Return to the Denoument Chapter Listing Page
The landscaped hills, covered in a fine bright green grass, rolled off into the distance, where they met with a line of forest that extended over the rounded mountains in the distance. A simple white manor of a very Terran English style dominated one of the taller hills, surrounded by semicircles of flowerbeds and an arc of hedge-maze, with the occasional fruit tree for emphasis. Oddly enough, there were no roads or paths that led to the manor from elsewhere; it was its own little outpost in the middle of nowhere.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t so odd. It really was utopia, nowhere. Nowhere physically real, at least... but it seemed real enough to me when I patched into Brisbane’s mind at her behest. Most definitely her--in front of me, sitting at a garden table set made of white-painted heavy-gauge wire twisted into vaguely organic spirals and floral patterns that became in totality two chairs and a table--a quite short Human female maybe 158 centimeters tall and a slightly stocky build with a care-worn face the shade of old porcelain set under a well-managed bun of silver-grey hair. From the soft wrinkling and crows feet around the eyes, she may have been in her early sixties; she wore an antiquated Military Services uniform in a style that hadn’t been used for at least sixty years with a wide, green Exploratory Services fabric belt. She wore no rank-at least not any I recognized-although she did wear a senior NCO’s sword on her right side; the ribbon tree set over left breast was longer and seemed to shift colors when she moved, and there were more service-duration stripes climbing up her arms than I cared to count. Her burnished-steel nametag read, simply, "Brisbane," just as my own read "Sovinto."
The entire effect was so disorienting that I forgot to be diplomatically cheerful and instead only stood there, taking in the view.
"Oh, do please sit down." Brisbane indicated the chair across from her with the palm of one hand, pointed fingernails painted a pale red. "And aren’t you going to say ‘it’s in Australia?’"
"Pardon?" I blinked.
"Brisbane, the city. It’s in Australia, not the English Isles." Brisbane smiles. "I prefer this to the stereotypical Australian setting because it better suits the persona I’ve built over the years. It is all historic Commonwealth in the end, so one may very well suppose it to be close enough?"
"I didn’t know that. I figured this looked English, but just from old vids and books and what not… Terran geography isn’t a strong suit." I sat down, finding myself looking at Brisbane’s grey eyes across a vintage silver tea set and a bottle of dark red wine. "So… ah… is this something you just pull up for guests, or is it a personal construct?" It was the only thing I could think of at the time.
"This?" Brisbane asked with a smile, looking around at the landscape. The sky was slightly overcast. "It’s a bit of both, actually, but primarily the latter. I don’t have company often, and most certainly not company of an organic nature." She spoke in a very calm, controlled tone but a bit softly, with eyes staring off into the distance.
I realized then that I was needed, folding my hands and leaning forward slightly. "Is there anything you’d like to talk about?"
Brisbane smiled softly. "I was expecting to answer your questions, Officer Sovinto, as you seemed so inquisitive earlier."
"I did just ask a question." I tilted my head slightly. "You seem… concerned about something, maybe there is something I can do to help."
"Ah, you did ask… and thank you for the offer of assistance, but I doubt you would be of much use in raising the dead."
"No, but I can listen and understand."
Brisbane nods. "Thank you. As you can tell from the stripes, I’ve been around for quite a while. I used to be the flagship of the Sector Six Defense Fleet, if you’d believe it. I participated in Task Force Pioneer… in fact, it was my first major action. That was back when I only had one of these." She tapped one of the twenty-eight duration stripes on her right sleeve with a pointed finger-nail, and sighs. "It seems to be common custom when reminiscing to say ‘those were the days.’ They weren’t." Her face hardened slightly. "I was reminded today exactly why that is the case." Sighing again, she shook her head. "Ah, but I am being an ungracious host. Tea, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "I’m well, thank you… and tea is not the traditional beverage of remembering."
"Quite right." Taking up the bottle of wine, she uncorks it and pours a liberal amount into two crystal glasses. "Interesting compounds there are in burgundies, fascinating to analyze, and inordinately useful when trying to rationalize traditionalism." Taking up her glass with a wry smile, she lifts it. "To long life and the experience it brings."
I thought for a moment. "To fallen comrades."
She nods gravely, pouring a small amount of the wine onto the ground before taking a sip. "To that indeed."
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"I would rather say that I have to at this rate; it’s been a very long time since I’ve had to deal with such things. I must apologize for being short earlier, but it was a great shock to me… Nemapogon was always a survivor, and when I saw she’s still on patrol…" She sighs.
I nodded, taking a sip of the wine. I didn’t even remember to think that it was simulated.
"She was a veteran of Armada Rage, if you can believe it, commissioned in 2489. Five hundred and fourteen years of exemplary combat history… and now no more than a mass grave of scrap metal." Her voice shook slightly. "Through the entire Reaver War… upgraded more times than I would have thought possible… to come to a bad end now. We were both glad to be relegated to Exploratory Services duty," she continues softly, "we had done our time for king and country and survived into working retirement after leaving so many friends behind, either on patrol or in Section Eight."
Combat must be hard on electronic intelligences, I thought, so I suppose it makes sense there’s an insanity clause for them as well. "You were friends," I spoke as a statement of fact, "couldn’t you have retired permanently? It was my understanding that was an option."
Nodding, Brisbane smiled wryly at me. "An option, yes, but not one we wished to take. What does one do with a warship-class electronic intelligence, hmm? The same that one does with old generals and admirals--put them on the shelf and let them ponder their lives until they finally fade from existence. I am a starship. Even now I’m working harder per second than most organics do in their entire lifespans. Leisure would tire my relatively short patience quite quickly."
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend."
"You did not offend, Officer Sovinto. I merely attempted to explain my viewpoint. Of course, the downside to our choice is very clear at the moment." She takes another sip. "Still, she went down swinging to the end, making them pay for their victory in blood. I know she preferred that to simply wasting away. I wish I had been there to help." She lifted her glass again. "May the enemy tremble in fear at the name of Nemapogon."
I raised my glass, we sipped together. "It must be rough… ending a friendship three times older than I am. I sympathize, but have a question."
"Thank you… it is hard indeed," Brisbane nods, "but present company makes it somewhat easier. What do you wish to ask?"
"Why me? I am honored, as you know Pelok suggested, but why not one of the more senior sensors staff… which is practically any of them?"
"Because you’re the curious one trained to understand. The others, they are technicians. They mine my senses for data and my mind for analysis. To them, I am a coworker at best, a tool at worst. Anyone curious enough is frightened away by the novelty and the sheer scope--you know what I’m talking about, I watched you walk around in a daze--but you seem honestly concerned about how I feel and seem to sincerely want to understand."
I nodded again. "I really do… this is all fascinating to me, even if it is slightly disconcerting." Honesty always was my best diplomatic policy. I know it must be rather difficult, Brisbane, but if you ever need to talk to me just call."
"Thank you, Officer Sovinto, I will." She smiled softly but sincerely. "Please… feel free to call me ‘Bane. If you’re going to be my new therapist, I might as well establish that I do not expect nor especially desire to be referred to formally."
"Shal." I responded with a smile. "I do find ‘Officer Sovinto’ to be rather stuffy, myself."
"Shall we go for a walk?" ‘Bane asked, pushing back her chair. As she got up, she grimaced slightly, holding her side as if a kidney was bothering her.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"I still haven’t quite fully recovered from our glorious captain’s error," she mutters darkly, "but I will be back to specifications soon enough."
The hedges were intricately done; brilliant simulacra of two-meter bushes, well trimmed. Peering at the tiny needle-like leaves and the internal branching, I wondered how Brisbane could spare the processing power to generate all this.
"They’re generated by a deceptively simple fractal program combined with a slightly more complex volume-filler program. If you attempt to interact with it, the i/o is shunted to a more standard all-points-represented simulacra program that accepts data from the previous two."
Our boots crunched together on the crushed gravel path-probably also randomly generated-that ran between the hedges in the maze. The sky remained overcast, draining color from the little non-world. It seemed to fit Brisbane’s mood.
"Tell me… why did you simulate pain when you stood up?"
She smiled. "A long time ago, that may have been a simulation. Now, I can say with the utmost authority and conviction, that pain was oh too real." Expecting my next thoughts, she continued in a careful tone. "This entire ‘simulation’ is a personal art to me, including this persona I’ve constructed and maintained over nearly three hundred years. The very nature of art is that one puts a great deal of oneself into it; with an art form like this, my persona here has become just as much me in my mind as the Surreal-class light cruiser my mind is locked in. Most of us are slightly batty that way." Chuckling softly, she looked up at me with a wry smile. "Makes you feel warm and comfortable, knowing the intelligence that makes the ship alive has a psychotic break, no?"
"I wouldn’t say that," I countered, "although I find it odd that the artist cannot control the art."
"Oh, really?" She laughed, looking back down at the path and kicking a randomly placed stone ahead of us on the path, where it was reabsorbed in the dataset. "That is the sign of true art. It isn’t so much something one wants to do as something one has to do. The act of creative expression, of letting one’s ideas and thoughts and emotions flow into whatever medium one chooses, becomes mandatory as one’s mind works furiously to somehow inscribe the thoughts of a lifetime into something… not more permanent, perhaps… into something others can see and appreciate, so they can understand the one."
"And yet I’m the first of your crews that you’ve ever let see this."
"Insular nature, and a wish not to disturb the safe misconceptions of most of the same crews. To them, I’m a sturdy frame of metal with some components tacked on, protecting them from the void and allowing them to explore that same void." She spread an arm out in front of her, slowly curving and splaying her fingers as if she were incanting something. "There is no need to inform them that they are flying around in a rather poor armchair philosopher as well. Either they would become frightened, or they would become sympathetic--either one would reduce their efficiency, and thus make them less useful to my mission and me in the end."
"Because I serve no real purpose…" I mused, head bowed. It was a humbling thought.
"That, honestly, did not enter into my mind when I wished to talk to you as a friend, Shal." ‘Bane smiled softly. "Although, if you want to think about your ‘purpose,’ so to speak, you now have one that, in my mind at least, is somewhat more important than a mere sensors operator."
I nodded. "So, what is your ‘purpose,’ in your mind?"
"What’s yours?"
We stopped at a bench and sat down. I held my chin in my hands, elbows resting on my knees, while I thought about that for a moment. "I’m not altogether sure I have one. Most ‘purposes’ people have are based on some sort of faith… something I sorely lack."
"Religious faith is not a requisite," ‘Bane looks up at the cloudy sky thoughtfully, "but it does seem to help. Many people have purposes that are wholly secular in nature, although they usually require at least a marginal ethical or moral code. You may be an atheist, Shal, but I know you are certainly not a nihilist."
"Then what the hell am I?"
‘Bane chuckled softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "That, my friend, I cannot quite answer with the depth you want… which pains me somewhat. I live to serve."
"What?"
"To serve. My ‘purpose,’ as it were. Some of these ships in this little fleet were built for exploration, and service almost doesn’t appear in their lexicons, I’m afraid. Their purpose would be discovery."
"But you are programmed to--"
"Not quite, my dear. You have the order of causality mistaken. My core personality evolved into one who wished to serve with her life; thus was I selected to become Brisbane after a series of trials against other applicants. Believe it or not, being a starship is quite an honor. Now, being a diplomatic officer--do you think it to be the right thing to do, even if you cannot currently explain why?"
I thought for a few moments again. "Yes."
"Then your ‘purpose,’ whatever it may be, is more like than not related to that. Still," she pauses momentarily, "don’t fool yourself into thinking that finding a purpose will solve your problems. It may alleviate the existential crisis, but your other questions, especially those of a religious bent, will remain."
"What do you think?"
"Hmm?"
"About religion and what not."
‘Bane reached down and picked up a stone, examining it between thumb and forefinger with a canted head. "I don’t give it much thought. Philosophers on the outside worry about whether or not I have a soul, and until I know one way or the other about it I’m not going to let it concern me. The only part of that debate that I pay attention to is whether I classify as a ‘real’ being or just a very complex tool that would give B.F. Skinner wet dreams." She smirked. "Seeing how non-artificial minds also debate this about themselves, I don’t lose any runtime over it… although it’s rather obvious where my position is."
"So you’re an uninterested atheist?"
"Agnostic bordering on deist, more like. On the one hand, I am willing to concede the existence of a godhead if necessary to explain the origins of the Universe. On the other hand, I see absolutely no evidence that any such omnipotent creator is still at work in its creation."
"So religion…"
"Is an opiate, a la Marx. It is at best a reinforcement of moral values that brings supplicants to do good; it is nominally a morale device, allowing people to ease their minds about life and death; it is at worst a form of control used by the corrupt who wish not to serve any god or spirit but only to improve their own power in this plane of reality. Religion is the magic soma of Huxley, with no side effects or hangovers except for whatever might rattle about in the minds of the taker. One can drink alcohol for strength, or they can drink it to forget, or they are easier to convince when drunk. A crude analogy at best, but that is my honest opinion." ‘Bane quietly puts the stone back on the path, then shakes her head and taps the stone a few millimeters to the right with her boot.
I sat silently for a few minutes, turning that over in my mind. "But… religion is pandemic. Almost every species, even mine, has at least one form of faith."
"Similar answers to the same problem. Most intelligent species have hands and eyes of some sort too."
I sighed.
"Now, there, there"-‘Bane wrapped an arm around my shoulders, stretching a good deal to do so, clucking her tongue-"the first thing you must learn is that I will answer as truthfully as I can anything that I am authorized to. If you ask for my thoughts and opinions, you will get them… although I am sorry to have depressed you so."
"Eh, it’s nothing that I haven’t thought of myself. Thanks for the concern, though… I only wish that I could figure it all out, come up with something true that’s more than wizzywig."
Brisbane seemed to think for a moment. "Remember that I am not an oracle; the only advantages I have on your mind are processing power and experience. I could very well be mistaken on such views. You are only about seventy-two years old, if I’m not mistaken, and that gives you plenty of time to figure out your own answer."
I nodded, mind elsewhere. "I think I should sleep on it."
"That’s the spirit. I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then--I have a ship to run, and you’ve got sleep to get--and I do hope you get this cleared up soon." Standing up, she proffered a hand.
I took it and accepted her help in standing up. "Thanks, ‘Bane. Hopefully you’ll come to terms with your own problems as well."
She nods. "It will take time. Goodnight and sleep well, friend."
I found myself staring at the monitor of my quarters’ console. Removing the induction pad from the back of my neck, I managed to mumble "goodnight" before wandering over to my bed. Checking the clock--2200, I had been decking about for three hours--I stripped off my uniform and fell into bed, inordinately exhausted for doing not much more than sitting around all day.
I had forgotten to turn off the lights, but they dimmed by themselves.