Captain's programming told him to entertain his guests, to make them comfortable, to keep them active. Inside his android body, the cloud of data with which he "thought" were instructions numbering in the billions, ways to keep his guests comfortable, how to recognise and cure ennui. He loved his guests. He "believed" they loved him too. That was what he was programmed to believe. It "troubled" him when they were upset. He tried to distract them; presents of brownies, exciting powders, exotic trips.
One guest had so far refused to be entertained. She had found a room and seemed intent to stay in it. She did not even take the books he helpfully left outside her door, kicked over the smoothies he left for her when he delivered them, glowing unnatural green and orange and brown, to the rest of the ship. She did not even cry; he had seen the surveillance tapes. She lay on the bed and did not move much, as though this was something to be waited out. Captain "wanted" to do something for Mari verch Llewelyn.
In their second week aboard, he knocked upon her door. She did my answer. In his head, that metal nest of copper wire, he interfaced with the security cameras, looked into her room. She had heard him, was looking at the door. "Mari," he said in a gentle tone. "You are sad!"
"What are you?"
"I'm Captain. I'm the ship's computer."
"That's a stupid name for a ship."
"You are being unkind because you are sad."
"Fuck off."
"I understand!" His programming allowed that much.
"Fuck. Off."
"Let me do something for you," he pleaded. "Something you want."
A pause. The camera saw her stand up, cross to the door. Open it. Mari looked him up and down, eyed his clothes and uncanny expression, too real skin. She rubbed the palm of her left hand with the thumb of her right. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?" Captain's mouth frowned. "Regrettably I have not had the telepathy upgrade."
"You travel through time," Mari said, impatient. "Through time. Through dimensions."
"Yes, that's true."
"Can you take me?" She leaned against the door, green-hazel eyes burning into him.
"Yes," Captain said and smiled brightly. "I'll take you anywhere you'd like."
"Alright," she stepped out of her room, blinked uncertainly in the light. France, she said. Fifteenth century. Yes, Captain said. I can do that.
They arrived on the outskirts of a village, a thick wood, children playing, a sparse selection of little houses. Mari pointed to the children, and they watched them play their games from a safe distance.
"Which are yours?" Captain asked, looking about for two miniature versions of his charge. She pointed them out. A delicate looking girl with slim limbs and a nervous smile; a smaller boy with shaggy brown hair and big features he was yet to grow into.
"Ro, the girl," Mari said. "Morag, the younger."
"My records inform me of slight similarities between these names and the names of certain former compatriots of yours."
"I was never imaginative."
As they watched, another Mari came into view in the doorway of one of the little houses. They heard her call to the children, Ro, look out for your brother, Morag you stay out of trouble.
"That is French," Captain says.
"They never learned English. Morag only learned Welsh when I took him home."
"Why?"
Mari was silent a short time, looked away. "I was happy in French."
They watched as the children ran and laughed and played, worry and sorrow alien to them. Mari turned to him. Her face was filled with exquisite torture. She seemed to step towards them, but shook her head, stepped back. "Take me to the ship."
Captain nodded and took her hand.
They came back, to the whir and churn of metal, the spaceship breathing. "I thought with a time machine I'd be able to right any wrongs," Mari said, "save the people who needed saving. But it turns out," she took something out of her pocket, turned it over in her hand: it was a small wooden tiger he saw when he inspected it. "I know I couldn't change anything. Turns out I just want more time."
She walked away. His programming suggested it was best to let her alone awhile.
Mari-Captain
One guest had so far refused to be entertained. She had found a room and seemed intent to stay in it. She did not even take the books he helpfully left outside her door, kicked over the smoothies he left for her when he delivered them, glowing unnatural green and orange and brown, to the rest of the ship. She did not even cry; he had seen the surveillance tapes. She lay on the bed and did not move much, as though this was something to be waited out. Captain "wanted" to do something for Mari verch Llewelyn.
In their second week aboard, he knocked upon her door. She did my answer. In his head, that metal nest of copper wire, he interfaced with the security cameras, looked into her room. She had heard him, was looking at the door. "Mari," he said in a gentle tone. "You are sad!"
"What are you?"
"I'm Captain. I'm the ship's computer."
"That's a stupid name for a ship."
"You are being unkind because you are sad."
"Fuck off."
"I understand!" His programming allowed that much.
"Fuck. Off."
"Let me do something for you," he pleaded. "Something you want."
A pause. The camera saw her stand up, cross to the door. Open it. Mari looked him up and down, eyed his clothes and uncanny expression, too real skin. She rubbed the palm of her left hand with the thumb of her right. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?" Captain's mouth frowned. "Regrettably I have not had the telepathy upgrade."
"You travel through time," Mari said, impatient. "Through time. Through dimensions."
"Yes, that's true."
"Can you take me?" She leaned against the door, green-hazel eyes burning into him.
"Yes," Captain said and smiled brightly. "I'll take you anywhere you'd like."
"Alright," she stepped out of her room, blinked uncertainly in the light. France, she said. Fifteenth century. Yes, Captain said. I can do that.
They arrived on the outskirts of a village, a thick wood, children playing, a sparse selection of little houses. Mari pointed to the children, and they watched them play their games from a safe distance.
"Which are yours?" Captain asked, looking about for two miniature versions of his charge. She pointed them out. A delicate looking girl with slim limbs and a nervous smile; a smaller boy with shaggy brown hair and big features he was yet to grow into.
"Ro, the girl," Mari said. "Morag, the younger."
"My records inform me of slight similarities between these names and the names of certain former compatriots of yours."
"I was never imaginative."
As they watched, another Mari came into view in the doorway of one of the little houses. They heard her call to the children, Ro, look out for your brother, Morag you stay out of trouble.
"That is French," Captain says.
"They never learned English. Morag only learned Welsh when I took him home."
"Why?"
Mari was silent a short time, looked away. "I was happy in French."
They watched as the children ran and laughed and played, worry and sorrow alien to them. Mari turned to him. Her face was filled with exquisite torture. She seemed to step towards them, but shook her head, stepped back. "Take me to the ship."
Captain nodded and took her hand.
They came back, to the whir and churn of metal, the spaceship breathing. "I thought with a time machine I'd be able to right any wrongs," Mari said, "save the people who needed saving. But it turns out," she took something out of her pocket, turned it over in her hand: it was a small wooden tiger he saw when he inspected it. "I know I couldn't change anything. Turns out I just want more time."
She walked away. His programming suggested it was best to let her alone awhile.