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)
Copyright © 1982 by Omni Publications
International Ltd. Reproduction and distribution
specifically prohibited. All rights reserved.
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