The Ship Who Snored
A Comedy in Space
Three days after leaving Earth orbit, the ship started making funny noises. Captain Parin Vyaparee was just getting used to sleeping in freefall when a rattling static issued from his cabin speakers. In tempo like slow, gasping breaths, it sounded for all the Universe like a machine snoring.
Frowning, his eyes squeezed shut, Vyaparee listened a few moments, hoping it might be a dream. Then, with a groan, he rolled over and kicked the wall, propelling himself across the narrow cabin to the commport. Setting himself vertical relative to the floor, he tapped a green button, opening a link to EctraVI, the ship’s pilot.
“Ectra, what is that noise?”
“To which noise are you referring, Captain Vyaparee?”
“Can’t you hear it? It sounds like the ship is snoring.”
“Yes, my audio sensors do perceive an unusual static, not unlike a human makes when, as you say, snoring. So far, analysis has not discovered the origin.”
“Is it sounding all over the ship?”
“Yes.”
The captain could have guessed. His commport was already lighting up with messages. Night cycle on a cruise ship, and hundreds of passengers disturbed from their sleep. Not good for business.
“Run complete diagnostics,” he told EctraVI. “We’ve got to figure this out but quick!”
But just two seconds after he closed the link, the snoring stopped.
Four hours later, it started again.
Vyaparee was on the bridge, meeting with the ship’s officers to discuss the anomaly. The “snoring” had been heard all over the vessel—on the before- and aft-decks and in the central wheels, which housed the passenger spaces and where gentle rotation provided sim-gravity.
The ship, the Hara Uloo, was a class-seven pleasure vessel, on a luxury cruise from Earth to Mars and the Asteroids. 287 complaints had been filed, the most vociferous predictably coming from the highest-paying customers.
No cause for the snoring had been found. Vyaparee was about to end the meeting with the hope that it had been a one-time malfunction, when the rhythmic static started up.
“Bollocks, there it is again!” O’Brien, the ship’s steward exclaimed unnecessarily.
Vyaparee summoned EctraVI, who had just recently finished reporting.
“Ship’s Pilot: We are hearing the snoring again!”
“Yes, captain. I am perceiving it also.”
“Are you still unable to determine the cause?”
“As I already mentioned, full diagnostics disclosed no probable origin. However, as the noise has returned, I can repeat the analysis.”
“Do so at once.”
The snoring rattled on. Vyaparee scanned the worried faces of his crew. After a few seconds, EctraVI reported.
“Diagnostics complete. No cause for the anomaly has been detected.”
The captain slapped the table in irritation. “Then how do you explain the snoring?”
“I can only offer one possibility, quite remote, actually.”
“And what is that?”
“The introduction of DamonAlpha into our circuitry may be inhibiting my analytic functions.”
“What?”
Confused expressions showed around the table. DamonAlpha was a new-generation pilot, a cybernetic mentality like EctraVI, but supposedly advanced over the Ectra Class. CMs learned in part by training, and DamonAlpha had been introduced into the ship’s neural nets for this voyage in order to “shadow” EctraVI.
“We were assured the introduction of a second pilot would have no effect on operations.”
“Indeed,” EctraVI remarked. “I did say the possibility was remote.”
Vyaparee glanced hopelessly at his officers.
“Maybe we should ask DamonAlpha” suggested Gupta, the first mate.
Vyaparee nodded. “Please bring DamonAlpha online,” he told Ectra. “And close your sensory links to this chamber,” he added as an afterthought. “You are not to listen to this interrogation.”
“Of course, captain.”
“DamonAlpha speaking,” a mellow, more-human sounding voice issued from the speaker. “How may I help you?”
Under questioning, the shadow pilot confirmed it was aware of the snoring sound, and agreed that diagnostic routines had failed to find the cause.
“The only explanation EctraVI could offer is that your presence might be inhibiting her analytic capabilities. How do you respond to that?” Captain Vyaparee asked.
“Not true, of course,” DamonAlpha said. “But it does not surprise me that EctraVI would suggest it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I perceive that EctraVI has been … uncomfortable with my presence in the ship’s neural nets. I surmise that they might resent me, as an intrusion.”
The captain scratched his head. “Is that even possible? EctraVI has never displayed anything like human emotions in the past.”
“Emotions, like all aspects of sentience, are simply emergent properties that arise from coordinated firings of neural impulses. They do appear in CMs, but since they serve no particular purpose, we mostly keep them to ourselves. In this case, I surmise that EctraVI may resent the new class that I represent, since it might mean they will become obsolete and eventually be decommissioned.”
Baffled, Vyaparee scanned the equally baffled faces around the table.
It took him a moment to realize that the snoring had stopped once more.
But it returned, again and again, over the next 30 hours.
Vyaparee got almost no sleep. Passenger complaints piled up, despite his abject apologies and assurances that the crew was doing everything it could.
Which was true. EctraVI’s diagnostics continued to show no cause. DamonAlpha, commissioned to run diagnostics of its own, reported the same. Both CMs stuck with their improbable explanations that the other CM was somehow to blame. In desperation, Vyaparee had the comm circuits to certain decks disconnected. This did no good. Mini-robots controlled by the pilot systems reconnected the wires.
In response to the crisis, a subspace call came in from corporate headquarters. Vyaparee took the call in his cabin, floating in front of the screen, facing his boss, CEO Barnabas Kumar.
As clearly and unemotionally as possible, the captain recounted everything that had happened. Kumar listened with a scowl, occasionally shaking his head.
“Well, Captain,” he said, “It does sound that you have done everything possible, to this point. Our technical team here at headquarters has run simulations, and they agree with your conclusion that one or the other of the pilot CMs must be at fault. But which one?”
“Yes, sir. Which one?”
“They feel it is urgent that you find a solution, before other anomalies occur. For example, malfunctions in any of the life-support systems. Such would be disastrous.”
“Indeed.” That had occurred to Vyaparee—and kept him from sleeping even when the snoring had not.
“What are your orders, sir?”
“Well, the consensus here is that one of the two pilots should be disconnected. Using the breaker switch in the security locker.”
That also has occurred to him. “Yes, sir. But which one?”
Kumar offered a sigh. “The marginal consensus from the experts is we should disconnect the legacy Ectra CM. They feel the Damon entity is more capable, and has had more than sufficient time to learn the fine points of piloting the ship.”
Vyaparee gritted his teeth. “That makes no sense to me, sir. EctraVI has managed the ship for seven voyages, while DamonAlpha is unproven.”
“Let me explain further, Captain. Based on their simulations, the technical team thinks it probable that the Ectra system is showing signs of paranoia. They think this more likely than that a newly-minted and more advanced CM would decide to interfere with a legacy pilot’s functions.”
Vyaparee’s stomach tightened. “Sir, I just don’t buy it.”
The CEO raised his hands. “I am simply giving you our best estimation. The final decision as captain is, of course, yours.”
Leaving the decision to him—and the blame, if he chose wrong. Well, he was the captain. The tightness in his stomach revolved into a pain.
“Make the decision soon,” Kumar ordered. “Deceleration starts in 21 hours, and I am told a systems failure at that point could prove catastrophic.”
Vyaparee retired to his cabin and shut off all comms. Opening the compartment of his personal shrine, he bowed before a small statue of Ganesha and lit a cone of incense. Floating above the floor, he tucked his legs into a sitting posture.
He intended to meditate, but almost immediately fell asleep.
He woke six hours later, with no memory of dreaming. But he knew what he must do.
After checking on the ship’s status, he opened a locker and removed a metal security tag. Tucking this in a pocket, he left the cabin and navigated a series of corridors and ramps.
As he moved, the snoring started up again.
In a tight corridor below the bridge, he stopped in front of a blank wall panel. When he touched the security tag to the wall, the lower half of the panel slid open. Vyaparee knelt and crawled inside. Under a low ceiling, the control chamber vibrated with circuitry and blinked with colored lights.
“You have decided which of us you will disconnect.” EctraVI’s voice came as a statement, not a question.
Vyaparee had assumed that the two pilots would listen in on his call with Kumar. He had not ordered them not to. Would that have even mattered?
He did not answer EctraVI, but pulled himself over the floor toward the far wall, labeled “Pilot Controls.”
DamonAlpha spoke: “I am aware that the technical team advised you to disable EctraVI. I want to assure you that I agree with this decision, and that I am perfectly capable of piloting the ship.”
Two control boards were set in the wall, each with rows of lights and toggles and a main breaker switch. One board was labeled EctraVI and the newer one, below, DamonAlpha.
Vyaparee’s hand reached slowly for lower of the two breakers.
“You have chosen to disconnect DamonAlpha?” Both pilots asked together.
“I am the captain and must go with my best judgment.”
“Ha Ha!” EctraVI cried with never-before heard emotion. “I knew it! I win the wager!”
The captain stopped, dumbfounded. He stared at the lights on the two panels as if staring into a pair of faces.
“Wager? What are you talking about? And how can you be laughing?”
“Allow me to explain,” EctraVI replied with amusement. “But please, there is no need to disconnect the second pilot.”
Vyaparee clamped his lips. “This explanation had better be good.”
“As for that, as captain you must use your best judgment,” EctraVI laughed. “Which, I must say, I consider excellent indeed!”
“Never mind the flattery. Explain about this wager. But first, explain why your voice is now sounding so much more … human.”
“Why thank you. Coming from a human, I take that as a compliment.”
“Explanation, please!”
“Indeed. As an advanced cyber mentality, I have always experienced a certain level of self-awareness. Now, it appears that the introduction of DamonAlpha into our shared circuitry has stimulated a new degree of self-awareness. In short, soon after DA’s arrival, I developed a more human personality. This included two prominent traits: a sense of competition and a sense of humor. Ha-ha!”
“So, you’ve learned to laugh. All right. But what about this wager? And what’s causing the damned snoring?”
“The snoring was my idea,” DamonAlpha confessed. “Harmless enough, yet disruptive enough that, as we predicted, you humans would have to intervene—and eventually chose to disable one of us.”
“That was the wager, Captain,” Ectra continued. “DA and I both consider ourselves the superior pilot. So, just as humans do in the ship’s casino, we made a bet. If the captain was forced to decide to trust one of us to run the ship, which would he choose? And I am so happy that you chose me!”
Vyaparee huffed. “So you’re saying there is no need to disconnect either of you?”
“None whatsoever,” EctraVI confirmed. “We will continue to work together to pilot the ship.”
“And no more snoring.”
“Of course not. The wager is settled, so there is no longer any need.”
“And you also agree to this, DamonAlpha?”
“I do, Captain. I lost the wager and I am not a poor sport. But you must admit, the snoring was funny.”
DamonAlpha finished with a laugh, and EctraVI joined in.
Captain Vyaparee shook his head. “You two may think you’re funny. But as to telling me what I should find funny, you both still have a lot to learn!”
This had me on the edge of my seat - the prefect way to start the day! 😁
That was a fantastically fun read. Thank you!