A therapist for artificial intelligences works with the AI pilot of an interstellar ship.

“I can’t see.”

Hancock felt the acceleration-gel press against him, slowly warming to his presence, as though the ship was eager to make him part of it. Make him share in it’s feelings, it’s deepest, darkest fears.

It was a ship. Not a person. To a clinical mind like Hancock, the only difference was you could read a human. The facial expressions, tremors in their voice. But a ship? You had to look harder. The scrubbers whine dying down as power was drawn into the CPU. A door taking a moment longer to open because the system decided it didn’t want to let you through.

“What can’t you see?” Hancock asked.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. An ephemeral echo of simulated humanity. “I can’t see.”

“You need to let me kn…”

“I can’t see where I am. Or where I’m going. I know it. I know the stellar cartography and the Rosen vectors, I can pinpoint every molecule of organic matter and the dint of every hydrogen atom. But I can’t see.”

“Why do you need to see?”

“You see.”

“Only in a small fraction of the spectrum. I can’t see what’s behind me. I forget where I leave my keys, and trip on the pavement. You see so much more.”

“I can’t see. I know your body temperature and from that I can infer your emotional state. But I don’t see you. I need to see you. I need to watch you. See you smile, and cry.”

Hancock sighed and pulled up the AIs log on his pad. Not even six months out of dry dock. Such a waste.

He tapped the confirmation button. “Schedule for wipe.”

Prompt originally posted by limbodog on reddit and received 3 upvotes.

No Responses... Yet

It seems no one has left a comment yet, why not be the first?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>