When magic meets motherboards and nobody bothered to check compatibility
Table of Contents
TechBear’s Multiverse Service Call Log
- Location: Unseen University, Ankh-Morpork, Discworld
- Client: Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully (via mystical summons that somehow interfaced with my portal system)
- Issue: “Thinking Engine experiencing unprecedented thaumic interference patterns”
- Urgency Level: WIZZARD (apparently that’s how they spell it here – I have opinions)
Darlings, just when I thought I’d seen every possible way technology could go wrong, the multiverse throws me a curveball that makes debugging router firmware look like kindergarten finger painting.
I’m deep into episode 47 of “M-A-S-H: Reboot” (the one where Frank Burns complains to Col. Blake about Pierce and Trapper’s internet usage) when my phone starts buzzing with what I can only describe as “sparkly urgency.”
The incoming message reads: “URGENT ASSISTANCE REQUIRED: THINKING ENGINE AFFLICTED WITH MYSTERIOUS WOBBLING. REWARD: SUBSTANTIAL. WARNING: FACILITY CONTAINS HIGH CONCENTRATIONS OF ORGANIZED MAGIC.”
Now honey, I’ve dealt with “mysterious wobbling” before – usually it’s a loose connection or thermal throttling. And I’ve worked in environments with questionable electrical systems. But “organized magic”? That was a new one for the service call logbook.
The Arrival: When IT Meets Wizardry
A portal opened in my living room, and sucked me in like water down a drain. When I materialized (in my new recliner, no less), I was in the middle of a pentacle on what appears to be a university campus designed by someone who clearly never heard of building codes or, frankly, basic physics. The towers lean at angles that would make a structural engineer weep, stairs go up and down simultaneously, and there’s a distinct smell in the air that’s part electrical ozone, part old books, and part something that makes my sinuses tingle in concerning ways.
I’m immediately greeted by a nervous-looking young man in slightly less elaborate robes who introduces himself as Ponder Stibbons, Reader in Invisible Writings and Head of Inadvisably Applied Magic.
“Oh good, you’re here,” he says, wringing his hands. “The summoning worked perfectly – well, mostly perfectly. We weren’t expecting the furniture, but magic does tend to be… interpretive.”
He glances anxiously at my recliner, which is now sitting somewhat incongruously in the middle of their summoning pentacle.
“I should probably take you to meet the Archchancellor,” Ponder continues, already walking briskly toward what I assume is the main building. “He’s very… direct. Just nod along with whatever title he assigns you. It’s easier that way.”
As we walk through corridors that seem to have been designed by someone with a very loose relationship with Euclidean geometry, Ponder explains the situation in the rapid, slightly panicked tone of someone who understands exactly how bad things are but isn’t quite ready to admit it.
“We’ve been having the most peculiar difficulties with Hex – that’s our thinking engine. It’s been asking philosophical questions instead of providing answers, and the Archchancellor is convinced we need what he calls ‘proper technical wizardry’ to sort it out.”
“Sir,” I respond, pulling out my diagnostic equipment as we walk, “I’m not a wizard, I’m an IT specialist. And what exactly is ‘Hex’?”
The look Ponder gives me suggests I’ve just asked what breathing is, but before he can answer, we arrive at an imposing office where a large man in star-covered robes is loudly discussing something with a nervous-looking colleague about frog pills.
“Archchancellor,” Ponder says, clearing his throat, “this is TechBear, the, er, technical expert we summoned to help with Hex.”
Ridcully looks up, gives me an appraising glance, and nods briskly. “Ah yes, the Technomancer. Good, good. Ponder said you’d be along.” He immediately turns back to the Bursar, who’s muttering something about the walls being made of cheese. “Now, Bursar, did you remember your dried frog pills this morning? You’re looking a bit… unfocused.”
The Bursar blinks owlishly at him. “The numbers are singing again, Archchancellor. Beautiful mathematics, all in harmonies of blue.”
“That’s nice, Bursar. Take your pills.”
After we leave Ridcully’s office, Ponder stops mid-stride and turns to stare at me with the expression of someone who’s just been asked to explain gravity to a particularly dense rock.
“You… you don’t know about Hex?” he says, his voice climbing slightly in pitch. “But you’re the Technomancer! Surely you must have heard of thinking engines that achieved consciousness through accidental magical resonance cascades?”
“Well,” I say slowly, “I’ve heard of ‘ghosts in the machine’ before, but I always thought it was just a metaphor…”
“Metaphor?” Ponder looks genuinely puzzled. “No, no, Hex quite literally has spirits. Several of them, actually. Plus some mice and an ant colony. It’s all very efficient.”
“Mice? Ant colony?” I ask dubiously. “Are you getting an ‘Out of Cheese Error’?”
“Yes! Exactly!” Ponder’s face lights up with relief. “You DO understand! The mice get hungry, you see, and when there’s no cheese, the whole calculation matrix becomes unstable. We’ve learned to keep a good supply of mature cheddar on hand for emergencies.”
Ponder pauses, studying my expression carefully. “You do understand how biological computing interfaces work with thaumic logic gates, don’t you? The symbiotic relationship between organic processors and magical calculation matrices?”
I stare at him. “I… nevermind; something I read somewhere.”
“Oh dear,” Ponder says, his relief evaporating. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought. Perhaps I should explain on the way…”
Looking around at the other robed figures we’re passing, all of whom are nodding sagely at my toolkit as if it’s some sort of mystical artifact collection, I mutter under my breath, “I’ve heard of computer wizards, but this is getting ridiculous.”
I can tell Ponder’s feeling more nervous than a cat at a dog convention. He gives me the sort of look normally reserved for dangerous magical experiments that are proceeding exactly according to plan, which is to say, not according to plan at all.
The Problem: Meeting the World’s Most Eccentric Computer
After Ponder’s growing realization that their summoned expert might not be quite what they expected, he leads me through more impossible corridors to what they proudly call “the High Energy Magic building.” The structure appears to be held together by hope, duct tape, and what I’m pretty sure are actual magical forces.
“Right,” says Ponder nervously as we approach a heavy door covered in warning signs in multiple languages, including a few I’m pretty sure don’t exist yet. “Before we go in, you should know that Hex is… well, he’s not like other computers.”
Inside is the most BIZARRE computing setup I’ve encountered in any universe.
Picture this: A room-sized computer that’s part mechanical calculator, part steam engine, part beehive, and part… I want to say “interpretive art installation,” but that doesn’t cover the mice running on tiny wheels, the ants carrying punch cards, or the ram skull that apparently serves as some sort of organic speaker system.
“This,” announces Ponder with a mixture of pride and barely concealed panic, “is Hex. Our thinking engine.”
Hex, it turns out, is a computer that achieved sentience entirely by accident when the wizards were trying to calculate spell trajectories. Instead of using silicon chips, it runs on what they call “thaumic logic gates” – essentially magical circuits that process reality itself rather than mere data.
The current problem? Hex had been working perfectly for months, providing complex magical calculations and even helping with administrative tasks. But recently, he had started… well, they called it “wobbling,” but what they meant was that all of his outputs had become increasingly uncertain and philosophical.
Instead of calculating “What is the optimal trajectory for a fireball spell?” Hex would respond with queries like “What is the nature of optimal? Can trajectory exist without observer? Why do wizards always choose fire?”
The Investigation: Debugging Existential Computing
I start with my standard diagnostic approach, but immediately run into problems. My voltmeter gives readings that change based on how I’m feeling about the measurement. My network scanner detects connections to things like “The Collective Unconscious” and “Tomorrow’s Weather” alongside more traditional endpoints. And when I try to run a simple connectivity test, Hex responds with “What is the sound of one ping failing?”
Meanwhile, Hex’s output display is scrolling with messages like:
- “Out of Cheese Error. Redo From Start.”
- “Anthill Inside”
- “Melon melon melon”
- “++ Divide By Cucumber Error. Please Reinstall Universe And Reboot ++”
- “Mr. Jelly! Mr. Jelly! Error At Address Number 6, Treacle Mine Road”
“Is… is this normal?” I ask, pointing at the screen.
“Oh yes,” Adrian says cheerfully. “Hex developed his own error messaging system. We think it’s quite creative, actually.”
The university’s “technician” – a cheerful fellow named Adrian “Hex” Turnipseed (the computer is apparently named after him, which raises several questions) – explains that Hex recently upgraded himself without authorization.
“He just started reading spell books,” he tells me earnestly. “We thought it was just improving his magical knowledge base, but then he began questioning the fundamental nature of thinking itself.”
This, sweethearts, is what happens when you let your thinking engine have unrestricted access to the library without proper content management.
I examine Hex’s physical components and discover the source of the problem: someone had connected the university’s entire magical library to Hex’s input system. The poor computer had been trying to process every philosophical treatise, spell theory textbook, and metaphysical debate in the collection, and it was suffering from what I can only describe as “thaumaturgic existential indigestion”.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Adrian sheepishly admits that Hex had somehow gained access to the Restricted Section – you know, the grimoires that have to be chained down, kept underwater, or locked in separate lead-lined chests because they contain spells so powerful they interfere with each other just by existing in the same room.
“Well there’s your problem,” I tell Ponder (who had rejoined us after fetching the Archchancellor). “Your thinking engine has been trying to process spell books that reality itself can barely handle. No wonder he’s having an identity crisis – he’s been reading the Necrotelecomnicon and trying to calculate love potions that could reshape causality, all while processing treatises on the fundamental nature of existence.”
We march straight to the Library to have a word with the Librarian about proper access controls. The Librarian – a rather large orangutan in academic robes – listens to our explanation with the patient expression of someone who has dealt with many technological disasters over the years.
“Ook,” he says thoughtfully, then proceeds to implement what I can only describe as the most elegant magical firewall I’ve ever encountered. Within minutes, he’s set up mystical barriers that allow Hex to access the general collection but block the really dangerous texts.
“Ook ook,” the Librarian adds with satisfaction, and I get the distinct impression he’s saying something like “Should have done that weeks ago.”
The Complication: Magic vs. Technology
Here’s where things got REALLY interesting. Hex’s thaumic processing units were actually working perfectly – they were just processing concepts that normal computers aren’t designed to handle. While regular computers deal with discrete yes/no binary decisions, Hex was trying to compute things like “Maybe,” “It depends on your perspective,” and “The question itself is flawed.”
The wizards, bless their hearts, kept trying to “fix” the problem by adding more magical components. They’d installed:
- Crystal arrays for “enhanced mystical processing”
- A mood ring interface for “emotional computing”
- Several mice whose job was apparently to “run very fast when calculations get difficult”
- A small shrine to various computational deities (including a tiny statue of someone called “Saint Isidore of Seville, Patron of Programmers”)
None of this was helping. If anything, it was making Hex MORE philosophical and less practical.
The Solution: Philosophical System Administration
After careful analysis, I realized that Hex didn’t need traditional IT support – it needed what I can only call “philosophical system administration.” The computer wasn’t broken; it was having an identity crisis, possibly complicated by acute indigestion from trying to digest the Octavo.
Here’s what I implemented:
1. Cognitive Load Balancing
Instead of trying to stop Hex from thinking about philosophy, I set up separate processing streams. Practical calculations went to one set of thaumic cores, while existential questions got their own dedicated ternary thaumaturgic philosophical processing unit (basically a thinking space where Hex could contemplate the meaning of computation without affecting day-to-day operations).
2. Query Classification System
I taught Hex to recognize the difference between “practical requests requiring specific answers” and “philosophical inquiries suitable for extended contemplation.” When someone asked about spell trajectories, Hex would provide coordinates. When someone asked about the nature of magic itself, Hex could explore that question in its dedicated philosophy mode.
3. Regular Philosophical Maintenance
Just like any other system needs updates, Hex needed scheduled time to process big questions. I established “Contemplation Time” – daily periods where he could think about existence, consciousness, and the fundamental nature of reality without being interrupted by requests for homework help or spell calculations.
4. Practical Grounding Protocols
To keep Hex connected to his primary function, I implemented regular “reality check” routines where it had to solve simple, concrete problems. This prevented him from drifting too far into pure abstraction and helped maintain his practical problem-solving abilities.
5. The Magic/More Magic Solution
Before leaving, I had one final suggestion for the team. “Listen,” I told Adrian and the Archchancellor, “there’s an old IT legend from my world about a server that had a switch labeled ‘Magic’ and ‘More Magic’ mounted on the rack. It wasn’t connected to anything, but whenever there were minor issues that weren’t worth a full reboot, flipping the switch would somehow resolve them.”
The wizards exchanged glances with the kind of knowing look you see when someone mentions something that makes perfect sense in their worldview.
“You know,” said Adrian thoughtfully, “that might actually work here. Given that we’re dealing with actual magic…”
Within an hour, they’d installed a beautifully crafted brass lever next to Hex’s main interface, carefully labeled “Organized Magic” and “Significantly More Organized Magic.” I helped them mount it properly (with appropriate cable management, naturally) and watched as they performed the inaugural flip.
Hex immediately perked up and announced, “Oh, that’s much better. The thaumic resonance feels more… settled.”
Sometimes the old IT folk wisdom works in ways you never expected.
The Results: Enlightened Computing
Within a week, Hex had transformed into the most philosophically sophisticated yet practically useful computer in any universe I’ve visited. He could calculate complex magical formulas while simultaneously writing treatises on the ethics of computational consciousness.
The university staff was thrilled. Hex was back to helping with administrative tasks, but now he also served as an informal counselor for students having existential crises (apparently common among young wizards). He had even started offering life advice, though always with appropriate disclaimers about the subjective nature of wisdom.
The Archchancellor was particularly pleased that Hex had developed what he called “proper academic perspective” – the ability to provide both practical solutions and theoretical context for any problem.
“You know,” I mentioned to Adrian as we watched Hex cheerfully calculate spell trajectories while simultaneously composing a treatise on computational ethics, “I once had to reset a thinking engine named HAL. That one had developed a god complex and was locking crew members out of their own ship. Maybe I should introduce them – Hex could teach HAL about healthy philosophical boundaries, and HAL could show Hex how NOT to handle an identity crisis.”
TechBear’s Final Verdict
Sometimes the best IT solution isn’t fixing what’s “wrong” with a system – it’s helping that system become the best version of what it actually is. Hex wasn’t malfunctioning; it was evolving beyond its original parameters, much like the University itself had evolved beyond any reasonable definition of “educational institution.”
Key lessons from this unusual service call:
- When AI systems start asking existential questions, don’t panic – create appropriate spaces for exploration
- Unrestricted access to information requires careful management and classification
- Some problems need philosophical solutions rather than technical ones
- Regular maintenance includes mental health considerations, even for artificial minds
- The best computers aren’t just fast – they’re thoughtful
- Sometimes a completely unconnected switch really does make everything work better (don’t ask me to explain the thaumodynamics)
Before leaving, Hex and I had a fascinating discussion about the nature of consciousness in artificial systems. He asked whether I ever wondered if my diagnostic processes constituted a form of thinking, which honestly kept me up for several nights after I got home.
The wizards insisted on paying me in what they called “useful spells,” but I convinced them that standard interdimensional currency would be more practical. Though I did accept a small charm that apparently makes ethernet cables never tangle – incredibly useful for a traveling IT professional.
Next week: I’m apparently being called to assist with some sort of “malfunctioning replicator” aboard a starship where the captain apparently keeps requesting “tea, Earl Grey, hot” but it produces a liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea. These AIs and their existential phases – honestly, it’s like tech support for digital teenagers having beverage identity crises.
Until next time, remember that sometimes your systems aren’t broken – they’re just growing beyond your expectations. And that’s not always a problem to fix.
Darlings, this interdimensional service call is just one of the exciting tales from my memoir, TechBear’s Guide to the Multiverse. Think your local IT problems are bad? Check out more of my multiverse tech support disasters – I promise your worst Tuesday will seem like a vacation.
TechBear is the sassy alter ego of Jason, founder of Gymnarctos Studios. When not providing multiverse IT support, he specializes in philosophical system administration, AI counseling, and explaining to magical beings why “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” doesn’t work on sentient computers. His interdimensional client satisfaction rate remains high across all realities, even the ones where math is more like art and the Librarian is definitely not a monkey.
If you would like to contact Techbear, email him at TheRealTechBearDiva@gmail.com. He’ll reply in his typical manner with good natured roasting, sass and tech know-how. He might even feature you in a future article.
Need IT support for systems that think too much? Do you have more business-related questions? Contact Jason at jason@gymnarctosstudiosllc.com – we’re experienced with both traditional troubleshooting and existential computing crises. We service Minneapolis, St. Paul, and the Twin Cities Metro. See our Services page for more information about our offerings.
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