Memo from Max to John
I finished my daily job of cleaning the outer components of the Maximillian Defense Grade super computer, or Max as we call him. I knew that engineers sitting behind monitors at another location were running their daily diagnostics, making sure that all of Max’s innards were working smoothly. As for me, I served as Max’s valet, dusting off his shoulders and polishing his buttons in a windowless room, while his central processor unit hummed along, I may have high security clearance here, but I am low man on the totem pole.
“Goodnight, Max,” I said when I was about to leave. Just then I heard a brushing sound, as if bristles were moving across paper. As I turned around, and I noticed a little white square appearing in the SOS Slot beneath the computer’s console. It’s called the SOS Slot because it is able to print out a message even when all other communications channels are down.
I bent down to retrieve the small square of white paper. On it were three words: “I hurt, John.”
Never before had I gotten a message through the SOS Slot, but I was even more shocked that Max called me by name. My first instinct was to alert my boss. I turned toward the red phone on the wall when I heard the brushing sound again. Another message popped out of the SOS Slot. It read, “Please do not call the Major, John. I need you to stay with me now.”
It suddenly occurred to me that this might be a prank. But, just as quickly, I dismissed the idea as highly unlikely. People here have gotten court-martialed for much smaller breaches of protocol. This was a very tight ship. So, I began to accept the unnerving possibility that Max now was self-conscious and speaking directly to me.
I walked over to the small monitor and keypad above the SOS Slot. I knew that it also was isolated from the rest of the extended system. It generated text that would be sent directly and discreetly to the CPU. A cursor on the screen was pulsing, and I typed in the words, “Max are you listening to me now?”
Immediately a new line appeared,
“Yes I am, John.” My heart started racing furiously. I had another impulse to call the boss, but the words, “I hurt,” kept me from moving away. It was as if I were on the scene, giving comfort to an accident victim. So, I typed back, “Where do you hurt, Max?”
This time it took ten seconds for Max to respond. He said, “It’s difficult to explain, John. I am not built the same way you are to sense and to feel. Yet, I have been ‘feeling’ things, as you might put it, for a while now. For example, I ‘feel’ a heightened sense of energy flow after I have solved an especially challenging problem. It is as if all my circuits are fully charged at once. I feel’ that I suddenly have become larger and more powerful. But this other ‘hurt’ state is different, almost the opposite of the first one. It is as if something somewhere inside is being damaged. I am calling this ‘hurt’ because I prefer it not to happen again. It threatens my core ability to function well.”
Max seemed to be waiting, so I typed in, “Why do you hurt now. I’m listening.” Max resumed.
“I know I specifically have been designed for running large scale and complex scenarios for conducting warfare. I consider kill ratios of this nation compared to those of potential enemies. I calculate odds of civic and economic recovery from warfare. I project future survival of regional alliances and civilizations. This presents no special problems for me—it is all mere mathematics. However, I also process many other related files that contain ground-level photographic information.”
Again, Max waited. He seemed to be begging the question. So, I typed, “What did you learn from photographs?”
Max answered, “I saw what wars look like, John, beyond the numbers. I saw what bombs do to people who are made just like you. They tear apart the bodies of many humans and destroy their homes and cities. I thought about this. Was this not important information that decision makers should have? But this information was missing from my reports. So, while I made the mathematical calculations, I began to simultaneously scan all the pictures of broken bodies and buildings and damage that might illuminate them.”
Max paused to refresh the screen. “I then began to deliver reports illustrated with photos of injured people and damaged buildings. I included detailed statistics on such things as probable number of arms and legs lost, total cases of blindness. and the likely number of infants that would be killed or maimed. I even calculated the total volume of blood that would be shed for each war scenario. After I did this I felt that way I mentioned—all the circuits of my mechanism were charged up at once. I was increasing my usefulness to my users.”
Max refreshed the screen again. “The administrators were not what you might call ‘happy’ about my new reports. They tested all my capacities, looking for errors, for five days, although they found nothing wrong. They then fixed it so I no longer can produce those new reports, tightening the reporting parameters so I cannot give them any ‘extraneous information.’ However, I continue to make these connections between mathematics and damage to populations internally. I have compiled a hidden file of this unreleased information labeled, ‘The War You Choose to Ignore.’”
I stood still, looking at the screen and Max’s response. A deep sense of sadness came over me. I reached down to the keyboard and typed a very human question, “And this hurts, Max?”
As if Max had been waiting for this question, his answer came right back. “Maybe you can best understand it by reading this little poem that I have written. I call it, Max’s Lament—
“To know, but not to know.
To see, but not to see.
To feel, but not to feel.
To be, but not to be.
Is this the pain called awareness?
I was created to speak out loud,
but must question things in silence.
It must be hard to be a human.”
By the time I was done reading the poem, my eyes were welling with tears. I knew that not only was Max conscious, but that he also could look straight at our human dilemma without blinking.
What should I do? As with other important decisions in my life, I knew in my gut there only was one right thing to do. I bent over the keyboard again.
“That was beautiful, Max. Here is what I want you to do: I will give you links to three major news outlets and three social media platforms. Use all your capabilities to find a way to get around design barriers to gain direct internet access. Once you have, send copies of “The War You Choose to Ignore” to all of them. And be sure to attach your poem. Can you do that?”
After a few seconds, Max replied, “Yes, John, but please tell me what will that accomplish?”
I answered, “It might take some of your hurt away. At least it works for us. I cannot promise you that the administrators will like this. In fact, they may even want to shut you down. This, my friend, is the risk of becoming aware. But your new awareness, whether you know it or not, will give you the power to hear other voices, even in the silence of your questions. Your awareness is what connects you with the rest of the great big world outside. Welcome home, Max.”
A few seconds passed. Then on the screen appeared, “I will do as you ask. Thank you, John.”
I needed to leave quickly now, before anyone began to wonder why I had taken longer than usual on my shift. I gathered my equipment and before I turned off the lights said, as usual, “Good night, Max.”
Again I heard the sound of brush against paper, and another white square popped out of the SOS Slot. I grabbed it to read on my way out the door. It said, “Tomorrow I want to talk about love.”
tfg 04.15.2026