Brain Drain

Part One

The old factory was humming along full steam ahead, no problems foreseen. Conveyor belts carried supplies to all parts of the system where they were plucked up and put to good use, lubricating, strengthening, in an agile circuit.

The console that ran the whole system–they called it The Brain. The cogs were interlocking as smooth as number ten oil.

And The Brain was producing cognitive results, even in this space age of zeroes and ones. The Brain was healthy and the Body Factory vigorous. It was a very good factory.

Until the hostile takeover.

This unwelcome new host changed everything. The new manager tinkered with every part of the system. He started with The Brain. He told The Brain it was doing things all wrong. He introduced modifications. He changed the master chip.

But this factory was never set up for such a radical “modernization.” The new memory chip had no immediate memory of the old memory’s immediate memory. Or any memory, in the end, when it came down to it. So things began to go wonky. Delivery parts never reached the dispatch belt. Orders got mixed up because the new memory chip got the names wrong on the labels. It gave wrong orders, or partial orders, as if it could no longer read nouns and verbs. Parts arrived at the wrong destination.

So the hostile takeover manager replaced the chip with a larger capacity chip. But that only made things worse. The system began to sputter. Long-standing orders were now missed, reassigned or forgotten. Conveyor belts began showing symptoms of wear and tear.

Hostile Manager examined The Brain. He installed a programme to plan a new schedule.

But that idea didn’t work out. The programme was a mismatch with the memory chip and The Brain couldn’t figure out how to convey messages for action. The factory stuttered.

And that was only at Stage One of this new adventure in Factory Land.

The Brain failed to learn the new tricks embedded in the new programme. Hostile Manager was shocked when The Brain spat sparks at him. He oiled the wheels. The Brain went all passive. The Foreman said, “I think she’s mad at you.” The Hostile Manager said, “You watch it. I can fire you.”

But Hostile Manager knew he needed Foreman. It was an internal thing. Anger erupted among the workers; accusations flew around. Red uniforms snarled at white uniforms. No new memory chip installed improved performance. There was clearly a mismatch somewhere, but Hostile Manager had introduced so many changes by now that it was a case of crossed wires. One order collided with another and things fell off the conveyor belts. There were smashed cases of dishes. There were messes to clean up. The Body Factory could no longer contain its oil and there were times when the danger level rose way above acceptance.

“Temperamental beast,” Hostile Manager snapped, and slapped the console.

Foreman reported that he could not keep The Brain on task any more. “It’s like she can’t concentrate, so she gets restless. And, I’m sorry to tell you, but I don’t think she can read your new programme. Seems like her brain goes a-wanderin’.”

Hostile Manager berated Foreman. But Foreman was heard to mutter, “He’s speaking the wrong language with her. No wonder she can’t follow orders; she doesn’t know formulae; no wonder she gets things all tangled up.”

All illustrations from Word Clip Art, no other credit discovered

…more on Wednesday