Open Writing

It took Holly five days of painstaking, tedious work,
and even then she was not certain she had succeeded in
repairing the higher functions of the mainframe. Not until
she tried the access code for the umpteenth time, and was
rewarded with a cocky “Hiya, dollface, where ya been?”
was she able to relax. The relief she felt at hearing the
familiar New York tones was so profound that she wept,
and was unable to answer for a few minutes.

“I ain’t been nowhere, Doc,” she finally replied to the
holographic image next to her in their customary way.
“Where you been?”

Holly sank back against the bulkhead and closed her
eyes. The computer, hearing no further voice commands,
began a check of its systems. Holly waited, doing nothing,
allowing the ship’s brain to examine itself in self-
regulatory mode. If there was anything that needed her
attention, it could now tell her, and could give her precise
instructions as to how the repairs could be carried out.

* * *

“I’ll tell ya, doll, we got ourselves a few problems this
time.”

Holly jerked awake as the voice of the computer
sounded from her helmet radio. Sleepily, she raised her
hands to rub her eyes, forgetting she was still in her suit,
and started again when they bumped against the faceplate.
Holly checked her chrono; she had been asleep for more
than an hour, although it felt as if she had only just closed
her eyes. Grimacing at the stale taste in her mouth, she
took a sip from her water tube and asked, “What problems
in particular, Doc?”

“Well, ya got two patches on the hull, a malfunction in
the sleep centers and -” here it lowered its voice, and the
image leaned conspiratorially towards her – “I can’t
detect the life-signs of the other members of your shift.”

Tired, sick at heart with remembering, Holly said,
“They’re dead, Doc.” Briefly, she related the events that
had been the result of the meteor strike, then sat bolt
upright as a thought occurred to her.

“Doc, are you monitoring the sleepers?”

“Of course.”

“You’re reading all their vital signs?”

“Sure. What’s this all - ”

“Can you tell me to what degree each of them has been
-” somehow it didn’t seem right to speak of humans as
being ‘brain-damaged’ to a computer – “affected?”

Holly was sure she could hear sympathy in the
computer’s voice. “Sorry, doll. No can do.” Holly
slumped again. “However - ”

“What?” she said, lifting her head.

“Well, based on blood and body chemistry, I could run
comparison tests on each of them, comparing the results
to the data we had before we left earth - ”

“Jesus, Doc! Spit it out, will you?”

“I was going to say,” the computer continued in a hurt
and aggrieved tone, “I could help you choose which of
them would be most likely to be able to help you, if we
wake them.”

Holly brightened, and felt real hope for the first time
since the accident. “God, Doc. That’d be great.”

“The key word here is likely,” the computer continued.
“There would be no guarantees on the degree of success,
or otherwise, which we might achieve.”

Holly smiled wryly. “Good old Doc. Why use ten
words when a thousand will do?”

The computer replied in a miffed tone, “I can’t help
my programming. You should know that, better than
almost anyone, Holly.”

Holly smiled fondly at the image seated next to her in
one of the chairs at the computer console. It was wearing
a blue pin-stripe suit, with a white shirt and a red tie, and
wore a red carnation in the buttonhole of the jacket. The
eyes gazed at her through the horn-rimmed glasses with a
faintly reproachful stare.

It was true that she had been largely instrumental in the
computer being given the personality of the long-dead
scientist and writer. No one else had really cared much,
one way or the other, but Holly had felt that it was
important that they be able to talk to it as an entity, not
just a machine. Some had favored the use of “Father” or
“Mother”, as had been done in several sci-fi movies.

Holly, however, had argued against this as being
oddly impersonal, and at odds with the feelings such
honorifics were supposed to engender. In the end, she had
won through, and a personality was born. True AI was
well along in its development, and the Doctor was the
finest example in existence.

Or he had been, she thought. In the two hundred years
since they had left earth, huge advances must have been
made. Who knew what they had now? She was musing
over this when the Doctor broke into her thoughts.

“In a way, Holly, I have you to thank for my new
existence. Without your insistence, I might never have
been given this second chance at life.”

Slowly, the gist of what the computer was saying
penetrated Holly’s tired awareness. She looked up sharply
at the bland face of the image. “Wait a minute, are you
trying to say that you think you’re…what, the real Isaac
Asimov, somehow reincarnated?”

“Well, of course I am,” evidently nonplused that such
a fundamental truth should need to be explained.

“But – but that’s ridiculous!”

“Why?”

“Why?” Holly groped for words. “Because…because
you’re a machine, not an organic organism like the real
Asimov was, that’s why!”

The computer took on a chiding tone. “With respect,
Holly, I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Holly gaped at the figure beside her. “But… but… all
you are is a machine. No offense, but that’s the long and
the short of it. We humans, we created you. The entire
works of Isaac Asimov were fed into your data banks
when we programmed your personality. That’s all it is.
That, and everything we could find written about the man
by others. To say that you’re actually the man reborn
is…well, it’s crazy!”

Holly paused, and the hologram spoke, calmly and
rationally. It sounded eerily like Holly imagined the man
himself would sound, explaining to a misguided student
the flaws in her reasoning.

“Holly, tell me this. If the original Doctor Asimov was
a thinking organism containing the thoughts and
memories of a lifetime, and I am a thinking organism that
also contains those thoughts and memories, then what is
the difference between us? I am in possession, besides the
things you mentioned, of everything about him that was
captured on film or tape, all of the transcripts of every
talk and lecture he gave, prizewinning speeches, award
acceptances - ”

“All right, okay,” said Holly, holding up her gloved
hands before her, as if to ward off an onslaught. “But
you’re forgetting one thing. The original Isaac Asimov
was human. He had a soul.”

“The existence of the human soul has never been
proven.”

“It hasn’t been disproved, either.”

“Then how do you know I do not have one?”

Holly stopped, and stared at the machine. Then she
found her voice again. “A soul? In a computer? You’ve
got to be kidding!”

“Why? If you have one, why can’t I?”

Holly struggled for the words. “Well, because…
because… because you’re a machine! You’re not human.
God didn’t make you, you were made by man.”

“Who was in turn made by God.”

“Yeeeeesssss…” said Holly, a little uncomfortably.

“Well then,” continued the Doctor smoothly, “if God
makes something, and gives it intelligence and a soul, and
that something in turn creates an intelligence of its own,
as you claim to have created me, isn’t the second
something merely an extension of the first?”

Holly stared at the computer for a long moment. “As
my English friends would say, Doctor, you’re winding me
up.”

There was a pause, then the computer said, “Had you
going for a while though, didn’t I?”

Holly threw back her head inside the suit helmet and
laughed, and was joined by the soft, rich chuckle of the
computer. It was the first happy sound the ship had heard
since the strike.

After a few moments, Holly got her mirth under
control. “Okay, Machina ex Deus, what do we do now?”

The computer replied. “I will compile a list of those
sleepers whose physiological readouts and previous
psychological profiles classify them as being the most
suitable for awakening. But be warned; no guarantees.”

Holly nodded. “Fine, okay. I understand. Meanwhile, I
need sleep. I haven’t had a proper sleep, in a real bed
for… well, however long it’s been is far too long.”

She pushed herself away from the wall where she had
slumped and stretched her aching limbs. “Try and give me
at least eight hours, Doc. More if you can. I really need
it.”

“No problem, doll. There’s no real urgency in any of
this that will stop you getting as much rest as you need.
You hit the sack. If I have to, I’ll wake you, as per mission
specs, but otherwise I’ll just let you sleep.”

Holly yawned, and nodded agreement. “Yeah, right. Is
there likely to be anything you’ll need me for? You know,
to help with your repairs?”

“No, I have that problem under control now. The self-
repair programs are in place and functioning
adequately.”

That was good enough for Holly. She drifted through
the corridors towards her quarters, the sleeping room she
used when she was on-shift, one deck below the bridge.
As she approached the room, another thought struck her.

“Doc?”

“Yes, Holly?”

“Do I need to wear my suit anymore? I mean, is the air
all right?

The reassuring voice of the computer spoke in her
helmet. “No, the air is fine, Holly. You can remove the
suit anytime you want. Air pressure is back to earth
normal, and the temperature is twenty Celsius.”

Holly sighed with relief. “Thank God for that. It’ll be
great to get it off, and have a another wash. But I’m too
tired to bathe or shower right now, so I’ll sleep now and
get clean later.”

She reached the door to her room and touched the pad
on the wall. The door slid aside and she drifted inside,
popping the catches on the suit as she went. She lifted the
helmet off her head and stripped off the suit. Then she
unsnapped her bra and stepped out of her briefs. Naked,
she slipped under the attached cover on the bed that
served the dual purpose of providing a blanket and
preventing the sleeper from rising into the air in the
weightless conditions.

“G’night, Doc.”

“Sleep well, Holly,” came the reply from the room’s
speakers.

“Lights please.”

The soft lighting in the room slowly dimmed until the
room was almost dark, a very deep gloom. Holly closed
her eyes, sighed contentedly, and was asleep in moments.

While Holly slept, the ship continued its journey,
rushing through space at its constant, frightening velocity.
The computer continued to monitor all the ship’s systems,
overseeing all aspects of the operation, while
simultaneously carrying on the job of self-diagnosis and
repair.

In the time since the accident, the ship had moved
some five billion kilometers closer to its destination. They
were now nine billion kilometers from the binary, and the
major star appeared as a somewhat larger marble than it
had before, and even the smaller companion star was now
easily discernible. The magnetic field continued to ward
off the debris of space, its one failure almost certainly
never to repeat.

Those on board, asleep or awake, had known the risks
before they had left earth. They knew the journey would
be dangerous; you don’t go into space thinking it will be
easy, a breeze. That was the best way to literally become
one with the cosmos very quickly, and have your
molecules join the stuff of the stars. They took their
chances; the tragic thing was, they had almost made it.
Only eighteen days away now, less than three weeks out
of almost two hundred years. So near….

Now the sleepers slept on, without any guarantee that
any of them would ever wake again.

And the stricken ship hurtled towards Procyon.