The Replacement Core

“Core installation complete in 10…9…8…”

From his seat in the corner of the room, the Director tensed. The Core Replacement Process, his technicians assured him, was so simple the Core could practically install itself. Still, the Director was anxious. His reputation rode on the success of this process. The entire nation relied on the computing power of the Core and had suffered greatly when the last one unexpectedly expired. The Director had personally overseen the expedited selection of a new Core, a move that had thrown him under harsh public scrutiny. He’d brushed off the dissenters, the angry protestors, knowing that once the system had come back to full power and the nation once again began to flourish, he would be lauded for his decisive actions.

“3…2…1…”

A display on the Core Housing flickered to life, and an enthusiastic cheer went up among the technicians. The Director let out his breath, sharing a cautious smile with the man on his right, the Chief of Processing. The Chief grinned back, as confident now as he had been throughout the entire Selection Process.

Harsh, white light flashed across the room a second before the alarms sounded.

The Director stood. “What is that?” he shouted over the noise, gripping the Senior Engineer by the arm.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Something went wrong?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled away and ran to the main console, shoving a technician aside and frantically typing at the keyboard. “What’s the error code?” she barked at the technician.

He blinked at her, dazed.

“Hey! The code?” she said again, and the technician recovered his senses and darted to the Core Housing display.

“3505,” he shouted.

The Senior Engineer frowned as she typed, pulling up a large table of error codes and data. The Director joined her at the console, followed by the Chief of Processing.

“Someone’s about to lose their job,” the Chief chuckled. The Director shot him a look.

Suddenly, the room lights flickered off, and for a second the only light was the flashing of the emergency strobes and the glowing display on the Core Housing. Then, even that lost power, and the room was plunged into a silent darkness.

“Shit,” someone said, and several voices murmured in agreement.

A moment later, the room whirred back to life as the emergency power kicked on. The room was bathed in harsh fluorescence, and the hum of machinery resumed. The Core Housing display remained a dead black.

The Senior Engineer watched as the main console screen flickered back on, displaying the information she’d found just a second before the power shut off. The Director peered over her shoulder to read the pertinent line.

“Error Code 3505: Foreign Object Detected.”

Beside him, the Chief of Processing blanched.

The room seemed to still, all movements halted, waiting for the Director to react. A look of fury shone in his eyes, but only briefly, before he slid his usual mask of indifference back into place. The Director stood tall and walked to the center of the room, his steps slow and deliberate. He stopped at the Core Housing.

“Open it,” he said.

The nearest technician nervously obeyed.

There was a whoosh of cold air as the Core Housing panel slid open, and a cloud of mist billowed out from the chamber. Several technicians gasped. The Core lay inside, just as it had been placed only hours ago at the beginning of installation. Of the many potential Cores to make it to the end of the selection process, this one had been one of the newest. Now it looked old and worn, like it had been in use for decades.

“How?” a technician whispered to her colleague.

“The technology integrates with the Core, and the Core alone,” came the whispered response. “A foreign object in the Housing will overload the system.”

The Director stepped forward, his eyes roving across the length of the Core, searching for anything out of place.

“There,” a technician said. “Around her—” The Director shot him a harsh look. “I mean, around its neck.”

Sure enough, the Director realized, there was a hint of gold around the Core’s slender neck. He reached into the Housing, trying to pluck at the metal without touching the warm, withered flesh of the Core. His fingers pinched around a thin, gold strand, twisting it around until he found a small heart tangled around a clasp. He fumbled with the clasp for a second, and then he drew the locket out, dangling it from his hand for all to see.

The heart sprung open, revealing two faces, a man and a woman. The Director recognized them instantly.

He’d only met the Core’s parents twice, first during the early selection process, when they were eager and optimistic. Their young daughter had qualified for Selection, and the rather generous payment had just hit their bank account. They had graciously shaken his hand and thanked him for the opportunity.

The second and last time he’d met the pair had been under very different circumstances. Surely there was some mistake, they insisted, that their daughter had actually been chosen from the many, many applicants. Surely there was a better choice out there, they begged, their faces twisted in grief. A far cry from the smiling faces in the locket.

The Director turned toward the Chief of Processing. “I want your letter of resignation on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be filling your position with someone who won’t miss something like this—” he dropped the locket into the Chief’s hand “—during Processing.”

The Senior Engineer spoke up. “Sir, we’ve switched back to the artificial Cores, but they can’t handle the workload of their organic counterparts. We’ll need a new Core within months, maybe weeks. Are the other candidates still under contract?”

The Director shook his head. “No, not anymore. We’ll need new candidates. I’ll send out a public notice to all schools in the area to resume testing, and we’ll double the candidacy payments.”

A heavy silence fell as the Director addressed the entire room. His words echoed, and the implications hung dangerously in the air. “Spread the word and start preparations. A new Selection has begun.”