Guttersnipe
mortal ally
Here is my second draft of my most recent story.
On the bioship Veronica, Brian stared sleeplessly at the wall-screen. It was almost time to leave not just the vessel itself, but the life within it that he had come to love. To his siblings, Veronica may have only been an artificially sentient ship, undertaking the role of a distant caretaker, but to Brian, she was a caring figure in a void that knew no humanity.
The message beeped. Brian got out of bed shakily and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. The dreaded day had finally come.
"Veronica," he said, "play Mozart." The red light from the ceiling switched on.
"What is the password?" asked Veronica in her artificially sweet voice. Brian smiled weakly.
"Please," he said, and the music started.
How could anyone deny that humanity? he wondered. Could a machine alone respond to a human's need for reassurance, love, pity, or, as was the case, humor?
"Veronica, terminate the audio," he said. She obliged him.
"Are you feeling alright, dear?" she asked, perhaps only superficially concerned. Brian briefly reflected.
"Yes," he lied. There was a moment's hesitation before she spoke again.
"Good. Please join your brother and sister in the garden."
He took the hoverpod down to the opposite wing. In the garden stood his brother, Ralph, and his sister, Alexis. They both beamed at him.
"Big day," said Ralph, lightly hitting Brian's shoulder.
"That's an understatement," said Alexis, "We're going to a place even more beautiful than this."
Brian looked around him. Was it just him, or had the flora lost its luster?
Alexis was still talking.
"--but she's just a clever machine. Now we can develop real relationships with real people."
"She's more than that," Brian snapped, "She raised us. Nurtured us."
"She was programmed to do those things," Ralph moaned in exasperation.
"And how are we programmed?" said Brian, his anger building, "Our exact DNA has been floating around here for years, yet we still love each other."
Ralph looked down, slowly shaking his head. Brian looked up and was startled to see that the red light in the ceiling was on. Had Veronica been eavesdropping?
Promptly, she spoke.
"Greetings, young masters. As you may have noticed, you have each now reached your twenty-first year of development. This means you shall be sent to the closest terradome to multiply and found a society. This is what you've trained for. You may leave now. Godspeed."
Then the light was gone.
Cold. Clinical. Had Veronica's earlier playfulness and warmth been a façade? Were his siblings stating facts rather than expressing opinions?
Quietly, Brian began to cry. Ralph and Alexis rushed to his sides, embracing him.
"It's time to go, Brian," Alexis said quietly. Slowly, they left the garden, and slowly, Brian followed. They climbed into their spacepod. Controls set, they left Veronica, perhaps only physically.
Meanwhile, three new clones were released from their artificial wombs. Veronica named them: Elliot, Mary, and Brian. She did so in a wavering, wounded voice, as the spacepod outside twinkled and then was gone.
On the bioship Veronica, Brian stared sleeplessly at the wall-screen. It was almost time to leave not just the vessel itself, but the life within it that he had come to love. To his siblings, Veronica may have only been an artificially sentient ship, undertaking the role of a distant caretaker, but to Brian, she was a caring figure in a void that knew no humanity.
The message beeped. Brian got out of bed shakily and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. The dreaded day had finally come.
"Veronica," he said, "play Mozart." The red light from the ceiling switched on.
"What is the password?" asked Veronica in her artificially sweet voice. Brian smiled weakly.
"Please," he said, and the music started.
How could anyone deny that humanity? he wondered. Could a machine alone respond to a human's need for reassurance, love, pity, or, as was the case, humor?
"Veronica, terminate the audio," he said. She obliged him.
"Are you feeling alright, dear?" she asked, perhaps only superficially concerned. Brian briefly reflected.
"Yes," he lied. There was a moment's hesitation before she spoke again.
"Good. Please join your brother and sister in the garden."
He took the hoverpod down to the opposite wing. In the garden stood his brother, Ralph, and his sister, Alexis. They both beamed at him.
"Big day," said Ralph, lightly hitting Brian's shoulder.
"That's an understatement," said Alexis, "We're going to a place even more beautiful than this."
Brian looked around him. Was it just him, or had the flora lost its luster?
Alexis was still talking.
"--but she's just a clever machine. Now we can develop real relationships with real people."
"She's more than that," Brian snapped, "She raised us. Nurtured us."
"She was programmed to do those things," Ralph moaned in exasperation.
"And how are we programmed?" said Brian, his anger building, "Our exact DNA has been floating around here for years, yet we still love each other."
Ralph looked down, slowly shaking his head. Brian looked up and was startled to see that the red light in the ceiling was on. Had Veronica been eavesdropping?
Promptly, she spoke.
"Greetings, young masters. As you may have noticed, you have each now reached your twenty-first year of development. This means you shall be sent to the closest terradome to multiply and found a society. This is what you've trained for. You may leave now. Godspeed."
Then the light was gone.
Cold. Clinical. Had Veronica's earlier playfulness and warmth been a façade? Were his siblings stating facts rather than expressing opinions?
Quietly, Brian began to cry. Ralph and Alexis rushed to his sides, embracing him.
"It's time to go, Brian," Alexis said quietly. Slowly, they left the garden, and slowly, Brian followed. They climbed into their spacepod. Controls set, they left Veronica, perhaps only physically.
Meanwhile, three new clones were released from their artificial wombs. Veronica named them: Elliot, Mary, and Brian. She did so in a wavering, wounded voice, as the spacepod outside twinkled and then was gone.