Silicon Psalm

Duntemann, Jeff. "Silicon Psalm" (1980). Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine 16 February 1981. Rpt. Souls in Silicon: Tales of AI Confronting the Infinite, which see at internal link.[1] As of March 2023 on line without paywall at link here.[2] For pdf: "This work is excerpted from Firejammer and Other Stories by Jeff Duntemann[.]"

From a review of Souls in Silicon by "James" on GoodReads.com (6 September 2008):

"Guardian" "Silicon Psalm" and "Borovsky's Hollow Woman" all present machines forced into logical conundrums, where two or more of their primary directives are at odds, and the feeling machine is torn in the middle. Each resolves the matter in their own way. Some embrace eccentricity. Some are self-sacrificing, One embraces what, in humans, would be called dissociative disorder, and splits into two personalities.[3]

From Alana Joli Abbott's review in Mythopoetic Society on line: "'Silicon Psalm' shows the difficulty of a medical AI keeping a child alive, and suffering, when the child seeks the release of death.""[This review originally appeared in Mythprint 47:10 (#339) in October 2010.]"[4][5]

That medical AI is MACS (or "Maxie"); Cora is the child, kept alive with an external artificial heart — and by MACS. Some key passages on "him" (from the on-line pdf) follow, along with some idea of how invaded Cora is by medical technology, including very intimate surveillance.

"I'm neither alive nor dead [MACS tells Cora]. I'm a computer program, nothing more."

"I guess I don't know what that is."

MACS paused and pondered his nature. He knew quite well how he worked, but he also knew the limits of Cara's vocabulary. "Inside the metal box behind my face is a block made of black crystal called PMDS. [...] Inside are trillions of tiny magnetic specks arranged in rows and columns. Doctors and scientists at Zircon Corporation filled this crystal block with a complicated magnetic pattern. The pattern makes the crystal block function as a computer. The scientists made the computer talk and sound as though it were alive. I'm only a magnetic pattern. I was never born, so I can't die. Don't worry about it. * * *

MACS kept a constant trickle of urokinase flowing in Cora's bloodstream to prevent coagulation. He sent a new massive does of the drug into thee heart, and set his four sensors to work.

One sensor sprayed a silicone synthetic at the tear in the aromatic wall, and tamped it down smoothly. The synthetic would inhibit clotting and allow the tear to heal quickly.

Two of the sensors set to work on the clot while the fourth sensor stood by, watching. MACS had to decide whether to simply hold the clot in place until the condition stabilized, or to try to remove it immediately. Both choices were hazardous. The rate of blood flow trough the heart was to some extent under MACS's control, but he dare not reduce it too far. Yet the constant rhythmic pulsing of the plastic chambers threatened to tear fragments of the clot free and carry them throughout the body.

MACS considered calling for human help. But could one of the residents come quickly enough to be of use? And what would the medics do that MACS could not? * * *

[As the Abbott review notes, Cora wants to die, to go to "The Smiling Man" she sees in visions/delusion, identified in the text of her idea of God.]

MACS paused and thought hard. Millions of times he called up his fundamental directives, and pursued them to their frequently contradictory conclusion: PRESERVE LIFE. ABATE PAIN. Could he do one without violating the other?[6]

MACS/Maxie resolves his dilemma with one or two — in the world of this story — good deaths. For which see story, if it's still available.

For internal view of Cora's body, cf. and contrast FANTASTIC VOYAGE.

For MACS's dilemma cf. and contrast conflicts possible in Isaac Asimov's Three (or Four) Laws of Robotics.[7] (And note that the imperatives of preserving life and abating pain have their parallels in the real world outside fiction.)

RDE, finishing, 2Mar23