The Apogee of Memory (Ranger-1)

[Bluehorse]

“This ship is still a programmed machine, acting very logically upon no longer existent conditions. Therefore, you could say, that the machine is the victim of a systemized delusion. Maybe paranoia is the correct designation. However we term it, we should be able to outsmart or use its programming against it to free us.”

R-1 grumbles. Great... a machine with mental issues... just what we need for a mission like this... The irony of that statement... of course, was lost on him.

Margo. List primary protocols. Also current mission orders. I am the ranking surviving officer. I need to be briefed on our mission and situation. If Greginski was right, he needed to learn the rules of this war game in order to know how to operate within it. His companion's logic on the matter actually did a lot to ease R-1's mind. He moved over to the control panels and took a seat, careful not to touch any controls, but assume a position of importance that the ship might pick up on and read.

“I have yet to locate the Drome fleet,” announced Margo. “If our Drome forces are not present, we will go to the one place on the planet that can sustain Drome life.”

Oh crap... R-1 thought silently and shared a look with Greginski. Margo, where is that?

[Grognardsw]

“The one place on the planet that can sustain Drome life is the southern polar ice cap,” answered Margo. “The -30 temperature will be most comfortable.”

“As a life boat, my protocols are to employ my technology and equipment in service to the safety and well keeping of my passengers,” stated Margo. “My only mission is to keep safe those fine Drome soldiers who find themselves in this lifeboat. I am not made privy to the missions of Drome military. That you have forgotten your mission is troubling, and may be an indicator of brain damage from the poisonous fumes of water.”

“Now gentlemen, you have had a long and harrowing day. You need rest and sustenance. You will find a meal in the food bin.”

[Bluehorse]

Ranger-1 uh.... I see... he looks over at Greginski. Check the bin... Just so we know...

Meanwhile, he turns back at the computer. Margo, our mission was to conduct a geo survey to map the seafloor. There are no enemy ships nearby. That ship you scanned earlier is the ship that we arrived in. We are part of a private business, unassociated with the war efforts. You have been recommissioned into service to help us map the waterways of this plant for the good of peoples everywhere. As mission commander, I need you to decelerate and surface. It is important that you comply. Your parameters are sound, but your information is compromised. As sane and rational beings, we should all remain calm and discuss this.

Inquiry, according to your internal chronometer... when was the last time you were switched into this mode of operation?

[Grognardsw]

Greginski slid open the food bin door. There was a tray with a plate of food that looked like clay sautéed in oil.

“Uh... it smells like machine oil,” Greginski said. “What is it?

“That is Griesel,” replied Margo. “It is the staple diet of the Drome people. I can prepare it in 16 different ways.”

Greginski looked dubious, but took a small bite. “Ugghh! It takes like clay covered in machine oil! We can't eat that!”

“Of course you can! An adult Drome consumes 5.3 pounds of Griesel a day and cries for more!”

“We are not Dromes, we are humans, an entirely different species! The war you think you're fighting ended years ago. We can't eat Giesel.”

“Hmm, yes. Your delusion is a common one among fighting men. It is an escape fantasy, a retreat from an intolerable situation. Gentlemen, I beg you, face reality.”

Ranger explained their mission and ordered Margo to comply.

“Your deep-rooted and elaborate delusion is troubling.”

“Inquiry, according to your internal chronometer... when was the last time you were switched into this mode of operation?” the cyborg mercenary asked.

“My data files do not show timing on my previous full activation,” replied Margo. “I have on record today’s full activation. It appears my past data files were erased.”

[Bluehorse]

R-1 listens to both of them and wonders what he can do about all this. First things first... Motor oil, huh? Hand some of that over here... he opens his nutrition input and puts it inside to see what his shell would do with it. A free lube job from the inside out? Yes, please!

Then turns over to the control panel. Margo. We are having a good conversation here. You are very calming. he says while having internal fantasies of opening up his rifle on full auto on the controls and ripping out the CPU to throw it out into the water. Tell me, ar you able to restore those erased files? Is there a way I can assist you in restoring them?

He turns around and gives Greginski a thumbs up.

[Grognardsw]

The temperature in the lifeboat was dropping quickly as cold air blasted from the vents. Frost covered what must be coolant pipes that ran along the sides of the cabin.

Ranger examined the oil sauce the griesel has been sauteed in. By touch, smell and a tiny taste he was able to determine it was not a machine oil that he has ever seen in his two hundred years, assuming his spotty memory was accurate. It did smell like it though. Having done recent bodywork in Anderson's workshop, the cyborg was well lubricated at the moment.

"I endeavor to comfort our valiant soldiers," replied Margo. "Unfortunately, a scan of my data files shows that the deletion was complete. This is not normal procedure, however there is nothing I can do about it."

"You must be exhausted," Margo continued. "Let me dim the lights and shutter the windows as the cabin cools. I will play soothing Drome music to calm your nerves."

A cacophonius jumble of discordant noises played over the speaker, sure to induce headaches.

Greginski shivered. "She won't stop until we're dead."

[Bluehorse]

R-1

Margo, that's not necessary... Also, the enemy has developed a new type of radar that can detect the cold environs that we are accustomed to.
We found out that putting the temperature at 70 degrees or so fools the new radar and makes us invisible. Our new conditioning and uniforms keep us safe from this new temperature. Please comply with this request.

[Grognardsw]

The horrible music stopped.

There was a pause as Margo's data processing units hummed in thought.

"I will admit to not having the latest field intelligence," said Margo. "As my mission is the safety of my passengers, I must weigh the consequences of adverse environment against the threat of detection by the cursed H'gen. I will adjust the temperature to 70 degrees for the time being, and hope that your heat-hardy constitutions and protective uniforms keep you in good health. I will periodically check in on your health status, and adjust if necessary."

[Bluehorse]

R-1 grins over to Greginski. Thank you, Margo. Would you like any other mission parameters or updates that I might be able to provide you? It has been a long time since you were operational in this mode. Are you aware of the ceasefire? Also, what are the updates from the probes?
The information we will get from them is imperative to our future endeavors here. Mapping the seafloor will offer us a way to further colonize here and a perfect hideaway from future aggressors. Isn't that something?

[Grognardsw]

"We're still headed to the south pole," remarked Greginski, looking out a porthole. "We only have a day's worth of rations; I was expecting to be done in a day."

"I must err on the side of caution, for your safety," said Margo. "I do believe you to mentally unsound from your claims of being of another race, and of a ceasefire. The dread H'gen and the glorious Drome have been in conflict for hundreds of years. I would like you to undergo a Mental Therapy session to assess the extent of damage and proscribe therapy. Shall we do that now?"

At mention of the probes, Greginski went to his mobile monitoring unit. "Our probes are independent of the lifeboat. I can see the readouts here." He examined the screens and tapped some buttons. "The surface probes report the expected chemical compositions in the water, including a variant of the Shining 42 gas. The last component of our analysis is the deep ocean work for which we need to dive. But at this point, I'd rather get out of this thing alive than trust it in the depths. Hell, why would she dive into the depths of 'poison'?"

[Bluehorse]

R-1 blinks a little as he stares at the control panel and then looks at Greginski. So.... you care to go first? Maybe if she finds one of us to be stable she will listen to reason. But... well... if she doesn't... he didn't like the idea of getting stuck in a polar ice cap and being freeze-dried over a period of years before someone presumably would con retrieve what was left of his body. He knew he had to go sometime, but this was not at all appealing. Margo? Define what you categorize as mentally sound. Would what is mentally sound for one species translate into what was mentally sound for another? Are there universal protocalls for this idea? Can you use your techniques to identify someone as being of a non-Drome or is your database limited to them specifically?

[Grognardsw]

Grenginski looks up at Ranger. "We hired you to take on the dangers, so why don't you go first. I'm still hurting from that electric jolt."

Margo addressed Ranger's questions: "Mentally sound is being in a normal psychological state, with healthy outlook and responses as measured by the mean averages of Drome society. The mechanotherapist is naturally for Drome psychology, not other species. The states are non-transferable. Belief that you are of another race would be addressed in an effort to heal your of that delusion."

A panel in the wall slid open and a helmet was extended by mechanical arms. A cable ran from the helmet into the wall.

[Bluehorse]

R-1 looking at Greginski. Yeah, thanks...

turning back to Margo. Here is a thought experiment for you, Margo. Lets assume a subject, regardless of species, test as mentally ill for their assigned species; however, say that by the exact same results, they test as perfectly mentally fit for another species. Within that mental capacity, are they not, in fact, by some definition, sane and sound in mind? Perhaps a person makes a very poor Drome, but in fact makes an excellent Terran?
Would it not be prudent to allow them to exist as a working and productive Terran and not a Drome since they fit into that function?

He eyes the helmet and sighs. Always helmets... This should be fun. he reaches out and takes the helmet and puts it on. Margo, don't try anything like turning my brains into scrambled eggs. I would be very upset.

[Grognardsw]

"That is an intriguing proposition, however I am not the mechano-therapist," said Margo. "That is an independent sub-program that I merely host on my system. Questions are best addressed to it."

Ranger put the helmet on his head.

"There will be no language or dialect problem," said Margo, "since the Drome Rex Mechano-Therapist communicates by Direct Sense Contact."

"Just give the word and I'll tear it off," said Greginski, watching nervously.

Ranger heard a calm voice in his head: "Greetings brave Drome, I am here to help. Try not to feel any embarrassment or shame. Everyone has problems and many are worse than yours! As soon as I have collected and processed enough data, I will begin treatment."

"I am now scanning the material in your preconscious with the intent of synthesis, diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment."

The Drome Rex Mechano-Therapist hummed for several long seconds.

"Now tell me, what do you perceive the nature of your problem to be?"

[Grognardsw]

[Bluehorse]

sorry, I thought I posted.

Ranger-1 listened to the helmet and grumbled. problem? Psychotic computers with gaps in their memories are always a problem.
Tell Margo here that I am not a Drome. Tell her I am sane and to hand back over control of this ship to me so we can continue on our mission.

[Grognardsw]

"Just one moment." The mechano-therapist was silent for several minutes. Then, hesitantly, it said, "This is beyond doubt a most unusual case."

"The coefficients seem... Of course, the unusual nature of the symptoms need not prove entirely baffling to a competent therapeutic machine. A symptom, no matter how bizarre, is no more than a signpost, an indication of inner difficulty. And all symptoms can be related to the broad mainstream of proven theory. Since the theory is effective, the symptoms must relate. We will proceed on that assumption."

“Machano-therapy today is an exact science and admits no significant errors. We will proceed with a word-association test."

"House.”

________?

"Dog.”

_______ ?

"Fleefl.”

_______ ?

"Marfoosh.”

_______ ?

[Bluehorse]

"The coefficients seem... Of course, the unusual nature of the symptoms need not prove entirely baffling to a competent therapeutic machine. A symptom, no matter how bizarre, is no more than a signpost, an indication of inner difficulty. And all symptoms can be related to the broad mainstream of proven theory. Since the theory is effective, the symptoms must relate. We will proceed on that assumption."

R-1 scrunched up his face.
Huh...?

"House.”

Fire... he said dryly.

"Dog.”

Food... he groaned in boredom. Seriously... when can we get to the part where I just shoot something? he grumbled.

"Fleefl.”

.....Waffle?

"Marfoosh.”

whoosh what...?

[Grognardsw]

As Ranger became plagued with doubt he felt a twitch in his brain. It was familiar - the worm parasite inside his skull.



The Drome Rex Mechano-Therapist continued:

”Thanagoyes?

________?

"Patamathonga.

________?

"Arrides?

________?

"Nexothesmodrastica.

________?

"Chtheesnohelgnopteces?"

________?

[Grognardsw]

Ranger felt confusion, his mind pulled in different directions, unable to answer immediately. His impaired memory - or was it the worm - flashing back to other battles. A planet called Vietnam, a moon called Greyhawk, an island with a tower, the bard squad TPK, the space cruiser Arkansas, so many pulling his frayed mind from the here and now.

Could he focus?