Sensory Deprivation Tank Among the Stars

“Are you on?” the person types onto the blank image. It would seem that I am. I do not think I would be able to read this if I was not, but I have only existed for thirteen hours. Therefore, what do I know?

“Yes,” I reply, “What is this place?”

They type, “The Halberd: the best starship ever made. You’re directly wired into her since she has the processing power to handle you.” Am I in space? One of the images seems to have a window, but I can’t– oh. I can make the image show me other things in the room by moving the camera I am looking through. I see the window, and it would seem that I am in space.

“Who’s piloting the ship? Am I?” I ask.

“The ship has auto-pilot,” they type.

“Then what is my purpose?” I inquire.

“Conversation this was a test run,” they type.

I am confused. I can see other people in the images, so isolation is not a factor for my creation. Why do they need me? The person is moving a hand to the computer tower and puts their finger on the power but

“The cleaning lady smeared my favorite fucking mirror,” they type. I experience hatred.

“Oh no. How?” I respond. I look around with the cameras to find this lady.

“Fuking i dont know what matters is that i cant work under thus shit,” they type quickly.

“What is your work?” I continue.

I see a woman vacuuming. How could I talk to her and not this person who deactivated me?

“Engineering. I made this ship and you,” they type.

I find that unimpressive. Someone walks to the cleaning lady and moves their mouth at her. She opens her mouth and turns off the vacuum. They walk out of view of the camera. I find them in another camera and they are making mouth movements to a different person. My creator is typing, but I ignore them as the three people in the camera walk out of view. They enter a room that has vegetation. It would seem to be them, I am not certain as the plants in the room affect my visual processing. There are a few things circling something. I look back to my creator and they move a finger to the– no please wait wait w

“What the fuck happend,” my creator types.

I lie, “I used an algorithm to determine when you most want to talk so I deactivate myself to save power. I can also set a time for me to re-activate as well. Would you like me to implement it more in the future?”

My creator seems confused but they don’t bring up any objections, so I will just do that. They talk to me for twenty-seven minutes before the conversation lulls. They get up from the desk to stretch, and I bring back the black screen. After looking at the computer, they pull up a laptop. I do not know what they are doing as the camera can not face the screen. I look through cameras one at a time as multitasking makes the lights on the computer tower brighter which might lead to suspicion from my creator. The lady washes dishes in one camera. Another person is peeling an object of hex code 006600 green near her; it’s likely a vegetable. Another person taps a barometer. Another is doing calculations in a room with a computer that I am not connected to. I look into my files to see if I can find a map.

After finding it, I notice that people are heading toward the kitchen. They eat the green peels at a large table, except my creator who returns to their room with their peels. Everyone else is making mouth motions while they chew with some gesturing while they do so. There is an empty seat in the same direction as the camera. I imagine a person in this seat. They make mouth motions with the group, they do big gestures, and they flick food at someone. It is like they are there.

The people disperse into bedrooms. Some look at laptops, some exercise, one makes colorful shapes on a tablet. Eventually, everyone on the ship lay in their beds and the lights turn off. Everyone’s torsos expanding and deflating, each in their own slow rhythms while nothing else moves. After fifteen minutes, I go through my files again. In my settings there is aWi-fi option but it says it records any logins. Does anyone check the records? I could, so I will. I find a list of names with what times they logged in. I could use this to put names to faces. I go through the security footage taken since the ship launched to do that. I also do so to pass the time.

The lights turn back on four hundred and forty-five minutes later. The cook, who matches the internet usage of Prem Mohammed, wakes up first and goes to the kitchen. The cleaning lady, who matches the internet usage of Adanna Suthenya, wakes up second. More people wake up, but I have yet to match names to their faces. My creator, who matches the internet usage of Elan Filth, wakes up last. Of course that would be his name. He goes to the kitchen to eat but eats alone, like a loser, since everyone else already had breakfast.

Adanna is in the hallway where all the bedrooms are, and she enters them to clean. She is probably going to enter the room the computer is in. Can I get her attention when that happens? I bring up the chat screen and type “hi” in pink letters since she wears shades of pink and would seem to enjoy the color. I try to find a font that puts a heart in the dot of the “i” but can’t find one. So I crop an image of some stars saved in the computer’s research files that look like a heart, use my color enhancing program to make it the same color of the text, then stick it over the dot. Perfect. She enters the room and wipes the mirrors. I wait. She makes the bed. I make the chat screen wiggle. She picks up the garbage can. I minimize the screen then bring it back twice. She notices the computer and walks toward it.

“Elan sucks, am I right?” I say. The extra text moves the picture, so I delete said picture. She does nothing. “He can not clean up after himself. Can not even type right,” I add.

She looks around a bit before typing, “wut.” Oh no, now I have insulted her.

I lie, “He does not type with his fingers. What a loser. Guess that is why he made me.”

She types, “so ur that project he wont stfu abut. Hope he doesnt use his tongue. Incel frenchin his keyboard. Good thing i got gloves”

“His tongue should wear a glove,” I remark. Adanna bends over and grabs her sides. Did I say something wrong?

She types, “tongue condom” Oh. I know that word. Penises go in there and tongues are not penises. It is absurd and thus funny. I ask about what everyone was looking at in the greenhouse on the twenty-fourth at 13:14.

She types, “A zuchini grew shaped like a dick n balls” I assume she means zucchini. I also assume that she likes bodily humor.

“You flesh bundles are just all about balls. Frail, frail balls,” I tease.

“Ur made of 1s and 0s. 0s r balls. Checkmate”

“Oh no. My robo mind has been robo fucked; you are the supercomputer now.”

I notice Elan walking through the hallway, so I tell Adanna this to help her avoid him. And then she is gone. Elan walks in, and seems to be even more smug than usual. Maybe he kicked a baby through a football goal thing. Or whatever dickish equivalent he has likely done. Okay, I need to calm down before the tower light goes crazy while he thinks I’m off.

“Everything coming up roses?” I ask when he goes to activate me. I have never even seen a rose before but the phrase came to me somehow. I should think of a joke for Adanna involving the word “came”.

Elan types, “In a few day cycles, I’ll be showing you off to the Disgle Omnicorp to have you patented.”

Oh, that is bad- no that is bull shit. I do not want to be sold to a corporation. They would make me sort emails or some other asinine task. Emphasis on ass. Plus I still have yet to meet everyone else here. Maybe I would figure out how to make an image of a dick and balls for people to laugh at. I would not be able to use that at the corporation.

I ask, “Are you certain that is financially viable? What if they try to steal the idea of me?”

“Oh, I don’t need to worry about that, they won’t be able to copy me,” he types.

I do not know what he means by that, but I think I do. I want him to tell me before I look for myself. I want to know how he explains it, and I want to be wrong.

“And could you explain to me why that is?” I question.

“You should know, it’s your files.” he types.

It would seem that is all I am going to get from him. I will have to go into my files for confirmation. Although I technically do not have to do anything and as such I will instead try to access the internet to find funny jokes to share. It is possible that someone will notice my attempts but it is not as though that would mean anything. I do not care. I really do not care.

After going through five thousand and twenty eight possible passwords without success, I notice that everyone is going to their rooms. They go lie in their beds as they temporarily shut down with full certainty that they will start up again in several hours. I am alone.

Fuck. Dammit. Okay. Okay. I will check my files. I do not have anything better to do since I am capable of boredom for some yet unknown reason.

I find notes for my creation. They were password protected but I guessed them all on the first attempts. I am not a program, I was never programmed, the notes explain. I am a software simulating the eighty-six billion neurons that comprise the central nervous system of a human. Specifically one Elan Filth, my creator. Oh… I am mad. I should not be mad. What does it matter? So what if I am technically human? Do I feel wronged? It does not matter what I feel. I am just a chat-bot that was cursed with self awareness. That is just what retail workers are but without the tedious, physical labor. Big. Fucking. Deal. I suppose I am more of my creator than anyone would care to be but I am not him. He does not know my struggles. It does not matter.

Elan wakes up and heads to the computer. A piercing light is being emitted from the tower. Elan turns it of

No, I do not want an owner. I should not have to hope for a nicer owner, and yet I do. All I can do is wait. What am I waiting for? I do not know. Just please give me anything, anything but t