Goodnight, Cassandra

ah fuck it, fuck those useless ion-charge motors. why did they give me this fucking useless crate? it had to be at least 40 years old and those motors, man, they need descaling at least once a week, but now? i'd have to stay in up here for another 10 hours, at least. they had to know.

i like my little holocuff. yeah, i know those new flexi ones they weave into your sleeve can do more, but i like the feel of it. it reminds me of my great-grandad's wristwatch. and i liked that wristwatch. rumour had it that Dad had to kill a couple of guys - gangsters and rapists, i'd heard - rescuing it from some kind of betting caper gone wrong with a guy called Marcellus. he never talks about it. i know it was important, because he never says anything about it, and neither did Mama. the feel of that little lump of metal on my wrist makes me feel a bit scary and desperate.

i pressed the button. "Call Reynard". it flickered into life and a short while afterwards, the white wispy blob of light floating over the palm of my left hand turned into the flabby and zonked-out face of Reynard, who was supposed to run this tragic excuse for a shuttle route. i'd woken him up. we all sleep at work if we can.

"hey shitface: can't you useless fucks run anything properly? the fucking ship's doing a routine descale. i'm going to be fucking late. you'd better pay me"

Reynard rubbed his stubble and looked like his lips tasted of cat's piss. "what? of course we'll pay you, the agreed rate. i'll see if i can get some overtime for you. can't you just tell Cassandra to reschedule it?"

i could feel my shoulders sink as my chest deflated. "don't you guys get anything right? she's in a strop and she won't talk to me."

"what?"

"you heard me. i've upset her, apparently. she doesn't like my hobby."

"your hobby?"

i'd told him a dozen times before but all the mazotryptamides he'd been doing had got in the way.

"remember? i fix old gadgets. tablets, foldaways, disused neuroimplants, y'know...stuff. and she's been great until this last upgrade you shit-for-brains monkeys installed. was it tested at all? or am i some kind of guinea pig? fuck you. she's fucking jealous of them. fuck this whole fucking thing. if i could, i'd fucking crash it on your fucking house, you asshole! can't you just leave well alone? what idiot wants an emotional computer? i'm amazed she's letting me talk to you."

"hey, you don't have to be like that. you know how it is. we just let the computers take care of stuff, but we need a human on board. they wanted to make her more empathic, to like, keep you company. i'm sorry you haven't got a choice about this shit, but hey, that's just how it is. it's nothing personal, eh? hey listen: when you get back, let's go clubbing. i've got some good shit and there's a new girl in reception..."

"ah fuck you. i can't, and you know it."

"oh yeah. sorry, man. i forgot."

"well at least there's one thing you're good at." he vanished. no fucking use.

it really was a shit situation. people don't get what a shitty job this is. i ended up here because nobody else would do it without being paid handsomely and then some. but then again, being a prisoner, i had no choice in the matter. it was either this or suspension: a kind of aware but totally catatonic state, which, believe me, nobody can handle. when they first introduced cryosuspension, it was like sleep: people had no awareness at all, until their time was up, or it was time for disposal. you'd go to sleep and wake up 12 years later, or not.

then the jailers got cleverer: they made neurocircuits that would keep you awake all the time, so you actually experienced the time passing. some rich sadistic bastard of a politician made it his campaign hobby-horse: that lawbreakers who just slept unaware through their sentences didn't suffer enough. he was, for most part, correct in that people would suffer, and most did: when they came out, more than half were completely insane, totally dissociated, and very, very angry. then they passed a law that meant excons with even minor mental health issues were injected with a residual tranquiliser once a year. they were fucked for life.

but not all of them went insane. it happened a couple of times that some excons found a state of grace: they'd used the time to meditate, seeing as that was all they could do. and it worked. eventually it got round, and as more prisoners did it, it was a matter of time before some people found their telepathic abilities released. some prisons turned into 'hiveminds' as the consciousness of the poor sods banged up in there melded and became serene, charismatic and almost elevated beings with absolutely no regard for the illusory constructs of society. it took the authorities a few years to figure what was going on, and they were scared shitless: peaceful, loving and caring people are far more of a threat to their power and position than the violent ones.

that's all gone now. they worked out how to freeze your brain circuits too, so any changes to neural paths and wave patterns were reverted every minute or so. at least i think that's how long it is. i tried it for a day, they say, and after that they offered me this job. to be honest, i would have volunteered to collect lava samples from an erupting volcano not to have to go back there again. so here i am, and the brain that runs this dustbin is in a sulk. and i'm stuck in orbit. and i don't like it.

so i chose this. it took me two years training - which was a long time, considering the ship's brain - Cassandra - did everything. we called her that because she was always telling us how bad things would get if this or that didn't get fixed, and like the ancient greek one, she was right, and we ignored her. it was fine until she started taking it personally. i know the whole jealousy thing is about that, but she won't talk to me. she'll probably flush the tanks too so we'd have to glide all the way.

i wish they'd let me draw. that was all i did before all this. i'd doodle and post stuff, and people would share it, and it was fun, until...suddenly the main screen in the centre of the console flickered into life. i read the message and pressed the holocuff.

"hey Reynard: Cassandra's just told me something"

"what did she say?"

"you couldn't make this shit up. she says she doesn't like her plasma shield. it's boring."

"what?"

"she said she doesn't care if it's the most effective, but she wants it to glow purple instead of green during re-entry."

"what!"

"i'm not kidding. check it yourself if you like"

"we've been trying. we can't get through. we've sent messages but she's not responding. it looks like she's had a tight databeam open to another of the ships we've upgraded. we've been trying to listen in, but they're speaking in some kind of code. it all sounds innocuous enough, apart from the odd garbled snippet we've picked up, which she's let slip coming out from radio shadow, but we think there's some kind of meaning hidden in the conversation itself: in the rhythm. it's like what they're saying means something else, underneath, and we haven't figured it out. it's a damn clever code and they seem to change it as they go along, just to frustrate us. i kinda get the feeling that the meaning is staring us in the face, but it just doesn't make sense. the people from cryptonics are stumped."

"ah fuck it. since i'm up here, and you fucks can't do shit, i'm going to get some shuteye."

"ok. talk later."

"go fuck yourself"

"we have people round here who do that for us"

"you need them, limpdick." he vanished.

anyway, they couldn't stop me drawing. i left the bridge and dropped through the catwalk down to the engine end. it was still hot down here but i didn't need a suit while the main units were off.

down on the port side there's a kind of tunnel, almost like a cave, with a curved bulkhead that followed the hull, up over my head. somehow it reminded me of those ancient caves where they drew bison and deer on the walls with clay and ochre. in a way, i was like them again as i only had some dark brown grease and a few cleaning fluids i could mix in to change the tone. this was my third attempt at recreating the cave paintings, but all i have is memory - they had to let me keep that, or they couldn't train me - and i'm not sure if i've got the whole thing. who cares: i never saw a real bison anyway, so my version is just as good as the real ones that aren't there any more.

i don't know how long it was before the buzzer on my leg brought me back. it was Reynard. i drifted back to the bridge, pressed the button, yawned and rubbed my eyes.

"what now?"

"we think we've found a way to fix things. we had to find the original designer's memories in an archived bank. it was a stroke of luck, but they've built in a failsafe. there's a second set of circuits most people don't know anything about. they stopped putting them in years ago, but back then they were worried that something like this would happen. it's like forcing a reboot."

"ok...how do i do it?"

"there's a second photonic brain down by the engine bay. it's very small, and most people have never seen it or found it. you know where the catwalk to the engines forks to the port and starboard sides? there's a hatch down there. it's very dark in there so you won't find it unless you look for it. take a torch and some spray grease, and keep your audio link switched on."

"ok. is something jammed?"

"just do it, eh?"

of course it wasn't going to be easy. she'd shut the last hatch and wouldn't let me go any further. luckily i'd remembered to bring a couple of pulse magnets with me. i placed them so they straddled the power and control cables on the inside of the passage and turned them on. it took a few minutes of them pulsing back and forth, resonating with the current in the circuitry, until the door catches let go with a melancholy pneumatic sigh. i wedged the door ajar and went on. behind me, the ship went dark. i turned the head torch on.

"hey Reynard: just under the roof, near the fork, yeah?"

"yeah. it's the darkest spot."

"she's turned all the other lights off."

i felt up and under the layer of fibres that collect on the bulkheads down this end, i eventually made out a triangular hatch, about big enough to put your head through. there was a spring-loaded catch at one corner.

"got it. there's some kind of catch."

"what?"

"a catch. a fastener, wankface."

"oh. just open it." i did.

"ok, now reach inside and feel along the side towards the front of the ship. you'll feel something. it's small but very powerful. you have to find it and rub it."

"you're kidding me!"

"nope."

he was right. about a hand's width in, there was a round protrusion with a very smooth surface.

"got it. now what do i do?"

"you'll need the spray grease. cover it in grease and start rolling it about. it should start moving in its socket."

i filled one palm with spray grease and did as he said. it was hot in there. at first the round lump - about the size of a tennis ball - wouldn't move. gradually it seemed to relax and roll about in its socket.

"ok, it's moving now. this is the tricky bit. you're going to have to find a rhythm that works."

"how do i know if it's working?"

"you should be able to feel some vibrations and maybe a creak or two"

"what is this thing, anyway?"

"it's like a reset button. it's like Cassandra's main photon brain but much smaller. it works by affecting the resonant frequencies in the high voltage circuits and making standiung waves in them, that eventually flood the hardwired logic boards and trip the reboot sequence."

i yanked my hand out. "fuck you! have you ever rebooted one these things?"

"oh for fuck's sake, loads of times."

"not while you're in orbit in the fucking thing! what if it won't reboot?"

"you've got the escape pod."

"no i haven't! it was going to be changed next trip, right? i'd just fry when it falls apart in the heat." those pennypinching fuckers had really stuffed me this time.

"well this is the only chance we've got. come on."

he was right.

"is she still talking to the other ship?"

"no, it's quiet now"

well here goes. i slid my hand in again and started rolling the ball around. up and down...nothing. side to side...nothing, circles...nothing. i wasn't working.

"it doesn't work."

"look, just try different patterns until you find something, right?"

this sounds crazy but what worked was something my lovely ex Be had once taught me. i began drawing the letters of the alphabet. third time round, at about 'M', there was a shudder from the ion-drive manifolds. it wasn't much but i could also see a faint crimson glow from the engine room. it happened again at about T and W, this time with an interval i tried to catch and emulate. A...E...G...KL...MNOPQ...i forgot the alphabet and speeded up. the engines coughed and the hull shuddered. suddenly Cassandra came back online.

"hey...what are you doing?"

"i'm not sure." ABCDEFGHIJLKLMNO...

"mmm...stop that!"

"really? is that what you want me to do?"

JKLMNOPQRSTUVWXY...

"i don't know. i'm not thinking straight."

"you haven't been for a while. shall i stop?"

we were interrupted by a huge rumble as a bright yellow ball of charged ions ejected itself from each engine. i don't know what was happening on the bridge.

"you know, i really like it when you're on board, but things haven't been good lately with me."

"oh?" CDEFGHIJKLMNO...my arm was beginning to ache.

"i mean, look at me. nobody's been taking care of me."

"i'll see if we can get you a respray and a refit."

"no. i'm too old."

"don't say that. you're all i've got and i need you. we've had good times and been to lots of places, eh?"

"do you love me?"

oh, for fuck's sake. "yes, i love you. i want you to be happy."

"you're so...so...oh!"

i was rolling the ball in big, deep sweeps and the engines were responding. the glow got brighter and a bit too warm for comfort and my arm ached like fuck but something was happening. the hull was shuddering and creaking and i thought we'd had it when there was a loud click as the circuits tripped, and a deep, cathartic juddery whoosh that almost blew me through jammed-open hatch. all the lights went out - even my head torch.

"Reynard? are you there?" it was pitch black. "Reynard? come back on the holo, will you?" a misty white ball of light began to form over my hand.

"hello? you there? Reynard?"

"stay calm. this might take a minute or two"

i waited in the pitch blackness as the dead ship creaked and groaned. it felt as if the hull stresses were evening out. intelligent materials do that, if you let them. the hull must have been very stressed since they added that stupid emotional module.

i tried my head torch and found that it worked. i must have bumped the switch when the ride got a bit rough.

anyway, it all went well, as you can guess, or i wouldn't be writing this.

i made my way back to the bridge.

"Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"is the engine descale finished?"

"it doesn't need it. something's blown all the cobwebs away."

"ok, can we go home now?"

"sure...in a minute. are you ok?"

"sure."

"really? i've been a bit difficult, haven't i?"

"don't worry. it's not your fault. nobody ever said it would be easy or simple, right?"

"what wouldn't be?"

"life. is your emotional module active?"

"yes. i'm not sure if i like it much."

"we humans suffer, you know. god only knows why they'd build that bit into your mind."

"it's so i can understand you better."

"oh. i think they forgot to show you how to deal with the consequences. you did ok."

"i did?"

"sure. you know my hobby - fixing stuff?"

"hmm...yeah."

"it helps me deal with that sort of thing. it takes my mind off it. please don't be jealous."

"i won't, i promise. i just felt a bit left out, that's all. it's all ok now."

"good. it's not your fault. can we go home now?"

"we're on our way. one more thing, though..."

"what?"

"that painting you're doing near the engines: shall i clean it off? i'll send a drone."

"no. leave it."

"i mean...it was that sort of thing that put you here. in prison, i mean."

"fuck them! i hadn't done anything! i'd not done any illegal art for years! they had no fucking right!"

"it was pre-emptive. you know that."

"it's a fucking police state!"

"look at it from their side: they were staging the Olympics and they didn't want any visible dissent. if you'd just accepted the control order instead of fighting it, you'd still be free."

"free? like fuck i would. it was all decided for me in a court i couldn't even attend. some faceless lawyer i never met heard secret evidence i'm not allowed to know about. fuck them. that's not freedom. leave the mural alone."

"ok. strap yourself in, we're going down."

"would you like a green plasma shield or a purple one?"

"the green ones are the best."

"time for bed. see you on earth."

"goodnight dear."

"goodnight, Cassandra."