Once upon a time (relatively) aeons and aeons ago, a young human female by the name of Little Red Space Suit decided to take an E.V.A. through the stars. She had spacewalked many times through this sector, and knew the way very well; ‘Straight on to the belt of Orion, hard left a parsec or two to Aldebaran, swing by the horsehead nebula and follow the trail of Halley's comet’ to the space-station of her favourite relative: Progenitor I, computer test tube baby factory.
Progenitor I was getting old by now; what with advanced life extension drugs and rejuvenation surgery, Little Red seemed very young to be wandering the constellations alone. Gradually her life form sensors gave a strange reading, and she had a funny calculation she was being watched. Unknown to her, lurking near a black hole was a malignant entity; the Big Bad Android. He followed her plasma trail through the vagaries of cosmic translation, picking up her wavelength on sub-ether and postulating furiously. . . he hadn’t assimilated human knowledge in several light years. But when he made his presence known and suggested to her computer that it guide her to his micro-electronics workshop, she rejected the data as insufficient and cut in the afterburners… that soon saw him on his way. Nevertheless the Big Bad Android knew a short cut sublight to the Space station, and arrived there 14 milliseconds ahead of Little Red. In this brief moment of temporal anomaly Big Bad hacked the central processor, accessed the sensory systems and set up in disguise as the processing plant itself. In the blink of an LED Little Red beamed in, with an offering of software and uranium for her esteemed ancestor.
you, no. 47” replied the Big Bad Android, shielding his speech circuits
with patterns like the computer's V.C.O.
Big Bad Android
was nervous now, and nearly crashed, but bypassing the logic loop he answered
Sapiens had not come to dominate the astroverse by stepping lightly into
the trap of any old sentient being, and Little Red hit the emergency teleport
button on her wristcom saying; “You're not my computer test tube
And the moral of this tale? A Computer is only as foolproof as its programmer.
Louis Christopher 1999
published by Ideaz Inc