Diary of a Robot

by Gabriel Wolf

  Captain Connors stood up and firmly said to the First Officer:

  "My son! Take it from here. They'll get by without me for a while. I haven't had breakfast yet. I'll drop by the cafeteria for an av'takk."

  "Yes, Captain!", replied Ryarson, turning away from the Captain, raising his hair stripes upwards above both of his visual organs (this gesture is a sign of being unsatisfied, according to my observations), but he also made a half-smile with his feeding slot, as I had already seen it before, on Gabe. He really might have a latent, early stage of mental illness, since I've never heard that a person could be half-happy when being unsatisfied. According to my experience so far, this is conflicting, abnormal behavior.

  This is when the Captain left the bridge.

  "Do you dig the old man too, sir?", asked Gabe the First Officer. "He's only about ten years older than you, yet he calls you his son. Such an adorable guy, huh?"

  "Yeah..." Ryarson now stretched his food intake slot to its maximum width. "But do not forget where you are, Conn Officer. We don't get personal on the bridge."

  "Yes, sir! I mean... No, sir!" The skin on Gabe's forehead slightly changed its color into red. The entire organ, to the point below the feeding slot. I didn't know that people are able to change their colors. This may be some sort of a camouflage ability to help them melt into their environment. Someone mentioned something in the engine room ten minutes ago, about a thing called chameleon. That's where I heard about camouflaging abilities. The question is, how will I be able to see them and record events, if all of them are going to melt into the background and disappear? This is negative. Incomplete information.

  *****

  In the meantime, Nola is talking in the interrogation room. It looks like she wishes to spend her mandatory minutes here now, in the morning, right at the beginning of her working hours. It's very conscientious of her, that she voluntarily undertakes the mandatory duties so early.

  "Howdy, camera. How's your mother? Oh, you don't have one, since you are the only One of its kind." This was a precise statement, Nola is indeed an excellent, useful worker. "I hate this bullshit", she continued, and made the same unsatisfied grimace, that Ryarson had done. But beside raising up the hair stripes above her visual organs, she is also looking upwards now, in the direction of the ceiling. I suppose this is an increased form of dissatisfaction. I'm sure she hates bullshit, whatever that might be. "Why do we have to come in here every day? Nobody watches these recordings. I don't even have anyone to send a message to. I have some relatives, but I don't keep in touch with them." It looks like she doesn't have any loved ones that other people usually send messages to on Earth, she only has some relatives there. "What should I talk about? About my grandma's spleen? I don't fucking care."

  I can't interpret this. Because the term 'fucking' is a musical reference, as far as I know. It refers to volume. 'My Grandma's Spleen' is probably a well-known song or a musical, then.

  "Or, should I dictate medical reports about my work at sickbay? I'm a nurse, why would I do that? This is the doctor's job. Okay... yesterday there was an acne between Gabe's two toes. It hurt. We got it off with laser. Awesome, huh? I can't believe I'm wasting my time with this! In a normal hospital on Earth, I would've already treated three patients in the same amount of time. And here, I'm talking to a retarded camera on command, to care for my mental balance with its silence. I'll seriously snap from this." Nevertheless, she didn't seem to get broken, neither physically, nor mentally. Nor did she seem to be dried out like a broken tree branch. She looked quite well-hydrated. So, the snapping didn't actually happen. She stood up from the sitting position. Yes, I already know these two terms refer to these two body positions... and she left the room.

  "I'll come by later. See you later, Terminator-masturbator." Then, she heavily slammed the air discharge compartment door, and rushed away.

  *****

  Meanwhile, the Captain was on his way, halfway to the cafeteria. When passing by a female unit, he greeted her, smiling:

  "Your hair looks beautiful today, Corporal! It holds beautifully, as always! There is no better hairspray than natural dirt, am I wrong? Oh, don't take me seriously, I'm just kidding. Have a nice day!" And he was already on his way again.

  The Corporal stiffened and didn't answer back at all. She stood there for several seconds. Has she just snapped? So easily? Maybe Nola, the excellent worker, shouldn't have been the first one to enter the interrogation room today, because this Corporal needed it much more? Do people really become so easily expired and unable to work? It won't be easy to get this mission done this way, because maybe, not a single human will remain, to work with, in the end. Probably one interrogation room is not even enough, if humans are that sensitive. Maybe there should be one in each cabin. Or, they would rather have a camera set mounted on their heads, which would be filming them all day long, and they could talk to it without pause.

  Finally, however, the woman gave a sign that she was still able to work. Water was beginning to flow from her visual organs and she started to run. Her female colleague (a little wider at the lower half of her body), that she'd been carrying back trays to the cafeteria with, now followed her:

  "Jean! Wait! Don't take him seriously! He was just kidding!"

  *****

  A few hours later, in the interrogation room again. First Officer Ryarson is currently speaking:

  "I dig the captain. I know he's a jerk and a bully, but I'm sure he doesn't mean it. It must’ve been hard going through all those things in the Vorgon war. Spending two weeks fighting against human-sized insects, then spending the same amount of time being their captive... I can't even imagine what he has gone through. Others couldn't have hold on for that long without going insane. He's a tough old man. Okay, not that old. And quite cute actually", he winked. Looks like he's getting tired easily. I've seen him doing this many times today. "Okay-okay, I know. Being gay in today's world is no longer considered strange, but still. It's different here, on a starship, especially in a rank like ours. This could be awkward." I zoomed in on his feeding slot with a higher picture resolution, to check his mood once more. But he didn't smile at all, so he didn't seem to be happy or carefree, which is what 'gay' should mean. So I don't know what he was referring to, by that term. "This is the only place where I talk about things like these. Just to be sure. At least you wouldn't rat me out", he winked again. Whether he's being happy or carefree, or not, he surely has an early state of developing mental illness. In my opinion, it can't be considered normal, if someone half-falls asleep twice under two minutes, in the middle of speech. He continued:

  "Equality, acceptance, tolerance... it's all bullshit!" Does he like bullshit, despite Nola? For him, it seems like all three words mean exactly that. "How would they understand this?", he continued. "They don't even understand my music! One, you saw it how well I play on the holo-piano in my cabin. I'm better than anyone. On Earth, if I wanted to be a holo-P artist, I could make a living out of it. With such a talent and erudition in music. Let's not go into it... Mozart, Chopin and Abraham Lincoln were nothing compared to me! Never mind! They would never understand anyway. No one has praised what I'm doing so far. They envy me. For my rank too, I guess, because I accomplished the most on this ship." Yes, I really saw him several times in his cabin doing something with a projected piano, so that was that holo-P. I can't tell if his music was good or not. It was really similar to what someone was previously listening to in cabin No.5. But it really differed from that in rhythm. On the recorded music, I heard an accurate rhythm that was mathematically constant, but Ryarson's music was completely inaccurate. They may not understand him, because he's probably better than anyone, as he said. According to this, the less accurate the music, the less constant its rhythm is, the better. It really can't be easy for Ryarson. I, for example, see and hear more than anybody else here, and it isn't easy for me either. I like Ryarson. He's a bit like me. They don't understand any of us two. Even if they tried to, it wouldn't be the same
. As Nietzsche once said, 'this understanding is harmful to life'. But I don't understand such deep thoughts anyway, since I'm not a human. I cannot have a high intellect. Because, like the mechanic said, 'he is human, I am robot'.

  After Ryarson, no one else visited the interrogation room for a while. I realized that this service wasn’t accidentally assigned to me at some level, because I can learn a lot from it. People (Nola is right) really like to talk for minutes, often hours, without purpose. For now, I don't know yet how much useful information lies in the depths of this huge pile of data, but in any case, I will pay attention, because I feel like I'll learn a lot more about them this way, than by simply watching them in their cabins. Especially more than what I could learn from watching the events on the bridge. Because there, nothing important has happened since then. Nothing else than measurements concerning the F-type nebula.

  Measurements are made in cabins too. What I previously had seen under the shower, I just saw in a bed, presented by a different couple, in another way. It's good to see that people are so devoted. Everywhere they are, they are measuring and working for the common good. Since I've already seen this before, I didn't pay attention to it, for a long time. Also because in this case, the male unit was doing the measuring for just a very short time with his rod. The female unit also noticed the briefness of his work:

  "Is that all? Seriously?" It looks like she has higher expectations concerning her work, and encourages her male associate to do the same. I like these humans. They can't stand it when someone else doesn't take their job seriously enough, and they immediately remind them of it. "You're pathetic", she continued. According to this, the name of her husband is Pathetic, who's a bit careless about his job.

  *****

  In cabin No.5, a person who had been listening to music before, was now sleeping. That's how they call it, when they pull skin on their visual organs and lie horizontally. For them, this is the time of system check, and maintenance. There are some negligent ones, who only perform such maintenance work at the end of the 16 hours work day, in their cabins, at night. Conscientious ones are doing it even during work, for hours, if necessary. For example, I've seen Bobby do maintenance like that, in the engine room, more precisely, to sleep for an hour during work, under one of the compartments of the engine. I like him the best. He's a very conscientious man. He deals with me a lot, too. So the resident of cabin No.5 is just doing maintenance work. I have nothing to observe. There is nothing interesting enough here.

  *****

  Cabin No.76, where a man was lying with a wet hanky on his forehead.

  He's now pushing a helpless human body in his dolnett-lock cabinet. The helpless man had probably snapped, and poor man certainly became incapable of working. According to this scene, they put them away until they get them repaired on Earth, at the psychiatric workshop. The body is completely motionless, as if lifeless. Dark red water is flowing from his forehead onto his chest. He might sweat intensively... something red, out of his skin pores. He really might have snapped and needs repair. The man pushing him is now kicking the immobile body into his closet with his leg (this is how their lower limb is called).

  "Fucking human!", he shouts. Another musical reference, I think. This might mean a quiet, music-loving person. This man is indeed very quiet. For them, this music thing might be almost as important as water, or F-type nebulas. In the end, the shouting man manages to kick the sticking-out limb through the barely-closing locker door. So there is nothing interesting here. He is simply putting away someone for later repair. I have no reason to watch it further.

  *****

  Cabin No.77

  But this seems to be much more interesting. This can be crucial! A woman is talking to a plant! This is how they call that other lifeform that they keep on the ship, partly as a cabin ornament to entertain themselves, and partly to eat them, too. This might also be an inferior species like the loved ones, or the relatives. Most plants here on the ship, have green color. The question is whether the loved ones have the same color, or not? Can people also extract useful nutrients from the loved ones, and digest them with the acid that they allegedly have in their stomachs? The captain once said that he had a heartburn, because of too much acid in his stomach. He was holding his hand under his chest. I guess it meant his stomach was somewhere there, because he was holding his hand on it. From this partial information, I couldn't find out exactly where, outside or inside. The acid in their stomachs might have a very high concentration, if it's able to burn something. But I didn't see flames coming out of his feeding slot, or from below his hand. Maybe his heart had already burned away completely, before even saying it out loud. He didn't mention it anymore. It might be a frequent thing for them, that someone burns their own heart away. They may grow a new one every minute. I don't know. Negative. Only partial information.

  So, in this cabin, a woman is talking to a so-called plant:

  "You get some water, darling. Mommy won't let you dry out." That's incomprehensible to me. This almost goes beyond the full capacity of my artificial recognition system. Would these inferior lifeforms be so water-dependent too? Could they dry out like people's foreheads? Does this thing need water too? Do they like music too? But what I can interpret the least is that this species is also a darling! So, for people, this term might also be similar to the word 'thing'. You can use it for everything. That means I'm a darling too. This thought calms me down. Now, I can use such human expressions as well. I finally know what I am. I also feel that I am very close to them, and I can finally understand them perfectly.

  Nothing else happened in this cabin, but what I just saw might have already been crucial, which deserves priority in the recording focus. This might have been a first real contact with another species. She gave food to the plant. I see it drinking it all up, or at least, it disappeared when the woman poured the water out from the bottle.

  *****

  In cabin No.76, the man who had just put away the snapped one to safety, now washed the dark red water off his hands, under the tap. Then, he sat down to a work table. He's probably doing measurements too, because there are plenty of tiny instruments on the table. He looked at my camera installed in the living room:

  "You see, One? I'm almost finished! I hope you'll like it! It'll go off with a loud bang!" He was sitting at the table, working on a small round object. He's making some sort of a surprise that will please others. Even me. I've already heard that, when something goes off with a bang, it's some kind of a cathartic, exciting experience. So, I'm sure even I will indeed like it, even if I'm just a darling, that is, a machine. I like this man too. Reminds me of Bobby. He also cares about me. Bobby said he was sorry, because my memory would be wiped, and I came to the conclusion that he was feeling with me. And this man wants to make me happy, though he knows a robot is not capable of feeling anything. He's a very nice man, if he cares even for a robot's feelings, and willing to work to make him happy. Such care is useful for us, the darlings.

  He worked a few more minutes on the surprise ball, then staggered to his bed and lay down. The same way I first saw him. The wet hanky was still next to the bed, which had been on his forehead before. Now he put it back again. This surprise-making might be very tiring, if he lies so much because of it. It looks like it causes dehydration on the forehead too, if he needs to treat it so regularly. It dawned on me that I might become more familiar with the functioning of the human body, by paying more attention to the sickbay, where their bodies are maintained.

  So, I switched to that camera.

  *****

  Al Ryarson just entered the sickbay.

  "Doctor!" He walked over to a much taller man in white uniform, and shook hands. "May I have a word with you? Let's go to your office for a minute." They went into the adjacent room, and closed the air discharge door carefully. Ryarson checked twice to see if it's closed properly. He's probably concerned about oxygen leaking. "Doctor, what I'm telling you now is State secret. You cannot share it with anyone.
"

  "I understand, sir", said the tall man in a deep voice. Or rather, the deep tone range was dominant in his 'fucking' voice, as the humans would say it with their favorite acoustical expression. "What is it about?"

  "The information came from the Galactic Alliance through encrypted channel. They say our enemies, the Vorgon insects, didn't die out completely. Moreover, somehow, they were able to send larvae to Earth. There's big trouble, Doc. They talk about great numbers. Swarms. They already might have got anywhere. Maybe there are some on this ship, too. A larva can be in anyone. Up to several people. All we know is that the first sign of parasitic infection is fever and headache. We don't know exactly what instrument would be capable of detecting the larva's presence, but if we find one somehow, we must immediately separate the person in question, from the others. If we don't have any other choice, we will even throw the infected one out the airlock. We can't take any risk, we can't let one of them grow up and be born here. That would have catastrophic consequences! If anyone complains about fever or headache, you immediately report it to me, do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "You even report immediately if someone just asks for a wet rag, got it? This can be a huge threat. None of those things has ever got on a starship before."

  "Yes, I know, sir. I will immediately report to you if anyone came with such complaint. But so far, I haven’t seen anyone with fever or headache during this mission."

  "This is very good news, Doc, I feel better already. You can't imagine what those things are capable of. The Captain has talked a lot about them. They held him captive. So tell me right away if you see or hear anything. Although, now that you tell me there wasn't a single case like that on the entire trip, I'm relieved. Perhaps people on Earth just overreact with the whole situation, and the danger isn't that big, actually. We've already seen examples of that."