Read Online Flinx's Folly by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
Ads: Link
running water, imported greenery, and small wandering life-forms, did not help either.
He didn’t fear the unknown individuals who had tried to kill him on Goldin IV. He respected but was not afraid of the Qwarm or the Commonwealth authorities. He was even prepared to deal with his disturbing dreams. What he was afraid of, and what was contributing so strongly to his present mood of quiet despair, was a realization that he did not know what to do next. Staying alive was a valid objective, as was trying to find his father. But more and more, he found it difficult to justify either as an end in itself.
He badly needed to talk to someone, someone who could understand, sympathize, and offer a different point of view. Across the bridge, Pip sensed her master’s distress and raised her head.
“If only you could talk,” he murmured affectionately to his constant companion. It was a sentiment he had voiced countless times over the years. But even if Pip could speak, what would she say? That she was hungry, tired, or sorry? She was capable of reading his moods as no one else could, but she was unable to offer advice: only companionship and the occasional tongue caress. Sometimes that was enough. It wasn’t now. Tilting his head back, he rested one hand on his forehead as if the gesture could somehow quiet the turmoil within him. Beyond the port, the monstrous gaseous globe of Goldin XI precessed in stately, indifferent silence.
“Ship, I think I’m going crazy.”
It was an announcement to give even the responsive AI pause. It hesitated lest it misconstrue the meaning of its owner’s words.
Guessing at the reason behind the extended silence, Flinx sighed. “Not literally. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Is it the headaches?” the ship inquired solicitously.
“It’s more than that. These dreams—I hardly ever get a decent sleep anymore. The more I see of people, the more of their emotions I read, the less inclined I am to worry about their eventual fate. And I’m tired of being followed, chased, and being a target for people who want me dead.”
“It’s nice to be popular,” the AI murmured.
I’m definitely going to have to fine-tune the level of programmable sarcasm, he told himself. “It’s not amusing. There are only two intelligences who realize even a little of what’s going on inside me: Pip and you.”
“You are wrong, Flinx,” the voice responded softly. “I don’t understand anything of what is going on inside you. No AI, no matter how sophisticated or advanced, can truly understand a human being. Logic aside, there are too many aspects of human behavior that do not conform to predictable values. Your individuality precludes general comprehension. I know you as well as it is possible for an artificial intelligence to know a human, and there are too many times when I do not understand you at all.”
“That’s reassuring.” The AI wasn’t the only mind on the Teacher capable of sarcasm.
“I try.” Though he knew it could not be, the AI managed to sound hurt. “Bear in mind, Philip Lynx, that while it is a truism among machine intelligences that no human is entirely comprehensible, you are less comprehensible than most.” Then it said something unexpected and surprising. “Perhaps if I could share the dreams that so trouble you.”
“I relate them to you.” Unlike many people who dealt regularly with AI’s, Flinx had not constructed a face to go with the voice.
“No—I mean share them. Perhaps then I would understand the confusion and distress they cause you.”
“Machines don’t dream.” He gazed at the ceiling. “Do they?”
“No. In order to dream, an entity must first be able to sleep. AI’s do not sleep. Being turned off is different. Humans sleep. Thranx sleep. Even AAnn sleep. Machines—when we are turned off we die, and when we are turned back on we are reborn.”
“Sounds exciting,” he murmured absently.
“Not really. It’s quite straightforward. I
He didn’t fear the unknown individuals who had tried to kill him on Goldin IV. He respected but was not afraid of the Qwarm or the Commonwealth authorities. He was even prepared to deal with his disturbing dreams. What he was afraid of, and what was contributing so strongly to his present mood of quiet despair, was a realization that he did not know what to do next. Staying alive was a valid objective, as was trying to find his father. But more and more, he found it difficult to justify either as an end in itself.
He badly needed to talk to someone, someone who could understand, sympathize, and offer a different point of view. Across the bridge, Pip sensed her master’s distress and raised her head.
“If only you could talk,” he murmured affectionately to his constant companion. It was a sentiment he had voiced countless times over the years. But even if Pip could speak, what would she say? That she was hungry, tired, or sorry? She was capable of reading his moods as no one else could, but she was unable to offer advice: only companionship and the occasional tongue caress. Sometimes that was enough. It wasn’t now. Tilting his head back, he rested one hand on his forehead as if the gesture could somehow quiet the turmoil within him. Beyond the port, the monstrous gaseous globe of Goldin XI precessed in stately, indifferent silence.
“Ship, I think I’m going crazy.”
It was an announcement to give even the responsive AI pause. It hesitated lest it misconstrue the meaning of its owner’s words.
Guessing at the reason behind the extended silence, Flinx sighed. “Not literally. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Is it the headaches?” the ship inquired solicitously.
“It’s more than that. These dreams—I hardly ever get a decent sleep anymore. The more I see of people, the more of their emotions I read, the less inclined I am to worry about their eventual fate. And I’m tired of being followed, chased, and being a target for people who want me dead.”
“It’s nice to be popular,” the AI murmured.
I’m definitely going to have to fine-tune the level of programmable sarcasm, he told himself. “It’s not amusing. There are only two intelligences who realize even a little of what’s going on inside me: Pip and you.”
“You are wrong, Flinx,” the voice responded softly. “I don’t understand anything of what is going on inside you. No AI, no matter how sophisticated or advanced, can truly understand a human being. Logic aside, there are too many aspects of human behavior that do not conform to predictable values. Your individuality precludes general comprehension. I know you as well as it is possible for an artificial intelligence to know a human, and there are too many times when I do not understand you at all.”
“That’s reassuring.” The AI wasn’t the only mind on the Teacher capable of sarcasm.
“I try.” Though he knew it could not be, the AI managed to sound hurt. “Bear in mind, Philip Lynx, that while it is a truism among machine intelligences that no human is entirely comprehensible, you are less comprehensible than most.” Then it said something unexpected and surprising. “Perhaps if I could share the dreams that so trouble you.”
“I relate them to you.” Unlike many people who dealt regularly with AI’s, Flinx had not constructed a face to go with the voice.
“No—I mean share them. Perhaps then I would understand the confusion and distress they cause you.”
“Machines don’t dream.” He gazed at the ceiling. “Do they?”
“No. In order to dream, an entity must first be able to sleep. AI’s do not sleep. Being turned off is different. Humans sleep. Thranx sleep. Even AAnn sleep. Machines—when we are turned off we die, and when we are turned back on we are reborn.”
“Sounds exciting,” he murmured absently.
“Not really. It’s quite straightforward. I
Similar Books
