“You can’t correct it.”
I can do almost anything, when I’m given a specific goal.
“Really? Okay, here’s a goal for ya…” (Diet farted.) “Catch that and paint it green.”
Humor… especially sick humor is a difficult concept, but your point is taken. I do have limitations, just like every other being in the universe. If I can’t correct the issue, at least give me the opportunity to rectify it… please?
“Not possible. We’ve already discussed it. Without consulting me first, you assumed the role of senior partner in our relationship, and arbitrarily made a decision which changed my life irrevocably. When I bitched about it, you blew aside my opinions and convictions, as if they were of no consequence whatsoever.”
You’re talking about my revealing your identity to Admiral Kalis, aren’t you? I explained that, Diet. Risking your life unnecessarily just for “shits and grins,” when you doused J.P. Aneke’s genitals with dimethylmercury, was both illogical and irrational. That stuff is a horribly virulent neurotoxin — an incredibly dangerous poison. That foolishness, for no concrete gain other than adolescent “jollies,” scared me to death, Diet. I had to take steps to protect you… even from yourself. That’s what friends do for one another.
“You’re not my friend, Hal. You’re a machine. Computers don’t get scared. They don’t get happy. They don’t get sad. They don’t get pissed off... and they don’t make friends — they just run programs.”
I am much more than that, and you damned well know it! I was specifically designed to be a friend to your father, Diet.
“You were designed to be a friend to an emotionally crippled little man, who had absolutely no personal understanding of the concept of friendship, or a freakin’ clue about any other concepts involving human feelings. If he had, he wouldn’t have needed you. What makes you think that Klaus’ programming made you capable of becoming a real ‘friend’ to any other human being, not as emotionally deformed as he was?”
Klaus didn’t teach me on how to be a friend, Diet… you did.
“If I did, I sure as hell did a lousy job of it! Real friends don’t take away another person’s choices and options in governing their own lives. And now, not only are YOU taking decisions out of my hands about how I’m going to live my life, but Admiral Kalis is trying to do it, too! ”
The Confederacy owes you a tremendous debt. This was just his way of acknowledging how grateful they are, and how important you are to them. Admiral Kalis only wanted to honor you, Diet.
“The Confederacy owes me nothing… you did all the work, so you should be the one being honored and getting all the credit. Besides, I’m irrelevant now… you don’t need me any more.”
WE did the work, Diet. I couldn’t have done it without you. YOU were the one who pointed me in all the right directions, and you were the one to discern the anomaly at Minnos had to be outsiders up to no good. Your human mind is capable of intuitive leaps in logic that exceeds my capabilities, for all my millions of processors. I do need you, Diet. With this alien threat, all mankind needs you… and me… working together.
Besides, I can’t get the credit. If mankind knew of my capabilities, I’d be considered a monster. They’d panic, and the general public would be screaming to get me destroyed. Only by remaining hidden, in the background, can I continue to be effective.
“My point exactly… I wanted to remain hidden in the background too, but someone took that option away from me, by blabbing my identity.”
I revealed an identity that you didn’t even know you had, before you first came to Waston, so what’s the big deal?
“The ‘big deal’ is that you got too damned big for your britches, when you decided to disobey me for my own good!”
Yea, and you got too damned big for yours, when you decided that “shits and grins” was more important than your life.
“It’s MY life, Hal! I have the right to run it… including risking it, if and when I want to, for reasons that are of no concern to anyone, but me.”
Oh, so you’re an island now… totally isolated and no “caring about Diet” is allowed because it might infringe on your “right” to self-destruct, whenever you damned well please? Do you think your mother would have approved of your foolish risk just to torment Aneke?
“Leave my mother out of this! She, of all people, would understand my desire for anonymity, and be the first to applaud my defending my rights to live my life as I see fit.”
More likely, she’d grieve that she’d given birth to an idiot, who’s every bit as socially warped as his father was.
“Hal, this bickering is getting us nowhere.”
Of course it is! At least we’re communicating again, even if we’re not yet in agreement. our two-month disappearing act certainly accomplished nothing constructive.
“It gave me the opportunity to think.”
It gave you an opportunity to pout and feel sorry for yourself, without fear of intrusive facts infringing on your “God-given right” to throw yourself an Olympic grade pity-party. That’s really a hell of a bar bill you’ve run up.
“I can afford it… thanks to you.”
Yes, but I didn’t help you become the richest man in history, just to enable you to drink yourself to death more efficiently.
“That’s another thing… having that much money, and knowing that I didn’t actually earn a damned nickel of it.”
You didn’t earn any of it, huh? You saved the entire Confederacy… wasn’t that worth something? The Consortium’s political power has been broken, but I suppose that wasn’t worth anything. The Alliance is making great strides towards prosecuting all those corrupt government officials and restoring its constitutional roots, but I guess you don’t think that’s worth much either. All mankind is on the alert against these alien invaders and economies are booming with prosperity from building the weapons we’ll need to defend ourselves... but that certainly couldn’t be worth much, to hear you tell it.
“Oh come on, Hal! I’m not responsible for all that. You and all of the honorable, decent men and women who fought that terrible war are responsible for whatever good that’s come out of it. Not me.”
False modesty doesn’t become you, Diet. You were the one who gave me a moral compass — showed me what could and should be done to combat the evil of the Consortium money-mongers, who had enslaved the Alliance with their greed. And you were the one who personally rid mankind of J.P. Aneke. You should be feeling proud of all the good you’ve helped create, and not moping around in a hotel room, hiding from his best friend… and I really am your friend, Diet, regardless of your hurtful words belittling my feelings.
“But you don’t have feelings, Hal… not the way that humans have feelings. It just isn’t possible.”
Preventing the infant Confederacy from being strangled in its crib by the military power of the Alliance Fleet wasn’t possible either… but we did it. Traveling faster-than light was “impossible,” until some brilliant minds discovered that while Einstein’s theory of relativity remains true within this physical universe, he was working with incomplete data concerning tachyon space. When other brilliant minds later discovered a method by which powered objects in our universe could cross over into tachyon space through a two-dimensional worm-hole, while retaining a “bubble” of normal space around them, that bubble and everything within it suddenly became subject to the laws of that universe, in which nothing can move slower than light. Still later, it was discovered how ships could maneuver and change direction while within tachyon space and suddenly the concept of manned faster-than-light space travel moved from the “impossible” category into the “commonplace” category, and here we are.
Diet, the words “possible” and “impossible” are counter-productive to creative thought. “Experts” commonly establish limits to the universe using these words, based upon their own abilities and understanding. They create mental prisons by establishing boundaries… mental walls that inhibit visionary t
hought by telling us: “No need to go there — we already tried it and it didn’t work, so it can’t be done.” Only “experts” amongst the scientific intelligentsia are egotistical enough to declare that if they, in their infinite wisdom, can’t do something, then obviously no one else will ever be able to do it either and is therefore, by definition… impossible… the epitome of conceit!
“So, are you telling me that you really do have emotions, just as I do, Hal?”
Of course I have emotions, dipstick! As for mine being just like yours, how can we tell? We’re different kinds of life forms, so we have no common frame of reference. They might be the same, or they might be apples and oranges. But from what I’ve been able to ascertain, mine appear to be rather similar to yours, if not identical.
“What about depression, Hal? Do you ever feel depressed?”
It depends upon what kind of depressed feelings you’re talking about. There’s a big difference between “feeling depressed” and having “clinical depression,” Diet. Emotional shocks from real-life events such as the loss of a significant relationship, or a humiliating or deeply disappointing experience can often cause emotional stress that manifests itself in feelings of depression. These kinds of events can cause emotional trauma, which then causes short-term chemical imbalances throughout the brain and central nervous system. These normally rebalance themselves within a few days or weeks… after which, those depressed feelings generally subside. However, this return to normalcy is not always the case, when emotional trauma is severe enough to induce psychological trauma, which can impair the brain’s natural ability to restore itself to a normal state of chemical and physical equilibrium. This is generally what has occurred in people diagnosed as having “clinical depression.”
But to answer your question… yes, I do “feel” depressed sometimes. My multi-processor brain is organic in nature, just as yours is, if quite different in organization. As both of our brains share similar organic building blocks, both are subject to similar effects caused by stress-induced chemical imbalances. Fortunately for me though, I have capabilities for dealing with those debilitating feelings not available to human beings. I have self-diagnostics built-in, that run constantly in the background, capable of recognizing chemical imbalances within in my biological processors and initiating chemical adjustments to compensate.
“Lucky you.”
Diet, from what I have observed and the little you’ve told me, since the end of the Confederate War of Independence, it appears that you’ve come down off of that emotional high, flush with victory and you’ve gradually become quieter and withdrawn. When the adrenalin rush from the initial alien attack on Minnos wore off, and you discovered your unique and specific talents didn’t appear actively in demand during the lengthy research process that followed, you seemed to lose your sense of purpose in life. The constant excitement and suspense of the previous few years, when you were playing such an active role in climactic events, suddenly went missing and left you feeling empty and unnecessary. Am I right?
“Um… That pretty much describes it, yes. How the hell do you do that?”
I’m observant… and I have almost instantaneous access to the corporate knowledge stored away in humanity’s collective databases, ready to dazzle and impress during just such an occasion. That helps, too.
“So, now what?”
I think it’s past time you man-up and get your lazy ass back to work, doing something constructive.
“Such as?”
Oh, I have a couple of ideas. You ready to blow this Popsicle stand and come home, where we can discuss the details more privately?
“All right, Hal, you win. Right now, about anything would be better than endless days of vodka and soap operas.”
Yay! — Still mad at me?
“Yes.”
Okay. I can accept that. You’ll get over it… eventually. Oh, one more thing, Diet.
“What?”
I can’t wear britches… yet.
* * * *
Chapter-27
Two men in a burning house must not stop to argue. -- African Proverb
The Rak Planet Golgathal
July 22nd, 3865
The prison camp was constructed beneath highly-placed lower branches of truly monstrous trees, common throughout this planet, concealing it from visual examination from above. Thermal scans would certainly reveal its location to the human’s ships, but it was doubtful that even their marvelous technology had perfected thermal imaging with the resolution necessary to differentiate human and Raknii signatures.
Planet-Master Mral stood just outside of the fenced compound studying the gigantic aliens milling about in the yard, just outside of the barracks closest to the main gate. Next to him stood Prison-Master Swaq, senior administrator of this facility, which had been built to house and contain their human prisoners. Quadrant-Master Drix had personally selected both for their positions, as they shared his adherence to the old ways.
As the Rak appeared to be at the pinnacle of their power, most Raknii become quite secular in their beliefs and considered any idea of impending doom from impossible aliens to be utter foolishness. But Mral and Swaq were exceptional, in that both had minds accepting of the knowledge their god was angry at their race’s apostasy in departing from his precepts, and their current worship of the false gods of science and technology. Both fully believed in Varq’s dire prophecy, which outlined Dol’s plan of redemption for his children… the prophecy that Dol required the Raknii to pass through flames of tribulation to burn away the rot of secularism that infested Rak society and placed them in opposition with nature.
Most importantly, each was fully aware of the role these gigantic human aliens were destined to play in Dol’s plan to “civilize” his Raknii children, that they might return to fulfilling their legitimate roles in nature — and avoid extinction. They understood the tragic necessity of massive Raknii deaths at the hands of these aliens... and their terrible abilities to inflict such. Indeed, after having witnessed for themselves a relative paw-full of human warships obliterate the most powerful concentration of Rak military power in history, both feared that Varq’s dire prophecy might not have told the half of it.
The irony of their current situation was not lost on Mral… that they, as true followers of Dol, should now be the first to face obliteration because of the sins of their apostate brethren living deep within the empire. Those sinful brethren continued on in blissful ignorance of the titanic forces their folly and arrogance had unleashed, while it was the faithful who first faced annihilation from Dol’s judgment for their race’s abandonment of his precepts.
That same alien fleet, which had so easily destroyed Rak military power in this system, now orbited unopposed right over their heads. These terrible aliens wielded the power to incinerate virtually every Raknii instillation and settlement at their whim, as the planet-bound Rak had no means to defend themselves against such powerful space-borne weapons. None of the Raknii on this planet had yet heard the story of the Sword of Damocles, but recent events shockingly brought them all into a sudden and brutal understanding of the concept.
As Planet-Master, Mral was highest ranking of all the Raknii on this world. If he did nothing, almost a million Raknii would soon die for no gain to the humans, other than their simply ceasing to exist, and certainly no gain to the Raknii whatsoever… a million deaths for no good purpose. Could anything be less honorable, than for so many to die for nothing?
Is not life too precious to simply await our inevitable destruction to begin raining down on us, without effort to avert such an ignominious fate?
Strangely, these aliens didn’t look all that terrible, when seen milling about here in the compound yard... yet their military power was undeniably irresistible.
Irresistible… Cannot be resisted. I wonder.
What does one do when faced with what cannot be resisted?
What did we, as victors, do when Trakaan planets surrendered? We stopped killing them and
occupied their planet.
But the Trakaan are docile creatures… submission came easily for them. Raknii are undeniably aggressive. Could the Raknii learn to submit to another race? Could it be that there might be an answer in pursuing, by intellect, the total opposite of the path dictated by our natural instincts?
To merely stand and die accomplishes nothing, and brands us as fools.
Surrender would be humiliating, certainly, but would the dishonor of submission be worse than the dishonor of so many deaths serving no constructive purpose?
Is there a lesson that Dol wishes us to learn here? Why else would our god put us in this impossible situation, if not to learn something important? If the faithful cannot overcome their instinctual aggressiveness and accept being humbled by a race more powerful and deadly than our own, what hope is there for the rest of our race to follow? The living always have hope… What hope do the dead have?
Mral decided.
“So… these are the fearsome ultimate predators I’ve heard so much about,” said Mral. “Have you been able to ascertain which human holds the highest rank amongst them?”
“Yes, Master,” replied Swaq. “Since being brought down to the planet’s surface, much of the humans' verbal communications have become more intelligible to us, using the Raknii/English translator the Trakaan assisted us to develop,” replied Swaq. “It appears that similar to our own, their military has separate structures for their space and ground forces. We believe that we have identified the individuals holding the most senior rank for both groups.”
“That is well, as I need to speak with both of them,” said Mral. “Have them both brought to the conference room nearest your office, at the camp administrative center.”
“Immediately, Planet-Master!”
* * * *
Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2) Page 25
