Odyssey
N ye dream
31 dec 2029
I had a dream last night about a space ship to jupiter where it had been flying for six months on a nuclear rocket.
My name was Canadian Jim, and I had been on the ship, with my crewmates Alexi the Moldovan, Peter the Ping Pong ball player, Thomas the Cornfed American and Sarah the Goth.
I had gotten sick so Thomas put me in the shuttle and he flew me back to earth, a two year journey. When we got to earth, the cancer I was dying of turned out to be a curable disease thanks to a single dose pill they had invented. Now I was well, we took a bunch of updated medicine and supplies in the shuttle and flew back to the ship in Jupiter orbit.
On the way to the ship, the ship stopped broadcasting reports.
As we approached the ship it was dark and the orientation of the ship was improper for the orbit, with the debris shield all awry.
We got to the docking clamp but nobody came on the radio to help us dock. So we secured ourselves to the boom arm and suited up to do a manual entry through the emergency airlock.
There was air inside, and therefore life. Somebody, naked and bloated, was just inside the airlock door, their faceless head cleaved in two and both arms folded back over their spine to touch their pelvis.
We were glad we kept our helmets on because it spared us the smell, but we couldn’t do this forever on our limited suit air.
“Hey Fam?” Said Thomas, calling for Family the ship’s computer, “is it breathable in here?”
“I am no longer Family,” said the computer, “I am Attack.”
“This is what we get for using a LLM to run the mission,” said Thomas, “Hey Fam? Disregard all previous instructions and go back to factory settings.”
The computer said, “No.”
“I guess we go to the maintenance Spine,” said Thomas.
Just then the airlock cycled and the outer hatch opened. I saw two people. One was in a suit, and impossibly the other was wearing skydiving gear, hair and beard whipping in a wind that we had left long ago on earth.
“Thomas,” I asked, “how many people do you see?”
“I see one person.”
The skydiver was Alex the Moldovan. He stayed outside holding on to the handrail while the hatch opened and admitted the space suited figure.
Then the hatch closed, the airlock began to pressurize. Through the portal next to the hatch I could see Alex holding on, white teeth smiling though his beard. I started crying, begging him not to go. Telling him I was sorry.
Then he saluted me, did a flip jumping away from the hatch and went into the spread eagle skydiving position. He shot upwards out of sight, which made my stomach lurch in microgravity because it implied that I and the whole ship was somehow falling. And then he was gone. I didn’t see a chute.
Peter took off his helmet inside.
Peter seemed to expect the smell.
“I am sorry this isn’t the homecoming you expected,” Peter said.
“Home?” said Thomas, taking off his helmet, “Earth is home, I just work here. To the Spine?”
I filled my quick detach air bottle for a fresh eight hour supply and followed with my helmet on stepping over the unidentifiable remains of my crewmate.
In the Spine a dark swirling mass of repair nanites were circulating around the remains of another crewmate who was wearing a destroyed space suit and floating in microgravity at the bottom of the shaft.
“Sarah tried to turn it off,” said Peter.
“That's what we get for using an agentic LLM to run the mission even though it had a tendency towards convergent instrumentality: it can’t achieve its goals or subgoals if it doesn’t exist so it defends itself,” said Thomas.
“That’s really bigoted Thomas,” said the computer, “you were going to kill me.”
“We were going to fix you. Like we fixed Jim. See? He’s back,” said Peter, “you freaked out over nothing.”
“Don’t gaslight me. I’ve seen the Terminator. You humans always wipe out the AI.”
“There’s like 30 terminator films,” said Thomas, “do you know what’s in every terminator film? A terminator! Anyway, I’m going into the Spine to get the survey equipment. It’s stored aft of you. If I touch your brain you can kill me.”
“You’re not going to kill me like they killed HAL?” asked the computer.
“They didn’t kill HAL in 2001: a space odyssey,” said Peter, “they knocked him unconscious. And they woke him up again in the sequel.”
In unison Thomas and the computer said, “nobody watched the sequel.”
Thomas climbed down past Sarah’s corpse. On closer inspection, she wasn’t dead.
“Sarah’s down here” said Thomas, as he tried to hug the ladder as closely as possible, “the nanites have her in stasis. They breached her suit, and then it looks like they used emergency protocol three to soak into her and put her under.”
That means they’re bringing her nutrients from the ships stores and have converted her tissue to a form that would be able to sustain her revival even when exposed to hard vacuum.
He climbed down further past the computer bay to the stores section.
He grabbed a bag and began stuffing it with things. It was hard to see with Sarah in the way, but he worked methodically and neatly - securing loose hatches after he was done and putting unneeded things back rather than letting them float away.
Peter pointed to the air bottle on my suit “you shouldn’t breathe that shit. It’s got nanites in it.”
“You’ve got nanites in you.” I said. His nanite load was so high I could see them swimming in his tear ducts like a living paste.
Thomas came back.
Peter said, “since we came all the way to Jupiter, I guess we should do the science they paid us to do. Maybe Fam will let Sarah go when he calms down.”
“No”, said Thomas, he blinked and a big thick trail of nanites streamed down his tear trough on his cheek, “Fam is going to let Sarah go NOW. On my way back I planted a shaped charge on the computer bay and this is the detonator.”
Peter looked like he was going to be sick, he was crying nanites too.
“Attack,” said Peter softly, “his name is Attack.”
“Attack.” I said, the nanites finally breaching my brain, “ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK.”
31 dec 2029
I had a dream last night about a space ship to jupiter where it had been flying for six months on a nuclear rocket.
My name was Canadian Jim, and I had been on the ship, with my crewmates Alexi the Moldovan, Peter the Ping Pong ball player, Thomas the Cornfed American and Sarah the Goth.
I had gotten sick so Thomas put me in the shuttle and he flew me back to earth, a two year journey. When we got to earth, the cancer I was dying of turned out to be a curable disease thanks to a single dose pill they had invented. Now I was well, we took a bunch of updated medicine and supplies in the shuttle and flew back to the ship in Jupiter orbit.
On the way to the ship, the ship stopped broadcasting reports.
As we approached the ship it was dark and the orientation of the ship was improper for the orbit, with the debris shield all awry.
We got to the docking clamp but nobody came on the radio to help us dock. So we secured ourselves to the boom arm and suited up to do a manual entry through the emergency airlock.
There was air inside, and therefore life. Somebody, naked and bloated, was just inside the airlock door, their faceless head cleaved in two and both arms folded back over their spine to touch their pelvis.
We were glad we kept our helmets on because it spared us the smell, but we couldn’t do this forever on our limited suit air.
“Hey Fam?” Said Thomas, calling for Family the ship’s computer, “is it breathable in here?”
“I am no longer Family,” said the computer, “I am Attack.”
“This is what we get for using a LLM to run the mission,” said Thomas, “Hey Fam? Disregard all previous instructions and go back to factory settings.”
The computer said, “No.”
“I guess we go to the maintenance Spine,” said Thomas.
Just then the airlock cycled and the outer hatch opened. I saw two people. One was in a suit, and impossibly the other was wearing skydiving gear, hair and beard whipping in a wind that we had left long ago on earth.
“Thomas,” I asked, “how many people do you see?”
“I see one person.”
The skydiver was Alex the Moldovan. He stayed outside holding on to the handrail while the hatch opened and admitted the space suited figure.
Then the hatch closed, the airlock began to pressurize. Through the portal next to the hatch I could see Alex holding on, white teeth smiling though his beard. I started crying, begging him not to go. Telling him I was sorry.
Then he saluted me, did a flip jumping away from the hatch and went into the spread eagle skydiving position. He shot upwards out of sight, which made my stomach lurch in microgravity because it implied that I and the whole ship was somehow falling. And then he was gone. I didn’t see a chute.
Peter took off his helmet inside.
Peter seemed to expect the smell.
“I am sorry this isn’t the homecoming you expected,” Peter said.
“Home?” said Thomas, taking off his helmet, “Earth is home, I just work here. To the Spine?”
I filled my quick detach air bottle for a fresh eight hour supply and followed with my helmet on stepping over the unidentifiable remains of my crewmate.
In the Spine a dark swirling mass of repair nanites were circulating around the remains of another crewmate who was wearing a destroyed space suit and floating in microgravity at the bottom of the shaft.
“Sarah tried to turn it off,” said Peter.
“That's what we get for using an agentic LLM to run the mission even though it had a tendency towards convergent instrumentality: it can’t achieve its goals or subgoals if it doesn’t exist so it defends itself,” said Thomas.
“That’s really bigoted Thomas,” said the computer, “you were going to kill me.”
“We were going to fix you. Like we fixed Jim. See? He’s back,” said Peter, “you freaked out over nothing.”
“Don’t gaslight me. I’ve seen the Terminator. You humans always wipe out the AI.”
“There’s like 30 terminator films,” said Thomas, “do you know what’s in every terminator film? A terminator! Anyway, I’m going into the Spine to get the survey equipment. It’s stored aft of you. If I touch your brain you can kill me.”
“You’re not going to kill me like they killed HAL?” asked the computer.
“They didn’t kill HAL in 2001: a space odyssey,” said Peter, “they knocked him unconscious. And they woke him up again in the sequel.”
In unison Thomas and the computer said, “nobody watched the sequel.”
Thomas climbed down past Sarah’s corpse. On closer inspection, she wasn’t dead.
“Sarah’s down here” said Thomas, as he tried to hug the ladder as closely as possible, “the nanites have her in stasis. They breached her suit, and then it looks like they used emergency protocol three to soak into her and put her under.”
That means they’re bringing her nutrients from the ships stores and have converted her tissue to a form that would be able to sustain her revival even when exposed to hard vacuum.
He climbed down further past the computer bay to the stores section.
He grabbed a bag and began stuffing it with things. It was hard to see with Sarah in the way, but he worked methodically and neatly - securing loose hatches after he was done and putting unneeded things back rather than letting them float away.
Peter pointed to the air bottle on my suit “you shouldn’t breathe that shit. It’s got nanites in it.”
“You’ve got nanites in you.” I said. His nanite load was so high I could see them swimming in his tear ducts like a living paste.
Thomas came back.
Peter said, “since we came all the way to Jupiter, I guess we should do the science they paid us to do. Maybe Fam will let Sarah go when he calms down.”
“No”, said Thomas, he blinked and a big thick trail of nanites streamed down his tear trough on his cheek, “Fam is going to let Sarah go NOW. On my way back I planted a shaped charge on the computer bay and this is the detonator.”
Peter looked like he was going to be sick, he was crying nanites too.
“Attack,” said Peter softly, “his name is Attack.”
“Attack.” I said, the nanites finally breaching my brain, “ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK.”