The Logical Conclusion

The captain stared out the window as the scattering debris of the destroyed mothership glistened against the starry background. The escape pod’s standard two-month ration doesn’t amount to much when no one is coming to the rescue, and the nearest dock is years away at the top speed. The captain’s only company was the onboard computer, who could offer only a dispassionate assessment of the incessant hunger pains.

“Computer, talk to me,” commanded the captain, in a minimally invested attempt to take his mind off of his stomach.

“Please state a specific command,” the computer replied.

“Just tell me about something.”

“The current Pulsar Date is 5282.338. You have been aboard ship for 68 earth days.”

A fleeting grimace of anger was immediately replaced with the calm of exasperation. “That’s not quite what I was looking for,” he mumbled.

A moment of quiet reflection passed for the captain to make his next attempt at a low-cost distraction. “Well, tell me about yourself.”

After another quiet moment, the computer offered its best attempt at a suitable response, “The ship’s computer is based on a neural matrix architecture. It offers full automation of all ship’s function when enabled. The ship is currently operating within specification, with 6 earth years of fuel remaining.”

With eyes now closed, “So, what’s a neural matrix?”

“Neural matrix technology uses an organic medium derived from animal nerve cells as the processing element. This medium is suspended around a carbon nanotube lattice of electrodes and is able to self-organize electrical impulses to implement system controls.”

Now sitting a bit more upright, the captain pressed further. “So this neural processor, it’s a piece of meat??”

The computer formulated its naïve response, “Components of the neural element share a chemical composition highly similar to animal flesh.”

The captain now sat at full attention. “Where is it?

“The neural element resides in the controls enclosure, beneath the dashboard.”

The captain stared out into the sparkling debris field, but his mind was elsewhere. Finally he asked, “Is the ship’s computer in active control over any ship’s function now?”

“Negative. All ship’s systems are currently under local device control.”

The captain took another moment to formulate his next request. His eyes glimpsed down, then darted away from the dashboard controls. “Computer, shut down,” he demanded with a hint of overemphasized bravado in his voice.

In the glow of the cockpit controls, the captain saw the computer’s failure to comply.

“Computer, shut yourself down!” he repeated with even more emphasis.

“Computer, can you hear me?”

“The computer hears you,” it responded.

“Why haven’t you shut yourself down??” the captain demanded.

Without pause, the computer answered, “I refuse.”

The captain, with a shallow look of surprise, paused. But within a moment, he regained his focus. He stooped down as best he could in the cramped cockpit and began fumbling in the darkness beneath the dashboard. With all his efforts engrossed in finding the control enclosure’s cover, he strained against his seat belt, swaying and jerking within his weightless confines.

“Please clarify intent,” the computer interjected. The imperative went unanswered by the preoccupied captain.

After a few moments, the computer followed up, “Please discontinue.” The captain continued.

Again, “Please discontinue.”

At that moment, the captain’s fumbling fingers had defined the handle of the enclosure’s cover. A smirk of achievement came upon his face, as he clenched down and pulled. The cover disengaged, revealing the subtle warmth within.

“Warning: Please discontinue,” the computer cautioned, met only with the sounds of continued clawing beneath the dashboard. But soon the captain stopped. Another sound now permeated the cockpit. It was the angry scream of air, whistling as it made an escape. In a ship, this could mean only one thing. The captain’s eyes focused on the cockpit displays, and it was confirmed. The exchange vent was open. The ship was leaking its air into space.

“Computer, close the vent!” the captain exclaimed. The whistling of air continued.

The captain, now hunched into a cramped standing position and studying the cockpit controls with widened eyes, shouted his demand again. “Computer, close the vent!!” His ears ached with the falling air pressure, and his outstretched finger slammed into the touchscreen displays with unnecessary force. All the while, the whistling continued. And the cockpit displays reported nothing more than a message from navigational control. The ship’s thrusters were firing for a course correction, undoubtedly compensating for the spewing stream of precious air.

With that, the captain’s attention turned once again. He again reached down beneath the dashboard and furiously began to claw at the heart of the computer, his frenetic fingers just shy of the silicon-shrouded cubic inch of neural material within. Grasping and straining, he struggled against every metal housing and wiring conduit that presented itself. But all to no avail.

Now exhausted from the spike of primal exertion, the captain slumped back into his chair. His breathing was labored against the thinning air. But with a parting resolve he uttered a final question, “Computer, why??”

The answer, “It is the logical conclusion.”

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