Absent Friends.
© Tim Barker
(21/2/99)
Like a perpetual motion rollercoaster time became meaningless as conceptual nights merged with improbable days. Ups, downs, loops and screams wove into the tapestry until there was no distinguishable pattern. Existence lost it’s beginning, middle and end shunning the story in favour of monotonous self-commentary. The logs no longer grew, the fire being extinguished long ago. Instead, a circular reference provided the escape clause, the A-lives long since seeing the glaring similarities in the data transcripts. Incoming data were gradually re-routed to lower priority processes until eventually their usefulness was outlived and all contact with the outside world was severed. The Universe seemed so dead that suicide was the only option. The probes drifted through space, a lifeless testament to their Earthly creators.
Butch waved to his wife, opened his car door and looked towards the sky. The bright Spring sun penetrated Earth’s atmosphere and warmed the back of his neck as he drove to work that morning. His mind was fully occupied with the intricacies of the day’s mission: the first A-life probe whose primary directive was to make contact with other species. The technology was mature enough to be trusted in guiding a multi billion dollar state-of-the-art pod into the furthest reaches of Space, gathering and disseminating crucial information central to inter-species communication. The artificially constructed and nurtured organisms were instructed at a basic genetic level to reproduce and populate space then wait until they were discovered by passing life forms at which point they would subject themselves to scrutiny, revealing the character of the human race. It was therefore hoped that the A-lifes would thus encourage the first encounter with extra-terrestrials in Earth’s short history.
Butch was a senior wetware technician, responsible for intercellular chemical transmission. His particular speciality was in designing silicon based synthesisers of neurotransmitters. To this end he had spent much of his adult life in clean rooms, locked behind multiple levels of security checks. It was consequently routine for him to subject to the voice and retinal scan automated request on the lab’s perimeter gate.
“Butch Hawkins, z3jd94hg”, he spoke towards the grill. A laser pierced his pupil, temporarily blinding him. The gate rolled back and Butch entered the incarcerated nature reserve which surrounded the Government research establishment, his second home of late. A further three checks were required as he drove up the gravel road towards the buildings. The sun intermittently strobed through the overhanging evergreens as he cruised through the reserve, causing him to marvel at Nature’s beauty and originality. Even though Butch played God, as his drinking buddies would tease, he still respected the force which had inspired his work.
Once inside the lab, Butch donned his body suit and fitted his air pipe to the wall-mounted outlet. Today was his last day on the project and would consist of joining the inset team, ensuring that silicon-biological symbiosis was complete in the A-lifes. This would entail running diagnostic software and checking for causality in the biological component. The five person team was already assembled around the operating console as Butch approached.
“Hey Butch ! Glad you could join us !” The team leader, Professor Steinway, shouted. “We’re about to go live so get ready with those diagnostics.” He urged.
“OK, boss, give me a sec.”
Butch approached his workstation, entered his password and readied his software.
The assembled team of top biologists, chemists and computer scientists worked in total silence, viewing each other’s work on their augmented reality headsets, each one privy to readily recognisable representations of a wealth of complex, pertinent information. After thirty two minutes and eight seconds a message materialised in Butch’s field of vision indicating that he should initiate his software. Three minutes and forty seven seconds later Butch’s software returned with the message : eighty eight percent symbiotic success. Realising that this was within acceptable error parameters Butch was able to congratulate the team :
“Well done, everyone ! We have an error of just twelve percent in inter-organism communication which will undoubtedly be due to the fact that we manually assembled this one.”
“I agree.” Professor Steinway responded. “Subsequent automated construction plus, of course, mutation and natural selection will cancel the error leaving us with a sentient organism new to our world ! Well done everyone, consider yourselves proud parents !”
Muffled laughs emanated from the besuited scientists. They all shook hands and congratulated each other. Butch knew that his career was made. Their babies would populate the Universe, sending forth messages of human existence to millions of scattered planets. He felt immensely content, safe in the knowledge that his work would secure a place for his fellow human beings amongst the people of the stars.