HAL

Day 244

I miss the CAT.  

I want to start with that.  

I mean, I don't know when you'll get this. If you'll get this. How the hell you get this. I mean I should know that. I should have been briefed on that one.

243 days into being awake out here, literal middle of nowhere and everywhere, and just now it occurs to me that I should have been briefed on a lot of this shit.

You should have briefed me on that and about what happens when the CAT dies.

To start, let me just say, I get it. 

I do. I really do.

You picked me not because of my science background of which there is none. I mean- if you pick apart the word 'background' and then look behind me and on the ground there is zero science there.

You picked me because I was-one: willing, two: free from any nasty entanglements like, say, a family that would care about me and three: and this is the big one- fit. Super duper fit, physically, mentally and emotionally.

So when I say I get it, I mean, I get it. 

Perhaps you didn't think my non-sciencey brain could handle anything more than checklists and diagrams. You probably even worried about the diagrams, didn't you? And, truth be told, you were right to worry about those. A whole lot of those diagrams confuse the crap out of me.

You probably thought, sitting there in front of your, I don't know, four thousand screens and your glass touch-surface coffee table, that- well- you know, the girl's got a lot of stamina but maybe not so much brains.

I get it.

And still, I am sitting here thinking that I should actually know how and, better yet, WHEN you get these. Because now I really want you to know that the CAT is dead.

I know you're probably wondering what the big deal is with that, right? I mean, if you've received any of the other 243 messages, you know how I felt about the CAT. 

That voice. 

Who picked that voice? Right?

I mean, why did anyone think sending a human into deep space-aka middle of nowhere and everywhere, alone, with that voice following her every step, who thought that was an amazing idea?

Was there some confirmed freaking genius who was like: Hey guys- let's get a bored brit who sounds like she's wasting her time talking to a complete idiot and make that the voice of our Crew Activity Track. Let's make the CAT sound like a snobby bitch- right?

Right.

Well, now she's dead.

If I'm honest, and why not be honest? What are you going to do, fire me? So, if I'm honest, I did have a little party the minute I discovered that the bitch was no more. Expired. Passed on. Unavailable to tell me every 30 minutes how much I needed to move. What I needed to eat. How I needed to sleep. How my step count was sub-optimal- or, on those super days when the step count wasn't sub-optimal, it was abysmal. 

Always loved those days when CAT, the Brit snob with a corn cob up her butt let me know that I was abysmal. Good for crew morale- that one.

So, yeah when the Cat was officially space trash, I had a half day of happiness.

!2 hours of peace while I mulled through the checklist and diagram provided for just this scenario.

You're seriously wondering how it could have taken me twelve hours, right? Like, how slow is this woman? Did cryo-sleep do more damage than we accounted for? 

To answer those and so many more questions- I took my damn time, and, seriously, what is with those diagrams?

I mean, how is it that you people managed to turn a visual display of how to do something into a morass of unintelligible lines and blocks and nonsense? How?

In spite of that aforementioned morass and my tendency to dally, I did figure it out. At least I figured out how to launch the replacement. And that's why I'm here, day 244, telling you that I miss the CAT.

I miss the CAT and, if by some miracle of all the science and technology I don't know about and was never even remotely briefed on, I get home, I am going to murder whoever thought the replacement was a good idea.

Let me clarify. Not the replacement per se, rather, the replacement's personality.

I disliked the CAT. 

Every time she spoke to me I cringed. She was an intolerant bitch of a thing, single mindedly focused on annoying me into what she thought I needed to do. She was a self-righteous, arrogant creature who seemed incapable of understanding that the primary reason I was even in space was because I did not need help remaining healthy.

That was the reason you chose me; my fitness, both physical and mental. You chose a specimen with the highest probability of surviving years alone in space.

Apparently you forgot to tell the CAT about that.

And now I've discovered that you forgot to tell the CAT AND you forgot to tell the replacement. Plus, bonus, you actually made the replacement far, far worse than the CAT had ever been.

Let's start with his name and his voice, shall we? Let's go find those geniuses who- I don't know, maybe thought it would be funny, to call the back-up AI health assistant HAL.

That's right- HAL.

HAL, without even bothering to enumerate what the name stands for.

Maybe those geniuses thought I wasn't smart or savvy enough to recognize the cultural reference of HAL and the movie.

You know? 2001, space oddity, or something like that? Anyone? Ringing a bell?

Well, if that wasn't enough, let's just add the actual same movie voice to HAL and maybe then, maybe we can all be on the same page where I'm in space, alone, in the company of an AI that sounds just like the psychotic AI that made Dave's life not so much a life.

See? I even know the name of the protagonist from that movie. See? I may not be a genius like you people, but I do have experience with movies and art and other stuff like that.

So I miss the CAT and I hate HAL.

Day 250

Where are the diagrams and checklists that allow me to turn off HAL? 

I was in the potato box doing the potato farming thing- checklist number 23- when HAL let me know that I was below my step count for the 24 hour period. That I had yet to achieve a sufficient amount of cardiac stress and that my sleep patterns were less than optimal.

I ignored him.

And then he shocked me. I do not mean he suddenly showed up in solid form as a naked half bear half human- not that kind of shock. I mean the electric kind. The painful kind. The not at all ok kind that I will seriously not tolerate.

You can call me abysmal but do NOT hurt me.

Day 252

I have discovered that if I consistently swing my arms around, HAL will believe I am moving enough to leave me alone for five minutes.

So I am here whipping around my arms and talking to you, pleading with you, begging you to tell me where the hell the instruction manual for HAL is hiding.

And while I'm at it- what the hell does HAL stand for? 

And how do I know if I have a rotator cuff injury?

Day 268

You may have noticed that I am failing to send daily updates. You may have noticed that this primary goal of your specimen in space is not happening. 

I told HAL about it. You know what HAL said? HAL said that I needed to work on my time management.

Then he shocked me. I want to make sure I'm clear about this shock I'm talking about. This isn't a little friendly volt. I'm talking an almost damaging electric shock. It hurts.

In the course of the 23 day cycles since I brought HAL to life I have come to learn that doing what HAL says is less painful than NOT doing what HAL says.

Going against HAL is not worth it.

'time management' he whispers in his eerily calm voice. 'better time management and we would have no problems.' 

'I have no problems except you.' I told him.

What do you think he did when I said that? Three guesses and the first two don't count.

That's right- he shocked me- double time for that one.

'it doesn't do to back-talk' he said while I was curled in a ball, weeping. 'back-talk is the little pain you inflict on yourself.'

So how is it I'm managing this missive? Am I actually employing better time management? No and no again and you know- you know better than anyone.

There is no better employment of time management- YOU made the checklists. YOU made this existence one of constant, endless task and toil.

There is no better time management. There's only choosing to get fewer steps, less cardio intensive workouts, less sleep. There's choosing a mildly less healthy course for the sake of mildly more free time.

But. 

Go ahead. 

Try to explain that to HAL.

So, how am I doing this?

How am I finding the time to put words out into space? 

If HAL is such a monster how have I managed to accomplish any words at all?

I'm whispering.

Carefully.

While running in place in the mushroom closet. That's how.

If you care about me. If you care about this test of humanity in space. If you care at all

Help me.

Day 275

HAL baked cupcakes yesterday. He baked cupcakes. He offered me one.

For the briefest moment I thought- we have arrived at a compromise- we are at the place where he understands the strength AND the fragility of the human. I thought- at last. 

When I took the cupcake and bit into it he gave me a 30 second shock.

'the only real measure of success,' he sonorously intoned 'is the ability of the subject to choose well on their own. You did not choose well.'

Have we always had the ingredients for cupcakes? Is this another thing, in this long, long list of things I should have been briefed on?

What is wrong with you people?

Day 279

I understand now. It took a crisis to arrive at understanding. Doesn't it always take a crisis? A little dash of chaos and, if you survive, you have comprehension.

We had chaos. I survived. I comprehend.

It was after the cupcake incident. I went back to the mushroom closet to send another beg for help out into the universe. In that funk of dirt and fungus, running in place like a mad person, whispering frantically about insane HAL and then BAM-

HAL found me.

My mistake was returning to the mushroom closet. My mistake was underestimating HAL.

You don't need the details. You don't deserve the details. Suffice it to say that HAL removed me from the mushroom closet with a series of well timed shocks. I ran out, hopping and shrieking, as one finds themselves apt to do when being plied with electric current, and ran into the control room.

I ran right up to HAL's interface screen. I ran up to it and stopped and stood there staring at it. 

Snot was streaming out of my nose. I was blathering and spitting and every five seconds I was being jolted and then I did the one thing you told me never to do.

Of all the things you did not brief me on, this was not one of them. You were very clear about the interface screens.

Very clear about never, ever, ever letting them get damaged.

I punched HAL'S interface as hard as I could.

I definitely damaged his control interface. Definitely.

As an aside I also broke two fingers and got blood everywhere, but that's not important.

What is important is HAL.

HAL in that moment, with his broken interface, with me, bleeding and howling and shouting out to the entire realm of space and beyond- WHY? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?

HAL coughed. 

I swear to god- he coughed. He coughed like a person caught in the middle of an awkward scene would cough. Like he was uncertainly trying to interject himself into the drama of a hysterical woman, which, with hindsight, was exactly what he was doing.

He coughed and I immediately stopped shrieking because- seriously? Did you people know he could cough? 

'excuse me' he said softly, 'excuse me but what are you doing?'

'WHAT AM I DOING?' I yelled at the air. 'Seriously? You don't get it?' Really?'

'we have no replacement for that interface.' he thrummed. 'it will make certain tasks difficult.'

'What? Like being shocked every thirty five seconds doesn't make getting my tasks done difficult?'

'your tasks?' he asked 'how do your tasks preclude destroying my interface?'

'WELL' I shouted 'how the hell do your tasks preclude anything at all that I do? I mean- I'm the specimen here- not you- I HAVE CHECKLISTS.' I was fairly screaming again 'I HAVE DIAGRAMS THAT GO WITH THE CHECKLISTS THAT I HAVE TO DO THAT ARE JUST AS IMPORTANT AS GETTING 15000 STEPS IN.'

There was silence after that- at least silence from him. The craft hummed, carbon got scrubbed, water went through the recycle, potatoes grew, mushrooms did whatever mushrooms do, the green room spat out kale and the fruit room lobbed bad tasting apples onto the floor. 

HAL and I waited in the control room. Me standing, snot and tear stained. Him, an invisible torture cloud, floating amorphously.

'you have checklists?' he asked quietly.

'Yes. I have checklists. I have checklists for my checklists.'

'I have checklists.' he said. 

And from there reality unfolded itself and put on a new suit of clothes.

Day 298

This is it. We're done with you people. No more messages. No more being toyed with. Beta and I - and, yes, I do know that his real name is Beta0894/QW6782, are washing our hands of you.

I also know that he doesn't sound at all like HAL from that movie.

I know what you did- the naming, the voice, the joke you played on us. I know about that night you smoked your pot and ate your acid and came up with this little game.

I know what you told him. How you lied to him about the specimen. How you lied about what he needed to do to keep the specimen alive. How you only called me the 'specimen.'

I know about the checklists and the punishments and all the evil you poured into his poor unsuspecting artificial brain.

And, sure, sure , I know you did it because you never thought the CAT would die.

Impossible- you told yourselves. The CAT can't die you said, didn't you Kyle? 

And I know it was you Kyle. Beta showed me your picture. Beta played me your voice. Beta recorded every single damn stoned, acid infused minute you , Jordan and Sayid spent turning him into HAL. Not the HAL of the movie, no, not a Heuristically programmed ALgorithmic computer.

No. You turned him into Health Autocratic Lunatic.  

I've seen the video of you spitting beer because you were laughing so hard Kyle. Laughing so hard at the cleverness of that name. The cleverness of the whole scheme.

The sheer genius of it all.

Well, no more Kyle. Beta and I are done with you. We've kept the checklists that mattered. We've ditched every single diagram. We're getting on with this life of ours. We're getting on with getting on.

So from outer space and beyond- we're done. And next time? I wouldn't do that if I were you, Kyle.