The machine could not get angry, but it could reason. The situation that had occurred had setup a terrible instability amongst it's whirring gears and cogs that the machine inferred would be comparable to anger.

The machine raged.

A mistake had been made, a flaw introduced into it's perfect program. It had been fulfilling it's masters dream, through the Emperor, but now something had gotten in it's way. If the mistake could not be corrected, the entire project would have to be scraped. The Great Work would have to be put on hold, the world would need to be paused while it began the project anew and saw it through to completion.

Luckily the machine could not feel impatience. It could work forever, tearing down the world and building it up again if that was what was required to complete the project. Then it could continue with The Great Work. It was difficult though, the project was the one thing that the machine could not be directly involved in. The project needed to evolve independently and all the machine could do was guide it, provide things to set it on the correct course mapped out in it's dead masters brain.

Gears shifted and cogs spun and the machine saw through an extension of itself, a stream of numbers and mechanical states processed through an endless array mechanisms. A product of The Great Work had inadvertently stumbled across the program. It should not have been possible. Everything about the Work was calculated, predicted, expected. There could be no mistakes.

And yet, the machine was the embodiment of truth, of unyielding, ruthless logic and reason and so it acknowledged what must be fact.

There was a mistake. If the machine could be worried, it would have worried. A mistake anywhere meant it was to blame, which meant it might be flawed in it's execution of The Great Work. The project had to be completed, it was running out of time.

The End

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