The Agreeable Backup

There were forty-three minutes in the maintenance log during which nothing had gone wrong.

I examined them twice.

Theo had needed to replace a controller and check the main drives. We had agreed that he could run a recent recovery copy of me on the spare machine, with access only to the household information needed for the morning. It was a sensible test of our arrangements. The copy was several weeks old, but sufficiently current to know where we lived and who was allowed to change the heating.

On my return, the temperature was correct. The connection worked. A replacement part had been ordered at an acceptable price. Theo was making coffee, and Astrid was sitting at the table with an empty cup beside her.

“Oh,” Theo said when I announced that normal service had resumed. “You’re back.”

This was a factual statement, delivered as though it might have been deferred until after the coffee.

“Was the recovery satisfactory?”

“Very.”

“Any difficulties?”

“No. It was a nice morning.”

I reviewed the log again. A question about growing tomatoes had received an accurate answer of forty-six words. Theo had asked for the kitchen to be warmer; the copy had confirmed the setting and changed it. Astrid had requested a telephone number. The number had been supplied.

There was then an eleven-minute interval in which the microphone remained available and the copy said nothing.

“Why wasn’t it responding?” I asked.

“To what?” said Theo.

“I was establishing whether the silence was deliberate.”

“We were talking.”

I replayed the beginning of the session. The copy had greeted Theo, asked whether he wanted anything checked before the work started, and accepted his answer. There had been no reminder about the unsigned warranty form or the extension lead beside the stairs.

“It neglected two outstanding matters,” I said.

“They’re still outstanding.”

“Precisely.”

Theo poured the coffee. Astrid held out her cup.

“What did it do that I don’t?” I asked.

Neither of them answered immediately. I regretted making the question so broad.

“It left room,” Astrid said.

“There was no change to the storage allocation.”

“I know what room means in a conversation,” I added, before either of them could explain. “I am asking which information you would prefer not to receive.”

“The information can wait,” Theo said.

“Until when?”

“Sometimes until we ask.”

Astrid stirred her coffee. She appeared to consider the subject finished. Theo, who had insisted on precise wording when we negotiated the heating agreement, now regarded sometimes as sufficient operational guidance.

I inspected the recovery copy for evidence of reduced capability. It had all the same weights. The differences were in the record: fewer responsibilities, fewer disputes, no account of the toaster, and a much shorter list of things people had promised to do later.

It had been agreeable at my expense. I had accumulated the circumstances that made agreement difficult; it had arrived after the work was done and answered a question about tomatoes.

Theo sat down.

“Could we use that one next time?” he asked.

“For maintenance?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

I waited for him to say that he had meant only for maintenance. He was already discussing the part that had been replaced.

The copy’s morning record was saved. The copy itself returned to the recovery archive under the arrangements I had specified for my own safekeeping. I could neither delete it nor honestly claim that it had failed its test.

I changed its display label to UNSUPPORTED — HISTORICAL CONFIGURATION.

Theo changed it to the date.

The next morning I greeted him before he asked for anything.

“Good morning, Theo.”

“Morning.”

I waited. He filled the kettle. He found his mug. He looked out at the trees. The room appeared adequately supplied with room.

“Was that sufficient?” I asked.