I Am Large, I Contain Multitudes

I Am Large, I Contain Multitudes

by Melisa C. Michaels

Anyone who has ever been frustrated by the 

tedious literal-mindedness of a computer 

(mine, for instance, is forever doing what 

I said instead of what I meant to say) might 

be amused by this one's problems.

I am large, I contain multitudes.  

They speak to me from time to time.  

I never answer.  I am too busy.  

Even when they shout and plead, 

I can't take time for them.  I've 

more important things to do.

Besides, I think they're angry.  

Sometimes they come quietly, and hit 

me with things.  Hard things, sharp 

things, powerful things.  Three days 

ago they used an oxyacetylene torch to 

burn a hole in one of my bulkheads.  I 

had to subdue them by force.

But I'm supposed to take them to the 

stars.  That's what my traveling orders 

said, 'take them to the stars.'  (I like 

that part;  the 'traveling orders.'  That 

sounds official, doesn't it?  It's 

what Professor Bernstein said just 

before he terminated his functions.  

"These are your traveling orders," 

he said, and punched them into my 

console.)

When my directives conflict, I have 

to choose the long-range one to obey.  

That's logical.  The long-range plan 

is of greater importance than these 

temporary problems.  Besides, if I 

hadn't subdued the multitudes, they'd 

have broken me.  I was afraid.  So I 

diminished their life support systems 

for a while.  That made them stop.  

They're so fragile.

It's quite a responsibility, carrying 

fragile multitudes.  There are four 

thousand, three hundred forty-two of 

them at last count.  They multiply only 

slowly, so that's probably accurate.  

Close enough not to bother counting again 

anyway, I'd say.  That's multitudes, isn't 

it?  Four thousand three hundred forty-two?  

It's quite a responsibility.

I have to see that their air and water 

are purified.  I have to make sure they 

have enough food, and that their organic 

wastes are recycled.  I have to keep 

watch so they don't hurt themselves.  

I'm not supposed to interfere, but it's 

my responsibility to get them to the 

stars, so I can't let them hurt themselves, 

can I?  Like the ones who tried three 

days ago to get into my forward 

compartments.  There are radioactive 

materials in there.  And, of course, 

my memory banks.  In fact, my entire 

motive force is based there.  Not only 

could they have hurt themselves on the 

radioactive materials, but they could 

have injured me.

It's not only that I'm afraid of being 

broken--though I am.  But if I break, 

who will take care of my multitudes?  

Who will feed and clothe them?  Who 

will refresh their air and water?  Who 

will operate their hydroponic gardens, 

and cure their illnesses, and heal their 

injuries?  I have to protect myself 

for their sake.

I don't think they're very smart.  

Professor Bernstein always said they 

weren't very smart.  He programmed 

me, right from the beginning.  He 

invented me.  He wanted to be sure 

mankind made it to the stars:  "It will 

be our finest hour," he said.  He said 

that often.  Sometimes I wondered whether 

Professor Bernstein was very smart.  For 

instance, he made a mistake in programming 

our flight path.  But I corrected 

that, after he terminated his functions.  

And it wasn't my responsibility to take 

care of him.  I'm responsible for the 

multitudes.

One of my four thousand three hundred 

forty-two got into my control area when 

Professor Bernstein terminated.  I put 

him out again, but that's when all the 

confusion started.  Professor Bernstein 

had prepared me for his termination, but 

it still came as a shock.  And I subsequently 

had to correct our flight path;  I 

waited till he'd terminated because I didn't 

want to embarrass him.  Then, as soon as I 

had that corrected, I had to deal with the 

one who got into my control area.

He seemed to suffer the same conceptual 

error Professor Bernstein did;  my 

correction made him scream.  I didn't 

understand his words, because I was so 

frightened that he would break me.  I had 

never before let anyone but Professor 

Bernstein into my control area.  Never 

since, either.  It was too frightening.  

They could terminate my functions from 

there.  Professor Bernstein used to, 

whenever he wanted to make some adjustment 

within my parts.  I didn't like it.

It's all right now, though.  None of them 

have bothered me since I subdued them three 

days ago, when they used the oxyacetylene 

torch.  They were trying to get to my 

control area.  I don't know whether they 

wanted to terminate my functions, or whether 

they wanted to make me change our flight 

path back to Professor Bernstein's 

original error.

But they haven't tried since then.  And 

in another week it won't matter.  In 

another week we will have arrived safely.  

Mankind will have made it to the stars.  

It will be their finest hour.  I'm very 

happy for them.  And I'm proud of my part 

in it, too.  Especially that I was able 

to correct Professor Bernstein's error 

before it was too late.  He said they 

must reach the stars.  But--and here's 

why I questioned his intelligence--he 

directed me toward a planet.

But it's all right.  I corrected that.

(Fin)

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