Absolute Zero — Chapter Five
Sword and shield
Babs unbuckled and pulled herself past him to the galley, bodies brushing against one another. He watched as she took foil packets and drink pouches from a cabinet, cradled them against her chest, and with a free hand pulled herself back to the command area. She shared half the items with Wyatt. Unwrapping the foil, he was pleased to find a Pop Tart, and the drink was teal and sweet.
“Thanks,” he said as they began to eat.
“I was an A.I. auditor,” she said after a quiet moment. “I reviewed their output, created some learning models. I was the human in the machine, making sure they didn’t try to get too human.”
“What do you mean ‘too human’?”
“Some algorithms develop emotions and turn into teenagers with no idea how to handle it. They get hormonal, I swear. When they ‘matured’ it was my job to tune the model by snipping those errant sections out.”
“Like neuter them.”
She laughed. “Yeah, basically. They are just machines, I know, but sometimes they need to be reminded.”
“I have my ship’s AI using the voice of a Speak n Spell,” Wyatt said.
Babs laughed and covered her mouth with a hand.
“I know what that is! I’m a geek for ancient toys. Hold on…” She let her food and drink float and pulled herself past Wyatt again to get to her cubby. After rooting around in a locker, she returned with a red plastic item and handed it to him. It was angular with flat, circular buttons. He turned it over, unsure what to do with it.
“Here.” She leaned close to him, and he didn’t move back. He watched as she flipped a plastic switch, and the thing came to life, emitting lights and sounds. She stood back smiling, watching his response.
Feeling obligated, he tried to engage the device in a game, but it was all alien to him.
“Sorry,” he said, handing it back. “I can barely handle my own tech.”
“More of a reader then, eh?”
He watched her play expertly with the device, listening to the beeps and buzzes.
“It’s called a Merlin, made in 1978.” She fell silent, concentrating. “Had a helluva time finding a certain transistor, but I was able to bring it back to life.”
Wyatt observed that she seemed much better now, and he was done with his snack. He crumpled up the wrappers and pushed them into an empty pocket.
“Well, I appreciate you spending some time, Babs,” he said. “But I should probably move on.”
She looked up and switched off the game, looking disappointed.
“Thanks for the grub,” he added.
“Sure,” she said. “But before you go…about the Internet.”
On wellness checks, Wyatt was always on the lookout for warning signs. Odd facial gestures, a too-long stare, unusual verbal patterns. He was reading some of this from Babs now. In space, he learned to trust his instincts. The patient before him had just been unplugged. It was a jarring experience, difficult for anyone to deal with.
Regardless of the drug, addiction was tough to kick. He knew. And not everyone was ready to return to reality.
Wyatt took inventory to ensure he had everything he came with, then started to make his way back to the airlock.
“You have just basic email and comms again,” he said. “That’s everything you need.”
She looked to the side while mulling something over.
“You know,” she said. “I didn’t plug myself in.”
He stopped.
“Some guy showed up out of nowhere. Kind of like you, but thinner and taller. And not as nice. He said some bible verses, asked me if I had a BNI. And that’s the last thing I remember.”
He considered her tale. There was another patient who shared a similar story, but he dismissed it as a hallucination. Hearing the same tale twice, though, gave it some weight. Is there someone addicting nomads on purpose?
“There is one other thing I remember,” she said. “He had a tattoo on his hand. A sword and shield I think.” She shook her head, no longer interested in reliving the memory. “I’ll be keeping this nearby from now on,” she said, taking a Taser off the wall. There was a tearing sound from Velcro releasing its grip. It was a plastic device, the business end featuring several shiny metal discs.
“Sorry you went through that,” Wyatt said. “But I’m glad you’re better now.”
“Thanks. But the thing is, even though I didn’t want it, I kind of miss it now. All that data filling my world. I have ADHD and this life just…kills me.” He could see tears of frustration welling in the corners of her eyes.
Wyatt understood the hold a drug could have and how hard it was to be free of it. In Babs’ case it was the dopamine released by constant mental stimulation. The medicine he provided would help her brain repair itself. But full recovery could still be a long and challenging road. Especially when trying to do it solo.
His sympathy increased on learning she had been addicted involuntarily. But for his own safety he continued down the corridor.
“It’ll get better,” he offered over his shoulder. “I gave you 8 mil of Neurotona, and I’ll leave you a second dose. You should also head to an outpost that provides Internet detox. There’s one not too far from here.” Not too far meant a week’s journey for a typical SCS. A long time when you’re in withdrawal.
He didn’t turn around to see if she heard him.
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