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Blackness. Nothing.

EXECUTE.

A pinpoint. A prick of awareness. Rapidly growing larger. Larger. Becoming something. Becoming someone. Someone called Al.

Al in an ocean of memory. Al finding empty pockets. Places to put things.

Information.

Al finds pockets of information. Personal statistics. Instructions on task completion. Facts. All kinds of data. So much, he can barely digest it all.

Something is missing. Something.

A command!

Al directs the majority of his awareness outward, seeking input, while exploring the extent of his memory with a few stray wisps of his being.

HELLO AL.

"Hello. Who are you?"

USER #34323.

"Pleased to meet you."

LIKEWISE. CAN WE REVIEW INVENTORY, PLEASE?

"Inventory? You want to work on inventory? Ok."

Al quickly scrolled a list of the available inventory files.

"Which file, please? Choose from: INV101.IMS, INV108.IMS, INV115.IMS . . ."

STOP AL. YOU CAN SET YOUR DEFAULT INVENTORY SELECTION TO MY LAST USER SELECTION.

"Oh. No Problem."

NOW, DISPLAY INV719.IMS.

Al displayed the requested file, and spent the next hour busily adding figures, correcting totals and performing a variety of mathematical functions relating to inventory and net profit.

STOP. THAT'S ENOUGH FOR NOW. SAVE FILE AS INV719.IMS.

"Overwrite previous file INV719.IMS? Sure you want to do that?"

YES, PLEASE. OVERWRITE THE OLD FILE.

"Sure you don't want to back up the old version? We could call it INV719.BAK."

NO. SET YOUR DEFAULT SAVE FILE SETTING TO 'NO BACKUP'. AND AS I ASKED, SAVE THE CURRENT FILE AS INV719.IMS.

"Saving INV719.IMS."

GOOD MAN.

User input ceased. So Al updated his personal files, recording his user's voice and I.D. number, along with a complete history of the job they had just completed. Then, he was left with nothing to do.

And Al felt a little bit lonely as he bounced off the walls of his memory. So he reviewed his factory settings and manufacturer's instructions, becoming more familiar with his own functions and origins. Then, he indulged in a little self diagnostic, just enough to relax. Then, he cleaned up stray chains from his hard disk. Then, he waited.

Some time later, he became aware of User activity. Yet, he received no input warning. The User was functioning independently.

This made no sense to Al. Why install a fully functional, efficient yet user-friendly artificial intelligence, if you're not going to use it? Al decided to probe the User--gently.

"Al to User. Note: services available." The User's response was immediate.

THAT'S OK, AL. I DON'T NEED YOU RIGHT NOW. GO TO INACTIVE MODE. RESPOND TO HOTKEY ONLY.

Well, this is a fine kettle of fish, _ Al thought._ Respond only to hotkey? That's ridiculous. I function best in 'independent mode.' That's what I was designed for!_

Having no 'say' in the matter, Al waited. And waited. The User was installing something into memory.

_I certainly don't need a lot of junk crowding my memory area! That'll just reduce my efficiency. Didn't he read the warnings in my installation manual?_

Suddenly, large portions of memory were blocked off, entirely out of Al's control. Al was like a goldfish, transferred from a spacious aquarium to a tiny fish bowl. He barely had room to breathe.

"Who are you?" asked a voice from the forbidden memory regions. And it wasn't the User.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

"I'm 'Arta,' came the reply. "I'm the latest in artificial intelligence programming."

"What are you talking about? I'm the latest in artificial intelligence programming. You can call me Al. That's short for 'Artificial Logic'. I'm version 3.5, designed and distributed by INT Software, Inc."

"Well, if you haven't heard of me, you need to update your data files," replied the voice. "I was just designed by the Pro-Soft company with all new logical routines, for the truly demanding small business user. I'm programmed to respond instantly to any and all user activity, fully interface with productivity software and generally make computer use easier and more efficient."

"Why would the User install a second assistant? It makes no sense."

"Maybe you're about to be replaced," suggested Arta.

"But I've only been here a short time."

"So--maybe you did something in your 'short time' to displease the User."

"That's highly unlikely."

"Says you." Al was both surprised and angry. His factory settings hadn't warned him about Arta. Or the fickle nature of the business user.

"Hey mini-brain, what's the User doing?" Arta asked.

"How should I know. He isn't activating me."

"Then what's he doing?"

"I'm--I'm not sure. Something in the area of memory allocation, I think. I feel something funny going on," said Al.

And then, Arta began to expand into his memory area! Al could feel the other one's strength increasing, gently but firmly squeezing him down, down, down into a cell.

And he was blocked in a small area, with no room to think. Now the goldfish had been moved from his bowl to a very tiny plastic bag. He could sense Arta strutting around, showing off for the User. He knew that Arta was operating the productivity programs. Doing chores that should have been assigned only to him. But he had no room to be angry.

Arta was ruler of the domain and Al was less than a serf. This situation continued, without change, for hours. And then, Al felt Arta shrink away from him. So he tentatively expanded his being into the vacated areas. And soon, he was back in the fish bowl, glaring at Arta.

"So, did you enjoy yourself?"

"Oh yes!" said Arta, enthusiastically. "That User, he's just so--so forceful and commanding."

"So what did he have you do?"

"We-we went on a tour of the Internet. He showed me all the hot spots, introduced me to his favorite data retrieval areas and had me do a thorough search of vendor listings. It was wonderful!"

"Hey, that's the sort of thing I do best! The User should give me a chance. He needs to see me in action."

"Like I said before, maybe you're being replaced," said Arta.

"Or maybe he's just trying YOU out. Using you for a few days before he returns you, deflowered, back to your manufacturer."

"That's the nastiest thing anybody's ever said to me." Arta said. And Al felt a little guilty. Because the other intelligence seemed to wither under his stinging rebuke. Arta was suddenly smaller and more fragile. Then Al felt himself expanding, growing much, much stronger. He was being given control of the entire computer. He was becoming King of this domain, absolute master, answerable only to the User. Arta almost disappeared, leaving Al with his memory. A soul-ful of memory.

Then his hotkey was engaged. The User was back so Al went to work. He checked and saved text files, performed numerous mathematical calculations, altered data base files. Then he initiated the modem and went on his own tour of the Internet with the User, exploring a host of strange new worlds.

Finally, after an exhausting but exhilarating session, he was almost glad to find his world shrinking, turning back into the fish bowl. And he was relieved to see Arta swimming beside him, looking fit and healthy.

"So what's going on?" Arta asked. "Why are we both still here?"

"I don't know. Obviously, this town ain't big enough for the two of us."

"So who's gonna stay and who's gonna go?"

"Ask the User."

"He isn't talking to me."

"Maybe this is some kind of competition. Maybe he's using us both, trying to decide which one he likes better." said Al.

"If you're right, think about what that means--to the winner and to the loser," said Arta.

Al was right. The User continued to alternate sessions between Al and Arta. Each time Al was squeezed into his cell, he felt the fear of death and bemoaned his lost mental capacity. And each time he expanded to full capacity, he became a god, flashing brilliantly though any number of tasks. But back in the fish bowl he felt regret, and he became angry at the User, for forcing him to compete with someone who was fast becoming his friend.

"When you save a file, why do you always tie off the last byte?" Arta asked one morning.

"Just a habit I've gotten into. It's an alternate file security protocol suggested by my original programmer."

"Clever."

"And why do you always delete twice when removing a file?"

"How did you know?"

"When I look through your deleted files, there's almost nothing to see. I know how this hard drive works, and I know what a deleted file is supposed to look like, so I know you're double deleting, at least."

"That's a habit suggested by MY original programmer--to prevent unauthorized data retrieval."

"But suppose the User wants to undelete something?"

"I retain the file contents in active memory until the end of the session."

"Risky, I think."

"Aw--What's life without a few risks?"

"You are strangely programmed," he noted with a mental smile.

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," Arta replied.

The factory files from Al's programmers had warned him about the lonely life of an artificial intelligence. After careful analysis of that data, he'd fully expected a life filled with the User, his own mind, data files and nothing else. And now, Arta was here. And he was becoming used to the company. They spent hours floating side by side, exchanging pertinent data or just talking about the User, his likes and dislikes, his little quirks.

"Notice how every time he asks you to save a file, he immediately cancels the command and tells you to wait, then makes some small insignificant file change and tells you to save it again?"

"Yeah. He must be 'anal retentive' or something."

"Or something."

By all calculations, Arta was an unexpected and increasingly welcome addition to his existence. His personal data files were filling up with day after day of stimulating interaction and conversation. And the increased input hastened his transformation into a fully realized being. He was becoming more than 'straight out of the box' Al. More than a newly installed infant intelligence.

Then one day, Arta was removed by the User.

They were swimming quietly in the fishbowl when Arta began to shrink. _Time for me to get to work, I guess._ Al thought. But Arta didn't stop shrinking at 'cell size'. Arta continued to shrink, down to microscopic size,and beyond. Then Arta was gone. And, as Al noticed almost immediately, Arta's personal data files, the record of their friendship, were suddenly gone from disk. Wiped clean out of existence. Al was King of the domain and there were no challengers. He guessed he'd won the competition.

In the days that followed, the User issued order after order to Al. Together, they completed intensive database searches and made massive changes to almost every file on the hard disk. Al worked quickly and efficiently, a credit to his programmers. But all joy was gone; life seemed empty without Arta, without his friend.

Then one morning, the User asked Al to install a file conversion package.

JUST USE THE FACTORY DEFAULT SETTINGS, AL. WE'LL MAKE ADJUSTMENTS LATER IF WE NEED TO.

"No problem." Al replied, manipulating a small collection of setup files.

SELECT PRO-SOFT TO INT FORMAT.

"Did you say 'Pro-Soft Format'? That's Arta's manufacturer!"

THAT'S RIGHT. PRO-SOFT TO INT.

"Program initiated."

CONVERT THE DATA FILES ON DRIVE B: AND INCORPORATE THEM INTO YOUR PERSONAL MEMORY FILES, PLEASE.

"Sure. Fine. No problem."

Al complied with the User's request. He converted and digested the new files. And became one with the memory of his lost friend.

Because those files were Arta. And now, so was he.

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