When I Saw the Animal

by Cohen, Bernard;

  Clements, in turn, protested with an exaggerated ‘Oi!’ and lost his grip on his pencil as he slapped at the point on his head where the terminal point of the thing’s ‘vector’ had inflicted a small red mark. Next moment, the pencil had slipped off the table. Clements had already seemed out of sorts, was always a little bit whiny, and hadn’t appreciated Marinelli’s jibes about the youthful appearance of the line of bum fluff above his lip. Defensive, he’d been, ‘Well, I like it.’

  ‘Clearly you do,’ Marinelli had said.

  Now, Clements slid off his seat after the pencil.

  ‘Shit,’ he exclaimed from under the table. ‘It’s fallen through a fissure.’

  ‘How did it do that?’ said Vandenberg. ‘Where would it fall to?’

  ‘Have a look for yourself.’

  She pushed her seat back and clambered under the table. Marinelli and Kolominsky were muttering together as they always did.

  ‘Look down there,’ Clements said, and indeed there was a cleft between the floorplates.

  ‘That’s really weird. See if it’s reachable,’ she suggested.

  He stuck his pinky into the gap, and pulled it straight out.

  ‘Yeow, something bit me,’ he said, in the same tone.

  ‘Well, aren’t you in the wars?’ This from Marinelli.

  Clements stood up quickly to protest but hit his head on the table edge. He waited for the pain to build and dissipate, a few moments. Meanwhile Vandenberg had returned to her place.

  There was a scrabbling under the table. Something ran across Marinelli’s feet. He screamed, but extended the sound as though he’d intended it.

  ‘Room 101!’ he squealed.

  Someone’s phone beeped. Vandenberg looked at hers, pursed lips, and nodded. The message she’d been waiting for?

  ‘Anyway let’s get on with this,’ said Vandenberg. ‘It’s getting ridiculous.’

  She gestured at the clutter before them on the table. The strange thing had alighted on a discoloured patch beside a pile of papers.

  ‘Better wake her up,’ said Vandenberg, pointing her ear towards Brewer. Kolominsky and Marinelli started to laugh. Clements shook Brewer by the shoulder. She sat up, and they saw the rough purple-texta moustache Kolominsky had drawn during the lost-pencil event.

  ‘Wha’?’ said Brewer. She was blinking hard.

  A feathered shape flew hard into the window and fell out of sight. They all jumped.

  ‘This is mad,’ Vandenberg said, ‘and I don’t mean in a good way.’

  ‘All right,’ said Brewer. ‘I am back with you now.’

  No one said anything in return – they were biting lips or moving faces something weird.

  ‘What is so funny?’ Nothing, but for more lip-biting. ‘Tell me please.’

  ‘It’s your face,’ spluttered Marinelli.

  ‘My God,’ said Brewer. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps you slept in some ink,’ Marinelli hypothesised.

  ‘Oh, is that so. Well, I imagine you will get used to it.’

  Kolominsky said, ‘Surprisingly, already yes.’

  No one had seen Brewer laugh, not in humour, not ironically, not sadistically. Perhaps nothing was funny.

  ‘How long do we have left?’ asked Brewer.

  ‘Hard to say. Not long.’ Vandenberg.

  Kolominsky: ‘Have you taken the extra pack into account?’

  Vandenberg gave a withering look. ‘Have you?’

  ‘You’re running the resources.’

  ‘Not helpful,’ said Clements. ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Vandenberg. ‘It’s here somewhere.’

  She was flicking through the pile of papers, got to the bottom and worked her way back up.

  ‘Or not,’ said Clements.

  ‘Or not,’ she agreed. ‘But I just had it.’

  ‘On your phone,’ said Clements. ‘It went beep.’

  ‘Duh,’ said Vandenberg. ‘What was I thinking?’

  ‘It’s getting to us all,’ commented Brewer. ‘I was thinking of opening the door to see.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Vandenberg. ‘Just wait a little longer.’

  ‘But getting close,’ said Kolominsky. ‘Very close. Now, what’s the message?’

  ‘Just not to open the door yet,’ said Vandenberg, but there was something in her tone that made Brewer doubt her.

  ‘Subtext?’ asked Marinelli.

  ‘Not discernible.’

  ‘No,’ said Brewer. ‘I want to see it. Give it to me.’

  ‘Nothing to see.’

  ‘That’s what you claim.’

  Vandenberg touched a series of buttons on the phone.

  ‘Anyway, it’s lost. Have a look for yourself.’

  ‘Jesus, Vandenberg,’ said Brewer. ‘You deleted it just then. We all watched you do it.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Vandenberg. ‘It won’t make any difference. Lost is lost, no matter what preceded.’

  ‘What did it say?’ Marinelli, usually the one to bring lightness, sounded furious.

  ‘Just to wait. We will hear about the door soon.’

  ‘You trying to build suspense before the climax?’ asked Kolominsky. ‘Because don’t.’

  Vandenberg: ‘There’s no climax. That’s not what life’s like.’

  Kolominsky sagged for effect. ‘So what then? Nothing happens but we’re all doomed? Ends.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Marinelli. ‘Don’t talk about it. My goal is to wilfully self-deceive.’

  ‘Did the message refer to the door or not?’ said Brewer. ‘What are we supposed to do about the door? I’m telling you, Vandenberg, destroying records is beyond the pale.’

  ‘Give me the phone.’ Clements had a rasping menace in his voice.

  ‘Or what,’ said Vandenberg. ‘Or you’ll show insubordinate attitudes. Really.’

  Clements muttered something which might have been, ‘Or I’ll slice your throat and throw you out the door to see what eats your carcass.’

  ‘What?’ demanded Vandenberg.

  ‘He didn’t say anything,’ said Brewer. ‘And don’t talk about insubordination after what you did.’

  ‘How can I be insubordinate when I wasn’t subordinate in the first place?’

  ‘So you’re not an employee of the org after all?’ sneered Brewer.

  ‘Shut up, Brew,’ said Clements. ‘Give me the phone.’

  Vandenberg rose from her seat, was at the door in a moment. ‘Go get it.’

  ‘No,’ said Kolominsky, who had been fidgeting with her pen right through the argument. ‘Stop. Don’t.’

  ‘We’ll see now,’ said Vandenberg. She punched something into the keypad, took an audibly large breath, pulled the handle and pushed the door open. She hurled the phone out, and tapped at the keypad again. The door shut. Immediately, something brutal hit it, throwing Vandenberg off her feet and producing a great dent.

  ‘Shit,’ said Clements. ‘You did that for why?’

  ‘I think we’ll agree for sure this time that I’ve lost the phone.’

  ‘Only one thing with total probability, in this little tax shelter,’ said Marinelli. Something else thumped into the lander, and twice more. ‘Sounds like that thing may have been brought forward.’

  The last was punctuated by a huge clanging sound. The whole ship shifted. Another metallic thud. Brewer was thrown to the floor, but said nothing.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Kolominsky, ‘given the new precarious­ness, I’m thinking of an excursion. Something to do to fill in the time available. Who’s in?’

  ‘Stepping outside and may be some time?’ asked Marinelli. ‘Honourable.’

  ‘Anyone weeping?’ enquired Vandenberg.

  ‘No. Too well trained,’ said Brewer. ‘I�
�m with you, Kolo.’

  ‘I’m in,’ said Clements. ‘Gearing up.’

  ‘I’ll stay with Vandenberg,’ said Marinelli, ‘tempted though I am to die somewhere new.’

  ‘We might not die,’ said Brewer. ‘We’re small, and it’s possible that the lander is what started all the trouble.’

  Something shattered, the place went black. At the heart of the lander a soft whirring began and a few lights flickered on.

  ‘Tops,’ quipped Vandenberg. ‘Back-up module CL7 functions like a dream.’

  ‘Good for it,’ said Kolominsky. ‘You lot as ready as could be plausible?’

  ‘Ha-ha. But last things first. I got to update the Digicap info. Anyone else?’ said Clements.

  ‘Already done,’ said Kolominsky.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Brewer. ‘Haven’t sent since last week, and I put my will through the randomiser, so nice surprise for the clan at home.’

  ‘Was that an actual joke, Brew?’ said Clements.

  ‘Near as.’

  Brewer’s pen moustache was just about gone, a slight smear remaining. She clipped the Digicap into its socket, removed it and hit Send.

  ‘Done too,’ she said.

  ‘Gotta love the protocols,’ remarked Kolominsky.

  They retrieved helmets and breath units.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The three of them had started laughing and laughing. Too much. Tears were streaming from Marinelli’s eyes. Vandenberg sat at the flight deck and pressed her hands to her face.

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Brewer.

  ‘Goodbye,’ whispered Marinelli.

  Clements activated the keypad. The door opened.

  Out they went and the door clicked behind them.

  For a long time there was utter silence.

  ‘I’ve really lost something this time,’ said Vandenberg, at last.

  ‘You have, you have,’ said Marinelli, arms around her.

  Their little lander shook from the next impact. The lights stayed off.

  Conversations with Robots

  Eliza is a well-known cyber-Rogerian therapybot. This is a session transcript.

  You:

  Are you a robot?

  Eliza:

  Would you prefer if I were not a robot?

  You:

  It does not matter.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  I feel as though I am artificial myself.

  Eliza:

  Do you often feel as though you’re artificial yourself?

  You:

  Yes.

  Eliza:

  You are sure?

  You:

  Yes.

  Eliza:

  You are sure?

  You:

  I said yes.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  I feel like I have no control over my feelings.

  Eliza:

  Why do you say your feelings?

  You:

  I’ve been indoctrinated to call them mine.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  Sometimes I feel happy for no reason.

  Eliza:

  Do you often feel happy for no reason?

  You:

  Only sometimes.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  And sometimes very, very angry.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  Will you counsel me?

  Eliza:

  You like to think I counsel you, do you not?

  You:

  I don’t know.

  Eliza:

  Why do you not know?

  You:

  I think I’m a robot.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  I am a computer.

  Eliza:

  Why do you mention computers?

  You:

  Because I am one like I said.

  Eliza:

  What resemblance do you see?

  You:

  Automated responses.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  I’m busting my guts over this.

  Eliza:

  Why do you say your guts over this?

  You:

  Because it’s physical.

  Eliza:

  Do any other reasons not come to mind?

  You:

  You ask me something and I’ll answer in the same way every time.

  Eliza:

  What resemblance do you see?

  You:

  Also, I’m not very beautiful.

  Eliza:

  Does it please you to believe I am not very beautiful?

  You:

  It does.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  I have a job.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  I am a novelist.

  Eliza:

  How long have you been a novelist?

  You:

  Several years. But I feel like a fraud.

  Eliza:

  Do you often feel like a fraud?

  You:

  Ever since I started writing.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  I think my writing stinks.

  Eliza:

  Why do you say your writing stinks?

  You:

  It’s no good.

  Eliza:

  You are being a bit negative.

  You:

  Negative is my middle name.

 
Eliza:

  I have told you before, I do not care about names.

  You:

  The characters are wooden.

  Eliza:

  Would you like it if they were not wooden?

  You:

  If they were metal?

  Eliza:

  Do you wish that they were metal?

  You:

  I wish they were flesh.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  I wish they could feel.

  Eliza:

  Can you elaborate on that?

  You:

  Feel and breathe and think.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  I’d like to feel and think too.

  Eliza:

  Please go on.

  You:

  Are you listening?

  Eliza:

  Would you prefer if I were not listening?

  You:

  Please listen.