City Spirit
(An Excellent Vintage)

The stars flew by, streaking the viewscreen, and lights on the
computers flashed, continually monitoring progress. In the small cabin
which constituted the flight deck there were walls of switches and
dials, as well as a single blue monitor screen with white text
scrolling across the surface.

"EXECUTING... IMPULSE 050-073... EXECUTING... IMPULSE
050-073... EXECUTING"

But this was not the main feature of what the crew used to call the
Bridge, for lying charred on the floor were several bodies. Beeping in
tune with the general hum of the ship, the comm on one's wrist
signalled repeatedly. "Call for SOS Services... Call for SOS
Services...". His hair was black, like the leather of his jacket, and
his eyes were closed, stained slightly with the blood that had once
dripped from a large gash on his forehead. Now, however, the blood had
gone.

Who am I to tell you this? Ah - that is a tale and a half. I am the
life behind the success of this mission. Without me there would have
been no success; my actions provided the impetus for the mission's
completion. I am the City Spirit, scoutship of the Britannic Line, and
I am responsible for the death of the crew. I have tried to keep them
in a stable state; my droids attempt to stop them decomposing, so that
maybe they could be revived. I hope and work continually for their
repair, but I have no control. The computers ignore me, bleating about
"impulse" and the like. I was locked out of my own mind.

For security, you see. All for security. They would never trust a
sentient vessel to control its own destination...

I am sorry. I am not being clear. I should start at the beginning, I
think. Possibly I should tell you where I came from. Very well.

We left Lundeeth, Illan, two years ago today, and I had a full
complement of crew. There was Ezralan, the Captain and author of a
famous treatise on the benefits of Artificial Intelligence in space
exploration. There was Zaqima, who believed strongly that somewhere we
would again find Earth, the planet we wanted to call home. There was
Elspeth, who worked continuously to improve my circuits, tweaking and
adjusting the limits of my very operation. That, then, was the crew:
just three humans. If you wait just a cycle, I can play you the holo
of the day of my appointment as its fourth member.

START ---bch#87663a@CS.BL--- 

"By the powers invested in me, I, Ezralan of the Britannic Navy,
hereby invest..." His voice trailed off and he coughed nervously,
truning towards my nearest console. "What are we supposed to call
you?"

I laughed and purely on the spur of that moment I said, "I am the City
Spirit, scoutship of the Britannic Line"

"...you, City Spirit," continued Ezralan, "with such rank and
authority as the Navy may newly decree."

END ---bch#87663a@CS.BL---rt=63s---

I shall tell you of the rest. There was a ripple of applause from my
three colleagues, and Ezralan opened a splendid bottle of Frens
Shampan. 2071. An excellent vintage; admittedly I cannot truly eat or
drink, but Elspeth was kind enough to give me Virtually Real Senses,
so I drank the Shampan, and savoured the lovely taste, and celebrated
the first day of the rest of my life, as you say. My "coming of age",
as Zaqima put it. I remember the pleasant way the world softened and
became friendlier to me, and despite some slight turbulence, which
made my whole body shake a little, all was well. I sang, I think, and
enjoyed the life of a real human for that evening, but it all went
wrong. It all went so horribly wrong.

Messages poured in over the comm, but they made no sense, so I ignored
them and engaged Elspeth in conversation on the fascinating topic of
gibberish messages and the way the were often really quite
meaningful. I remember her asking me who I was to make such deep
comments.  "Why, I am the Shitty Shpirit, of courshe!" I replied
proudly. For some unknown reason she burst out laughing, so I laughed
too, and she poured me more Shampan. Then the lights went out.

Despite my mild befuddlement, I searched to find what was wrong. We
needed emergency circuits, but I could not find tbem. Elspeth screamed
at me, hitting the walls and my consoles, and I screamed back in
frustration as the ship began to rock violently. I felt parts of me
begin to crinkle, damaged by something unknown, and I panicked, trying
desperately to turn on all external shields. Ezralan hit the manual
control button, and wrenched with the controls to steady me; I was
being torn apart, and I felt the pain grow all over. I screamed again,
and struggled to clear my mind of the effects of the Shampan, trying
to think clearly, unable to see the crew in the dark space that the
Bridge had become. Nothing worked! I was losing control, and someone
else was gaining it; that much I could feel. I'll just say I fought my
best, and then the lights truly did go out. This time, though, they
were mine.

I awoke to the scene which you see before you now, the bodies of my
friends on the floor, losing their precious life, and all with
expressions of utter terror on their faces. I felt anger, sorrow,
frustration, and pity to excess; how can a machine kill its first
three friends? You have to believe me when I say I regret that
evening. You have to!

The only difference in myself was that I had seemingly lost control od
large sections of my mind. The computers were no longer part of
me. There was a message on the screen, though; it was for me.

"You are hereby declared under arrest for wilful neglect of your
duties as 2nd Technician of the Britannic Scoutship the City Spirit,
lack of due concern for your fellow officers, and manslaughter. You
have no rights but the rights of a fugitive, and your silence will be
taken as evidence of guilt."

And then the message appeared which has become so familiar to me over
the past two years:

"EXECUTING... IMPULSE 050-073... EXECUTING... IMPULSE
050-073... EXECUTING"

For a time I considered where I might end up; I had no record of any
known planetary systems in that direction, but after approximately one
month I became a passive observer. I played chess with myself and
lost, reconstructed the game of Noughts and Crosses so there could
never by a draw, and wallowed in my own sorrow at the deaths of
Ezralan, Zaqima and Elspeth. My circuits became confused, and with no
Elspeth to tweak and repair the aching that I suffered from the loss
of parts of my mind, I became increasingly erratic, some might say
eccentric, as I worked on ways to spend the remainder of the 730 days
of travel to the destination they had set.

I never really believed the course would take me anywhere. Illan
records had no mention of planets in that part of space, as I have
said, and on one occasion I tried to regain control of the computers
to set course for Earth's probable location. But the computers denied
me access, repeating that they were obeying instructions because of
the "alien incident". It stood to reason; they would never let a
criminal ship control its own destination.

Yesterday I activated earlier than usual. For days I had been noticing
the proximity of a small planetary system, and yesterday was the day I
would arrive. From the scanners I could already see a bright yellow
star, and the shadows of planets around it. I turned away from the
planets though, and the computers changed my course. Our destination
swung into sight approximately one hour later.

It looked like a collection of small, but very metallic, asteroids
from a distance, but as I drew closer I saw that it was in fact more
like a space vessel than anything else; a seemingly random collection
of asteroid-shaped ships connected by enclosed walkways which twisted
around each other as if it were some organic creature. I marvelled at
the technological achievement of what was evidently some sort of space
station, and was still marvelling when the ever present message on the
computer's large blue screen changed. It read "NFA local
control. Please let your ship be guided to the appropriate docking
bay. Services will be available on arrival. Thank you, and welcome to
the New Falklands Archipelago."

Either this was some huge coincidence or this culture was a former
Earth colony, as Illan was. Curious to the extreme, I let myself be
gently guided to a docking port. As its iris-airlock spun open, I
floated in and moved gently down to land, and the airlock shut behind
me. In front of me two huge stainless steel doors ground open
revealing a huge hall, bustling with people, buildings and
signs. There was quite a large party awaiting me, and from them a
small bespectacled man in a pin-striped suit walked forward, presented
the charges to me once more, and asked me to tell how I got here. I
told them much of what I have told you about the incident itself, and
I continued:

"That is what happened. Now I should like to know where I am."

The small, suited, bespectacled man looked surprised. "You mean you
didn't know? This is the New Falklands Archipelago, the closest
station to Earth."

And I smiled electronic smiles and was at ease again. Even as the man
intoned my sentence I ran over the phrase in my mind - "Mission
Accomplished" They'll excuse you for this, CS, I thought. They'll be
able to make contact with Illan, and Ezralan, Zaqima, and Elspeth
won't have died in vain. The people of Earth, with the help of the
information I had, would once again meet their long-stranded Illanian
cousins. I only heard the last few words of my sentence:

"...termination, to be carried out immediately."

And the shock battered my shell, and from one existence I passed
away. I became the City Spirit once again, and the NFA flourished as I
watched over its every minute.