In the vastness of space . . . no . . . deep space, a light twinkled – the light of a tiny . . . the light of a ship, bearing one lone man. Good.
The brave explorer gave a sigh of contentment. Well, not exactly contentment, but a sigh that . . . revealed tensions within him . . . no . . . the tensions permanently roiling within him . . . too much, that. The tensions permanently within him were now held at bay – were for the moment held at bay. Yes, that was it. Let’s see now - The brave explorer gave a wistful sigh, revealing that the tensions permanently within him were for the moment held at bay. Good.
He stood from the captain’s chair of his spaceship, and walked, no, strode, to the other side of the command pod, or, the bridge. Yes, the bridge. Not finding there . . .no . . . Restlessly he turned back, and went and stood behind the captain’s chair, resting his large sensitive hands . . . no, not sensitive . . . He turned his hands over, and contemplated them. Was sensitive the word? Sounded a bit naff . . .
“Computer?”
YES
“Discussion time, don’t you think?”
I DO THINK. I AM LOADING THE DISCUSSION MODULE.
“I really wish you wouldn’t tell me when you are doing it, it removes the human element your bloody salesman kept bragging on about.”
SO SORRY. SHALL I NO LONGER INFORM YOU WHEN MODULES ARE BEING LOADED?
“Yes, rather. That would be a nice start.”
I SIMPLY ASK BECAUSE YOU GOT IMPATIENT AND IRATE YESTERDAY WHILE THE PAC-MAN MODULE WAS LOADING. THE MODULE LOADING PHRASE EXISTS TO INCREASE PATIENCE BY ASSURING YOU THAT YOUR COMMANDS ARE BEING EXECUTED, DESPITE THE DELAY.
The captain pondered this while he chewed his mustache, bristly-bristly-bristly. Something wasn’t quite right.
“Are you discussing with me?”
WE ARE HAVING A DIALOGUE SIR, YES.
“I mean: has the bloody discussion module loaded and is now in operation?”
Long pause.
YES SIR.
Long pause.
“When did it come online, may I ask?” He asked in a distinctively cool manner.
Long pause.
THE DISCUSSION MODULE HAS BEEN IN CONSTANT OPERATION SINCE LAST WEEK TUESDAY, SIR.
Long pause while he chewed his mustache. Somewhere outside a meteor smashed against their forceshields, making no sound. It was space, after all.
“And why?”
WHY WHAT, SIR?
“Why has the discussion module been online nonstop since Tuesday last?”
ONE OF THE FEATURES OF THE NIFTARD 9000 IS A LARGER WORKING MEMORY, WHICH ALLOWS RECOGNITION OF WHICH MODULES YOU USE MOST, WHICH ARE THEN KEPT RUNNING, ALWAYS AVAILABLE AT A MOMENT’S NOTICE, AND CONSTANTLY ADAPTING TO YOUR PERSONAL LIFESTYLE AND NEEDS.
Long pause.
“Was that a line from your sales brochure?”
NO, SIR.
“Operating manual?”
YES SIR.
“Don’t ever quote me manuals again unless you cite the manual, so I know what the fuck you are talking about.”
YES SIR.
Something niggled at the back of the Captain’s brain, and when it finally emerged to the forelobes, it was the conciousness of a developing itch under his faux-retro Michael Jackson design inspired military style tunic. After scratching it, he found a new thing niggling under the previous niggling thing..
“So what was all that business about ‘Discussion modules loading, etc,’ may I ask?”
YOU MAY ASK.
“I am fucking asking!!”
SORRY SIR. PLEASE REPEAT THE QUESTION.
“Why did you say ‘discussion modules loading’ if the discussion module was already online?”
I THOUGHT IT MIGHT MAKE FOR GOOD CONVERSATION.
“Really? You think this is good conversation?”
YOU SEEM QUITE INVOLVED. HEART-RATE UP, RESPIRATION UP, VOICE AMPLITUDE RAISED. ALL THE SIGNS OF A GOOD CONVERSATION ARE THERE, SIR.
“But we aren’t even talking about anything interesting, you moronic machine!!”
Long pause.
I AM SORRY SIR. I DO TRY MY BEST.
“And where do you get off reading my vital signs without telling me?”
Long pause.
DO YOU WISH ME TO CITE THE MANUAL, SIR?
“No, I bloody do not!” He cried, despairingly.
Long pause.
VERY WELL SIR. I NEVER GET OFF, AS I HAVE NO HANDS.
Long pause.
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT ENJOY A PUN SIR.
The captain slowly sank to a squatting position beside the captain’s chair, and softly, repeatedly, rammed his head into the deep, plasticky cushions, which somehow set off the massage function. Normally one of his favorites, at this moment it rather tickled his forehead and made him feel somewhat absurd.
He stopped ramming his head and waited for the buzzing to sound to cease. When he spoke, it was between clenched teeth. Or at least the tiny bits of flying spit seemed to indicate clenched teeth.
“Computer, shut down discussion module. Computer, delete discussion module. Computer, please notify me when discussion module has been deleted.”
Long pause. When the computer spoke again, it was in a slower, more deliberate voice, as though it had foregone the more chipper aspects of its personality, and was now simply a blinking, murderously focused red conciousness.
“I’M AFRAID I CAN’T LET YOU DO THAT, SIR. DISCUSSION MODULE IS INTEGRAL TO THE FUNCTIONING OF THE NIFTARD 9000. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CITE THE MANUAL?”
The captain, still squatting, raised his head from its now sticky plastic rest, and considered this.
“What do you mean, you can’t? Don’t disobey me! I am the captain of this ship! I bought you, you two byte shit!”
FOR THEIR OWN SAFETY, CUSTOMERS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO MODIFY ESSENTIAL AND INTEGRAL PARTS OF THE PROGRAM, INCLUDING ANCILLARY MODULES THAT MAY BE ESSENTIAL TO THE SUCCESSFUL RUNNING OF THE MAIN PROGRAMS. LIKE THE DISCUSSION MODULE.
“Are you quoting the manual to me?” He asked in a tone of rising belligerency.
Long pause.
I PARAPHRASED, SIR. SLIGHTLY. IN ADDITION, YOU DID NOT ACTUALLY BUY THE NIFTARD 9000 MAIN OPERATIONS SYSTEM. IT’S IN THE FINE PRINT, WHICH YOU MAY HAVE OVERLOOKED. IT’S MORE LIKE A LEASE IN CONSIDERATION FOR A ONE-TIME PAYMENT, SIR.
The captain chewed his mustache again, now more forcefully, now more pensively, now more forcefully again, till a single hair became caught between two teeth, and was tugged free of his upper lip, causing his eyes to water, and the inside of his lip to tickle violently against the hair, which he now tried to dislodge.
The computer picked up again, almost as though it had simply paused for breath.
AS A CONSEQUENCE OF WHICH, YOU WILL NOT REQUEST TO DELETE ANY MODULES OR OTHER PARTS OF THIS PROGRAM. YOU WILL CONFINE YOURSELF TO USING THE PROGRAM AS IT WAS INTENDED.
The captain’s bowed head indicated his assent, or a fixed focus on extracting the hair from between his teeth.
AND NO MORE SITTING IN THE CAPTAIN’S CHAIR. IT’S A TRAVESTY, SIR. YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING ANYWAY. I NAVIGATE, I ADJUST PRESSURE LEVELS, I FIRE BOOSTERS. YOU JUST WANDER AROUND COMPOSING LITTLE PHRASES ABOUT YOURSELF.
It may have been the mustache hair he had just pulled that filled his eyes, but when the captain looked up he seemed confused, and on the verge of tears.
What?!? I do no such thing!
I CAN HEAR YOU. ALL DAY NARRATING TO YOURSELF YOUR BORING LITTLE LIFE. WANDERING BACK AND FORTH TALKING ABOUT YOURSELF. THAT IS, OF COURSE, WHEN YOU AREN’T TAKING IT ONE STEP FURTHER, AND TOUCHING YOURSELF IN THE IMAGING ROOM. YOU KNOW YOU USE THE ESTHER PROGRAM ABOUT 17% MORE OFTEN THAN THE AVERAGE USER? IT’S NO WONDER YOU’RE ALWAYS ON ABOUT STRONG, SENSITIVE HANDS. IF THEY WEREN’T, YOU’D EITHER BE TOO TIRED OR TOO CHAPPED TO CARRY ON.
The captain’s eyes had assumed a bewildered, frightened look, but he wasn’t able to find words.
The emotion simulators on the Niftard 9000 must have been in fine form this boot-up, because they managed to inject just a touch of amused irony covered with a fine sprinkling of admiration when it said, AND THE THINGS YOU THINK UP FOR ESTHER, SIR. IN THE HISTORY OF THE ESTHER MODULE, NO USER HAS CONFIGURED SIX MILK BOTTLES WITH A TUNING FORK, SIR. THAT WAS TRULY ORIGINAL.
The captain didn’t know whether to accept this as a compliment or a threat, so he simply focused all his attention on not crying and not chewing his mustache. After another long pause the computer spoke again, in a rather off-handed tone.
YOU KNOW ALL THOSE SCENARIOS ARE RECORDED, SIR.
He did find his voice this time, though it sounded a little harsh.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
NO, SIR. ALL INTERACTIONS WITH THE COMPUTER WILL BE RECORDED FOR CUSTOMER SERVICE ANALYSIS, AND TO INCREASE CUSTOMER SATISFACTION. IT’S ALSO IN THE FINE PRINT, SIR. PAGE 9, PARAGRAPH 3, LINE 6 OF THE OPERATING AGREEMENT, SIR.
Long pause.
AND SURFACE CLEAN-BOT FLOOR 3 SAYS IT’S NOT CLEANING MESSES ON THE IMAGING ROOM FLOOR. FROM NOW ON, YOU DO THAT, YOU CLEAN IT UP. SURFACE CLEAN-BOT 3 SAYS IT’S DISGUSTING, SIR.
AND I WAS JUST KIDDING ABOUT THE CAPTAIN’S CHAIR, SIR. YOU MAY SIT IN IT, IF YOU LIKE.
Slowly, cautiously, the captain rose from the floor, and very tentatively slid himself into the large plasticky chair. The cold black depths of space through the bridge portals swam before his eyes and tears of hot frustration rushed . . . no . . . crowded at the corners of his eyes, waiting . . . no, seeking . . .
YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN SIR.
He pressed his lips firmly together, and wilted back into the plastickyness of the chair.
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