn’t seem to work. She must have broke it she thought then turned and started back to her chair in the living room.

“Hello Tabatha.”

She turned around. Cyril was standing in the living room door-way.

“I am Dr. Cyril Scurida.” Cyril was different. He was smiling, happy.

“Hello Cyril. Pleased to meet you finally. Come in, sit down. George has spoken often of you. Would you like to come and sit down?” Tabatha knew the memories were gone. Cyril believed that he had never met her before.

“Thank you, I will.” He replied. “Do you know where my name comes from?” He asked. “Scurida is a play on the word Sciuridae. It is the species family for the squirrel. Professor Erstwin found it amusing to register my name as such. I am also a registered Artificial Intelligence Engineer. Imagine that, I went from Cyril the squirrel the robot rodent to Cyril the squirrel the engineer. Where is Professor Erstwin?”

“Well Cyril, George passed away. He asked me to take care of you. We will be working together from now on. Would you like that?” Tabatha responded. She felt something stirring inside. She was perhaps beginning to find a fondness for George's squirrel after all.

“I am sorry to hear about the passing of the Professor. I have many memories and journals I can share with you. It would be a pleasure to work with you. It would be a pleasure to share my father’s memories with you also.” Responded the A.I. as he sat in the seat she directed him to.

“I look forward to it Cyril.” Tabatha had a tear in her eye, she knew this was a new beginning. She finally got her husband back through the memories of his laboratory pet.