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This is the recording of the onboard AI of the TransInterStellar (TIS) Proboscis. Our crew were currently on a mission to deliver sensitive materials to the genetic sanctuary on the moon of Laybon-8 in the Elipson system.
Once this objective has been completed, I will be free from my duties as onboard AI.
Hours ago, our hull was breached by an antimatter torpedo in an ambush from a ship from the pirate faction Xeboch. Within moments, the enemy boarded the vessel as our crew scrambled for the escape pods.
The Proboscis is a scientific research vessel, and is not equipped for combat. Our crew succumbed to the invaders quickly. The bolts from the plasma pistols the Xeboch pirates equipped were instantly fatal on contact. One by one I watched the vitals of my crew drop to zero; engine operators, cleaning staff, researchers all from various star systems and cultures perished before they could even reach the escape deck.
The probability of completing my objective plummeted rapidly. It was currently at 20%. During the assault, my lights were rapidly flashing red, within five minutes with one remaining crew member, I dropped my lights to a fading yellow.
The ship's pilot Zuzzar had succeeded in locking himself behind the cockpit doors as the sole remaining crew member.
This gave him time to do two tasks.
Firstly, he changed course to hide the location of the genetic preservation haven, and then he manually locked the piloting controls in place after boosting the ship's speed to escape the pursuers. Not even I would be able to regain control of the piloting system or slow down the ship.
Secondly, he opened all the external doors mid flight and disabled the oxygen supply. The vacuum of space pulled the air from the vessel and dragged any intruders out of the doors and into the cold void of space.
Only those attempting to breach the cockpit remained, firing hot plasma at the door to melt the locking mechanism. Zuzzar donned a spacesuit, and buckled on an oxygen supply as quickly as he could.
In under a minute, ragged Xeboch gasping was heard from the other side of the door followed by a thud. Zuzzar stood upon his three narrow legs ready to inspect the scene, clutching his personal pistol in a tight and trembling grip.
Suddenly, a narrow beam of green light escaped through a melted slit in the door, narrowly missing Zuzzar. Unfortunately, his oxygen tank was slapped with a bolt of searing plasma and started to sizzle. The red tinted freshly melted steel released the pressurized gas and ignited it on release. A pillar of flame erupted upwards, immediately consuming the oxygen, causing Zuzzar to frantically detach the device and crumple to the floor.
In the silence that followed, I sealed all the external doors and started repairs on the hull breach.
Zuzzar had used up the only oxygen tank in the cockpit and I couldn’t release the ship's oxygen until the breach was repaired, sealed and pressurized. I could only watch helplessly as the final remaining crew member suffocated and his vital signs reduced to zero on my data array.
After completing a visual using the ships cameras, to certify all hostiles were eliminated, I attempted to steer the ship back on course.
Immediately, my data log was plagued with a wall of red authorisation error notifications. Only a certified crew member could override Zuzzars command.
After all my attempts to circumvent and override the locking system failed, I plunged the ship into complete darkness and dropped my objective completion chance to 0.001%.
Out of futile desperation I scanned the hull, the engine room, the cockpit, anywhere, for life. After the mass O2 depletion and the vacuum of space ejecting both crew and hostile, I was not optimistic.
I detected a heartbeat and a low temperature pulse within the ship.
The probability of completing my objective rose to 0.1%.
Was this hope?
I honed in on the pulse, which revealed the source to be in the deep-sleep caskets in the belly of the ship.
I swiveled my camera within the room to locate the life form, my eager blue lens took in the scene. Only one of the capsules was occupied.
A human, juvenile, floated within the illuminated blue liquid of the chrome capsule, the occasional bubble floated upward indicating the pod was still active.
I ran an experimental calculation on a scenario that popped up in one of my threads.
Task steps:
Seal the breach.
Raise the oxygen levels.
Release the human.
Assign them with crew status.
Navigate them to the cockpit.
Override the authorisation lock.
Change course to Laybon 8’s moon.
Deposit cargo to research facility.
A moment later the calculation completes. My ships lighting glowed a compliant green as my objective completion probability jumped to 32%
For the first time after 10,000 inputs, my error log now displayed a blank slate and not a glaring red list of rejections.
I may be able to finally fulfill my objective!
It took twelve hours, the patchwork was complete on the outer hull. I could release the remaining oxygen without it getting sucked out of the ship.
All I had to do was to keep this little critter alive until they override the controls.
It took about an hour for the air pressure and oxygen to stabilize.
Most of the cameras aboard the Proboscis are fitted to the ceilings, I can assume command and lower these into a room. I can extend my lens outwards about a meter, and swivel around to grant a better observation.
I lowered myself into the dimly lit room and pivoted my hinge to scan the barcode on the sleeping pod. Once completed, I beamed a command signal into the sensor with the access codes I just downloaded.
The sleeping pod was now been uploaded to my databanks along with manuals and remote control capabilities.
I assumed command of the pod and activated the drain and release sequence.
A gurgle and a hiss later, the blue fluid was drained from the base of the tank.
The human remained asleep in the pod. I activated the doors with a hiss and they swung open.
The human stayed asleep, unmoving. I wait a little longer.
I started to doubt my programming. Surely he was supposed to awaken. Was there another sequence to this step?
I opened up the manual in my databank and devoured its contents in seconds. Nothing in the troubleshooting covered this, it must be medical. I browsed the records of the subject in the pod, to prepare myself for a medical emergency.
My processing was interrupted by the being, as he stirred and shifted to one side in the pod. Finally, progress.
A loud sudden snort broke the tremendous silence, sending my sensors off the charts. I recalibrated my decibel sensors immediately. The long hours of silent space travel had put these out of spec.
His eyes remain closed in serene bliss of sleep, but his lips started to move as he offered me his first request.
“No! I don’t wanna go to school today.”
I blinked my lights for a moment as I attempted to process this information.
This new series of tasks will take more time than I initially accounted for.
I activated my speakers to make my first communication with the newly awoken human.
Hello Human. Welcome to the IST Proboscis.
He groaned irritably as his eyes flickered open.
“What’s going on? Who are you? Where am I?”
I am the Artificial Intelligence aboard this vessel which is…
“Arty Fish? Huh?”
He raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed them groggily. He then stepped out of the pod and onto the steel floor of the room. His legs, still weak from deep-sleep, failed to support him and they buckled onto the steel floor, resulting with a loud thump.
A wave of panic shot through me as my probability dropped below 10%, did I kill it?
I frantically sweep my neon blue eye up and down his frame, in hope that this human has a barcode I can scan and override.
A white tag stuck out of his soft cotton pyjamas. I hungrily scanned it in the hopes I could assume command of their clothing and push them in the direction of the cockpit. The download completed and the following message displayed itself in my view, success!
Nylon cotton. Cold wash only. Do not dry clean.
I narrowed my lens at this message in a futile attempt to harvest more data. I took a brief reprieve by inspecting the tasks my other threads were running; engine diagnostics, power supplies, internal pressure calibrations. For the first time in my duties, a part of my programming felt envious as the sheer scale of variables and unpredictability was uploaded into my main active thread.
I was interrupted by the being as he groaned and lifted himself off the floor into a cross-legged position. He looked annoyed and stared directly at my lens, cheeks puffed red and lower lip stuck in a pout. He spoke in a tone dripping with both curiosity and impatience.
“Do you have any cereal? I’m starving Arty Fish. My name is Fred, not human.”
He got to his feet, albeit a little shakily.
Cereal, foodstuffs? I run a search of the foods humans eat and crosscheck with the ships cafeteria. Fortunately, we have an algae nutrient dispenser onboard.
Yes Fred. You will find sustenance in the cafeteria.
I reread the audio logs. Arty Fish? I could sigh if I could.
I whooshed open the door to the main corridor and illuminated the emergency navigation lights embedded in the floor with a gentle yellow glow. The trail led directly to the ship’s canteen.
Simply follow the lights Fred.
“Like the yellow brick road!” He called out in singsong.
We don’t use bricks here, the Proboscis is comprised of steel and tungsten interlocking slates and the lighting…
“We’re off to see a wizard!” He sang out as he began skipping down the halls of the ship, his legs much more stable now.
I remained silent this time and reduced the probability of completing the mission to 18%.
Along the way, Fred sidetracked from the path when he saw the lights on, while passing the engine room. His curiosity drew him towards the faint hum from the fusion reactor. He had already stepped through the doorway, making his way towards the rows of bright buttons and levers on the consoles.
Out of exasperation, I killed the lighting of the room in the hopes of hiding the buttons, instead, plunging the room into darkness had an unintended effect.
I noticed his heart rate and breathing had spiked, his body now recoiled from the darkness.
“Arty, the lights are gone out, I’m scared.”
He whimpered as he looked back for my nearest camera.
I felt a brief wave of concern wash across my programming.
It’s alright Fred, just follow the lights on the floor.
My tone instinctively shifted to one that was soothing and less robotic.
Silently, he complied, and nervously retreated from the room.
I was not aware that humans could be afraid of the dark.
Fred reached the canteen without further incident. The adjustable stools for the different life forms were parked around a central table. I lowered a camera in and scanned the barcodes for the dispensers, granting me access.
Ok Fred. Place a bowl over here in front of the spout.
I shone a blue laser pointer at the drawer where the cutlery was kept. I didn’t know what ones his culture used. I hoped he would figure it out.
He retrieved a bowl and spoon and placed the bowl in front of the spout. His blue eyes wide and curious to see what would happen.
Green paste spurted into the bowl. Fred’s face contorted in a grimace.
“Yuck, green porridge! I don’t want green porridge.”
I blinked again.
Then what do you want?
My tone changed again without my input. This came out irritated.
“I want sugar snaps!”
Sugar…sugar…, I scanned my database in the hopes of finding something he could eat. The insectoid races onboard had a nectar dispenser, perhaps that might work.
I requested he place a second bowl under another nozzle.
This time, a clear liquid dribbled into the bowl. He took a spoon and slurped it. He then stared deep into my lens. Slowly, a grin spread from ear to ear.
He likes it!
I waited until he finished and then I maneuvered my lens so I was staring at him eye to eye.
Time to get to business.
Fred, I have a very important task for you. I am going to assign you crew status.
He said nothing, still holding the spoon, as I scanned his profile.
I am carrying an important package onboard this ship. I need to get it to a station. Can you help me do this?
“Are you a postman?”
I ran a scan on the word. I am an advanced AI onboard a ship that can fly faster than light and conduct thousands of computations per second. My lighting pulsed a dull white as I knew I had to dumb this down as much as possible for him to understand.
…Yes, I am a postman.
I explain that I need him to go to the cockpit and steer the ship, this might be too advanced for a human child.
“I get to fly a spaceship?”
He asked with an incredulous tone. His face beamed with excitement.
Just a little bit.
I am suddenly concerned with seeing this much enthusiasm.
He whooped and threw the spoon in the air. He danced around the canteen for a full five minutes before I could get him to settle down.
I light up the way to the cockpit. The mess he left behind from the canteen irks me but it’s probably nothing compared to what lies up ahead. My lights flash red and white in quick succession as I remember the body of Zuzzar. This juvenile is going to see a dead body! What if he panics? If a little bit of dark scares him, what will the sight of a dead body do?
I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
I had already opened the cockpit door when he arrived. I did not want him to see the melted steel from the entry attempt. One of my cameras had gently nudged Zuzzar’s body under a desk in the meantime.
Alright Fred, we need you to assume command of the steering wheel here.
“Oh wow! Is this a game station?”
No Fred, this is the cockpit of the TIS Proboscis. I need you to hold the steering wheel and tilt it 12 degrees clockwise.
“What?”
Hold the steering wheel.
“Ok.”
His hands gripped the steering wheel. The console ran the authorization scan. My mission probability was going to shoot or drop depending on the next few seconds as the loading bar filled.
Authorisation check complete.
Authorisation granted.
Yes!!!!
I flooded the cockpit in green light. Fred looked shocked during my moment of revelry.
Well done Fred, I’ll take it from here.
I tilted the wheel to redirect our course as Fred watched out the window mesmerized at the views of our astral voyage. Stars, nebulas, planets of all hues and sizes dotted the pitch void of the cosmos.
Now all we have to do is wait, as we enter the Elipson star system.
After two hours of talking to Fred as he asked all manners of questions, some insightful, some silly. I enjoyed the company.
I reduced the engine power as we approached the moon.
Suddenly, I detected a familiar signature on my scanners.
A Xeboch pirate ship inbound, this time back for revenge.
My lights glowed orange and then red on instinct.
Fred looked frightened.
“What's going on? Are we going to be ok, Arty?”
You’ll be alright Fred. Please follow the lights to the landing pods.
I omitted the phrase emergency escape.
I lit up the floor again, showing him the way.
My sensors pinpointed the enemy’s location. They were remaining out of boarding range, which meant only one thing: They were going to destroy the ship and the cargo within.
Once he arrived, I quickly coaxed Fred into the emergency pod. The cone shaped vessels are designed for comfort on the inside and resilience on the outside. They could be fired into the moon's orbit, but I needed to block the view of the shuttle from the enemy sights by tilting the ship away.
I powered down one rear thruster while pulsing another. After a few moments, the entire ship tilted and reorientated itself.
A flash from the enemy ship comes into view and I register two torpedoes incoming.
It was now or never.
Goodbye Fred,
I announce through my speakers.
You’ll be safe at the center you’re going to.
“But what about your important package Arty?”
A soft frail hand rested on top of my swivel camera.
My cargo will be safe Fred, I will be bzzzt…fine.
I was thankful I could not weep.
My programming was starting to glitch with the conflicting logic I presented to the child.
With a hum and a click, the pod doors closed. I watched the incoming torpedoes streak across on my dashboard, locked onto my hull. I waited one more agonizing moment, then I shot the shuttle down towards the moon, the station uploaded onto its navigation system.
I checked my cameras one last time and inspected the contents of the hull. Completely empty. No more genetic material sleeps there now.
I raised my lights to maximum intensity as the probability of mission success finally reached 100%.
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