The Oppressive Weight of Darkness

The Oppressive Weight of Darkness

Darkness engulfed him. He could almost feel the oppressive weight of it bearing down on him, crushing his spirit, weighing down his soul. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, the pounding of his heart like ominous footsteps stalking him through the night. He consciously worked to calm his breathing, calm his heart, and then he heard it.

…beep…. beep… beep… hiss… hiss…

“…sorry, ma’am…”

“…do you mean?”

“…othing to be done…”

“…not likely…”

….beep… beep… beep… hiss… hiss…

And still the oppressive weight of darkness.

A Space Shuttle of Course

Captain Andrew “Drew” Hawkins pulled off of Florida Highway 50 into Titusville, following the signs on the highway that guided him toward Cape Canaveral and The Kennedy Space Center. He steered the family van into a gas station and plugged the directions to the nearest toy store into the navigation unit mounted on the grey vinyl dash. Beside him in the passenger seat, Marie began to stir and stretch. The children were sound asleep in the backseat, Nessa holding the stuffed rabbit she had gotten as a gift from her grandmother last Easter. Andy had a picture book about the Apollo space missions lying open across his lap.

“What’s going on, Captain?” Marie muttered as she woke. “Why are we stopping?”

“I promised Vanessa I’d take her to a toy store.”

“Really, Andrew?” Marie regarded him in mock disappointment. “You know she’ll just want another doll. You spoil her.”

“I only have one daughter, Marie,” Drew responded as he shifted the car back into gear and headed toward the Titusville Mall to see what he might be able to muster up for his daughter. “Besides, we’re headed for the Space Center because we promised Andy, and we drove right past Disney World on the way. You know Nessa only agreed to go to the Space Center because we told her we were going to Disney on the way.”

“I’m not arguing,” Marie responded, yawning. “But you know, if you get Nessa a doll, you’re going to have to get Andy something too.”

“Of course I know that,” Drew smiled. “I’m pretty sure I know what he’s going to want, and it won’t be from the toy store. It’ll be from the Space Center gift shop.”

“Oh really?” Marie gave him the sly little side smile she knew he couldn’t resist, her white teeth flashing. “And what, Captain Clairvoyant, might that be?”

“A space shuttle, of course.”

“Of course.”

Drew navigated his way through the tourist-swelled traffic and waited at several stop lights for what seemed like an excessively long time before sliding the van into a parking spot outside the Titusville Mall.

“Come on kids, wake up,” he called unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Where are we?” asked Andy, holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the other.

“We’re taking your sister to the toy store,” replied Marie.

“Can we go to the bookstore, too?” Andy asked excitedly.

“Sure, we can go to the bookstore.”

“But I get my doll first!” Vanessa said with authority, opening her car door and climbing out into the mall parking lot.

“You heard her, Captain!” Marie smiled. “Doll first!”

Also Sprach Zarathrustra

Hawkins sat up suddenly, gasping in terror and breathing heavily. It took him a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings enough to remember where it was that he slept. He could hear the soft whir behind the walls of the ship’s automated life-support system as it collected the CO2 from his breath and replaced it with oxygen generated by the numerous plants housed in the horticulture bay. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and set his bare feet against the cold steel of the floor.

“Computer, lights at 15%,” he spoke into the darkness, louder than he had intended. The lights to his cabin increased from the nominal glow typical for sleep cycles, allowing him enough light to make his way across the cabin to the waste collection station. He stretched, yawned, and pulled aside the fly of his one-piece standard-issue sleeper to allow himself to urinate. He sighed contentedly as the vacuum of the waste collection station collected his urine to separate the nitrogen and other nutrients from the water it was suspended in. Within 48 hours the water from the waste he was now passing from his body would be cleaned, sterilized, and stored in the ship’s reservoirs to be used for the benefit of the crew; be it for the crops in the hydroponic bay, or to be used to brew Andy’s pseuffeine coffee. It was a concept that had ceased to unnerve him long ago, but always seemed to cross his mind as he stood before the waste collection station.

Having finished relieving himself, he turned back toward his bunk. Scratching his stomach and yawning, he took two steps toward the bunk and stopped. He knew his chances of getting back to sleep at this point were minimal, so he spoke into the darkness.

“Computer.”

“Is everything alright, Captain?”

“Can’t sleep. Put on some coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“I do not believe coffee will assist you with your sleeping problems, Captain,” the Computer replied. “However, I do not mind at all.”

“You’re right, Computer. Make it chamomile tea this time, with lemon and honey,” Hawkins sighed, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. He smiled to himself as the familiar scent wafted from the dispenser as he retrieved the steaming cup. The scent brought to mind memories of his mother standing at the doorway to his bedroom as a child, silhouetted by the light of the hallway beyond.

“Another nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, I’ll make you some tea. Do you need a book to read until you fall back asleep?”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ve got one.”

“Alright.”

“Computer.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“You have the entire Library of Congress in your database, right?”

“I do, Captain.”

“Print a copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping for a bit.”

“Are you certain that you would like me to print it, Captain? I could just as easily send it to the display screen beside your bunk.”

“No, Computer, I’d rather you print a copy. There’s just something about holding a copy of a favorite book in your hands, the smell of the pages, the feel of the paper between your fingers. Staring at a computer screen is just not the same. No offense intended, of course.”

“No offense taken, Captain. Printing is now complete.”

“Thank you, Computer.”

As Hawkins approached the printing station a small door in the steel wall slid aside, revealing what appeared to be a tattered paperback copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey. It appeared to be identical to the one he had read over and over when he was young, the dog-eared pages and well-worn cover exactly the same as he remembered..

“That’s amazing,” he muttered to himself softly.

“I did not catch that, Captain.”

“I said that’s amazing! If I didn’t know better, I would swear this was the same copy I read when I was a kid.”

“It is an exact replica, Captain. It was printed based on the memory patterns stored throughout your cerebral cortex.”

“You have access to my memory patterns?”

“Of course, Captain. I was programmed with the capability to access the memories of each member of the crew during REM sleep. In this way I have all the tools necessary to most optimally complete the mission of establishing a research colony on Proxima Centauri b.”

“Of course you were,” Hawkins replied, frowning. “Can you access any of my memories?”

“I have no access to the long-term memories stored in the anterior cingulate cortex of the human brain. However, when a thought occurring in the present is relevant to a stored memory, that memory is brought to the forefront of the human cerebral cortex for use in real-time. At that point, I have access to that memory and the ability to store that memory in my databases for later use, as well as for the development of my own AI protocols. In this way my AI is able to most efficiently continue to develop, and most effectively provide support to the crew of the ship and the staff of the upcoming research colony.”

“Sounds about right,” Hawkins replied, chagrined. “It’s just like Control to put this type of protocol in place without informing the crew.”

“No harm is intended by the system protocols, Captain,” the Computer responded, sounding apologetic. “The intention of Control was to provide the research colony with an AI that is best suited for serving the overall needs of the entire research colony.”

“Well, Computer,” Hawkins responded. “Roads paved with good intentions and all that. “

“I am unsure if I comprehend your meaning, Captain.”

“Never mind Computer. It’s not that important.

With that, Hawkins lay back on his bunk and set his coffee on the table beside his bed. Propping his head up on a pair of cushions, he opened the tattered copy of 2001 and began to read.