The Human Factor

The finger in the protective glove approached the button to stop, trembling, a few millimeters from the glowing surface. That piece of plastic possessed an unreal power: it turned a possibility into a choice. Intermittently, a deep blue hue illuminated the small cockpit because Marcello had not yet activated the external projection on the syntho-glass screens. It was like staying hidden in his own thoughts. He did it every time. The air in the cockpit left a metallic taste in his mouth, like that of the coin his grandfather had given him as a child and which he had immediately stuffed in his mouth because he thought it could be eaten. He shuddered at the thought, remembering that moment when he had made a stupid choice and almost choked to death.

The big brain had determined the coordinates accurately as usual based on the latest long-range satellite observations, yet the planet seemed so desolate to him, at least from the readings on the monitors. A Class R4 planet had to be densely populated even if the temperatures outside the hull were very high.

He smiled as he thought back to his Milan in the middle of summer. The urban jungle that never stops growing on the now concrete-only plain, sucking every drop of water left in the air. Glass towers scrape the sky and their long shadows stretch across the now useless streets as the sun burns down the apartment buildings, all inside sheltered from the outside world, a completely different scenario from the tales his grandfather used to tell him. Humanity now crawls underground or travels in the immense darkness of the cosmos. Always in the dark.

Yet everyone now relied on the routes chosen by the big brain even though no one had ever known where he had really come from and who had pushed the button first. Who had chosen to initiate its existence to entrust the whole of humanity with it. Romantics said the button had pushed itself but it was hard to believe. Others believed that there had never been a button and that no one had ever had a choice. One big brain to whom companies delegate all decisions to increase the number of orders. No one pays it in any known way, and it is unclear what compensation it will demand when it sees fit. It will probably not be a request but an order.

Coordinates or not, the big brain had never been wrong, and here the choice of whether or not to press that flashing button was his alone. He knew that pressing that little flashing button could bring him untold experiences and a fair amount of credits, but it also could bring the end of everything he knew. All the work he had done to prepare for this mission, all credits spent to obtain the qualifications and hopes for his future would have been in vain if he had not acted now. Yet he was uncertain.

Checking the scans again Marcello noticed a crowd of aliens approaching his spacecraft. A Class R4 planet for sure. The AI could do its calculations well but could not move, for that there were the likes of him. Trust, press and be exposed. At times Marcello found himself pondering whether that was not conditioning for a time when artificial intelligence would demand a different sacrifice from humanity.

He had been through this many times before. And always Marcello experienced it as in those old video projections from before the atmospheric collapse, when you still had to see and hear things from the outside. The ones where there was a guy with a gun in his fist pointed at his own temple, with a single deadly explosive charge hidden from his view among other harmless possibilities ... and he would pull the trigger to prove to himself that he had balls.

Pull a trigger or pull a button.

Perhaps each time he had to prove to himself that he was in charge. He was the one making the choices, his choices. He was the man and no artificial intelligence could tell him what to do. Wasn't that why there was a damn blinking button in that spaceship? To press that button was to choose, free will. Could an artificial intelligence possibly choose? Did he really have a choice?

That was the whole thing, traveling and then jumping into the dark, figuratively speaking. Traveling for the company was a privilege, you could eat your fill for the entire trip but many had not returned. Who knows, maybe they had chosen a different future after pushing the button. Marcello did not know what to think, he had always been lucky so far. He ran a hand over his jaw, at the spot where his beard was no longer growing. That time it had been his fault though, he had smiled too much and pissed them off-but he had gotten away with it.

A couple more trips and he would have the choice, once again, to continue with the service or stay on the ground for a routine job in one of the production factories. He already knew what he would choose.

He thought of his beloved Michela, who remained on earth, the scent of her skin, the way it felt against him. He could almost feel it now. His heart ached at the thought of leaving her, but he was an explorer at heart and she knew it. He had always dreamed of new possibilities, and this was his chance to move on to tell a new story to his family when he returned. A true story. Not the kind invented by the big brain to keep people with their brains elsewhere.

Everyone like him lived to choose, to wrest meaning from the universe that so many others did not even know existed. Someone had once told him that life is a bite and he had always wanted to be the one to bite. A new planet, the thrill of a new fear to overcome and a button to push. Not including the free food and the mountain of credits to share with the family.

Marcello opened his eyes and his finger retracted into his palm. He had made his decision. Firmly he opened his hand and decided to press the button with his inner palm, activating with the index finger of his other hand the universal translator on his left temple. Another button, but this one was a touch one and a forced choice.

He disembarked from the spaceship while the bulkhead near the gangway was still opening and the colorful striped awning was still unfolding, and approached the large crowd of aliens that had formed. For a very brief moment, adrenaline quickened his heartbeats and a trickle of cold sweat ran down his back. Those Marcello met in the crowd, however, were peaceful and curious looks, and his lips rippled into a hint of a smile. It was best to limit expressions to an initial encounter, but already the voice coming out of an ice cream cone-shaped speaker in the indigenous language was raising expressions of joy and interest. These, too, would become loyal customers. And bravo to the brainiac!

Pleasant music filled the dry, dusty air. Music is universal and you don't have to choose, you just hear it. "Double M" Italian ice cream was about to conquer another planet, thought Marcello as he positioned himself behind the counter lacing up his apron.