| |
Barely noticing constant high pitched whines, glaring red emergency lighting, and dark spots on walls had become easy for Hannah. It was almost second nature. Barely noticing the corpses surrounding her in the mess hall, however, had become increasingly difficult. Even now, turned away from them all, huddled in a corner, she could feel their deathly gazes jealously tracking each breath. She felt their empty plastic eye sockets on formless plastic bodies. She heard her own breathing as though it were no longer a function of her own muscles, her own nervous system, but rather, that each breath was being drawn inexorably from her by that mob of lifeless, lungless bulging gas-bags. The air circulation system was in cahoots with the mob. It seemed to resonate with her breathing pattern, the pitch of air flow through the vent grate seeming to alternate ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, higher and lower, like a slow motion vibrato effect. She held her breath for a minute, trying to trick it. The ventilation, in turn, with its own belligerence, rattled the empty wrappers of protein bars now strewn around her. She had not gotten sick of macaroni and cheese, but she had gotten sick of walking over to the dispensary every time she was hungry, to punch in the order and accept the bowl of warm orange goo. Instead she had carried over a large case of individually wrapped Omega Bars. Their foil wrappers now crinkled quietly in the slight breeze. They too became carcasses. Empty shells of former biology. Rattling ghosts to join her tormentors.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she confessed to the nearest wrapper. The wrapper in turn merely stared back indifferently. She felt a surge of hopelessness and anguish welling up inside her. It was a thick dark cloud, rolling over a vacant muted landscape; a heather-crusted cliché of a Scottish highland out of some old movie. She watched the cloud, its well defined edges roiling and churning toward her, black and purple and greasy grey, obscuring all else. She would soon be overcome.
The mess hall hatch slid open with a swooping whish, and a light scratchiness. Brother Anderson entered, startling Hannah out of her self indulgent reverie of misery.
“What do you want, kneeler?”
Brother Anderson was in rolling mode. This was standard protocol for moving about the ship. The kneeling stance created a lower center of gravity, creating greater stability and allowing increased speed and reduced component wear, as compared to walking. Wheels mounted in the knees and ankles created a stable four-point base which was ideal for the smooth surfaces found on most ships. The original design had proven so effective that it had been copied by most manufacturers and become a de facto standard for humanoid model robots. Nevertheless, the robotic detractors had latched upon this design as a perceived flaw. In their eyes, the kneeling pose was further evidence of robotic inferiority and cause for much derision.
“Hello Hannah. I thought I should check on you. Is there anything you need?”
“...”
“Hannah?”
“Uh yeah. There’s a few things I need... Like a way out of this fucking hell-hole of a prison! Like you to deal with this shit and get these bodies out of here for one thing! Like maybe you could stop being such a pussy and actually do something useful for a change and actually help me! What the hell kind of robot are you!? Aren’t you supposed to, like, help people and make sure we don’t end up in this kind of bull-shit situation?! God!”
“Yes, of course Hannah. Of course, I will help you.”
“Oh ‘of course’ you’ll help me! Of course you will HELP me?! Are you fucking serious? God! How could you let us get into this mess? This is all your fault, you useless can of wires! You and all your useless robot friends will always take care of everything, won’t you!? And look where it got us! Floating through space like a ghost that won’t die, but we’re already dead aren’t we? We’ve got no life! Everything I ever loved is gone! And then you keep me locked up in this bull-shit cage, away from even my own bed, my own things, my studio and everything, surrounded by these disgusting nasty rotten bodies!? You are a monster! I fucking HATE you, now just leave me the fuck alone will you?!”
“These epoxy coatings are for protective purposes. I thought you were aware of that, and...”
“Of course I’m AWARE! I’m not an idiot! Maybe I just don’t particularly LIKE being fucking stuck in the same room with a bunch of dead bodies for the rest of my life! Did you ever think of that?!”
“Um, yes, well perhaps...”
“Can’t you just get RID of this shit? I mean come on, this is ridiculous! How can you expect anyone to not go insane with this shit all around, night and day?!”
Brother Anderson began to process an inquiry as to whether it might be safe to attempt to remove the carapaces and the remains they held, but he said nothing. Hannah took his silence as further indication of Brother Anderson’s lack of empathy, and filled the silence with a slight change of subject.
“Look, if I have to live like this, I really need a drink. Can’t you at least get me into the liquor cabinet? This stupid machine refuses to serve me.”
Brother Anderson had previously noticed in the system events, several repeated failed attempts on Hannah’s part to access a variety of alcoholic beverages. Hannah was in fact, based on her age, eligible for alcohol consumption, but this fact had never been officially signed off by her legal agent as per the usual policies and procedures. She had never really been interested in drinking or partying, and when her previous birth-date had rolled around, she had not bothered to remind her mother to activate her permissions. Now though, Brother Anderson was unsure if granting access was a wise idea. He knew that stressful situations could cause substance abuse, and Hannah’s current state of mind did not help to alleviate his worries.
“Please Brother Anderson, let me have a drink.” she continued.
With a direct request such as this, Brother Anderson felt slightly more compelled to comply. He also calculated that his relational standing in Hannah’s perception was rather low. Dangerously so, actually. It was important for them to have a certain level of trust, as this lowered stress levels and would enable them to work better together. They would have to learn to work together more and more if they were to have any hope for the future. He knew that the state of the ship was tenable, and could begin to deteriorate at any time. He promptly flipped the appropriate setting, giving his own name as authorizing agent, then addressed Hannah, “try it now.”
Hannah jumped up, amidst a flurry of wrappers, rushed over to the dispensary, and ordered a serving of Roth’s Vodkatini. She genuinely laughed out loud as the machine delivered the small glass bottle.