Empatheter Craig Morey 14 December 2018 * * * * * * * * * As the three of us enter the control room, the message is being phased from the console readout: >> EMPATHETRIC SYSTEM CORRUPTED >> EMPATHETER REBOOT REQUIRED >> ADMINISTRATOR IDENTIFICATION NEEDED FOR EMPATHETER REBOOT Empatheter. We haven't run into that word in a long time. We're trying to remember the meaning from our studies at the engineering academy, but we can't come up with anything. Most of the subsystems on this station have worked independently for generations without a hitch; this 'Empathetric System' likely hasn't needed a reboot in over a century. Then again, a solar flare like this one probably hasn't happened in over a century either. "Part of the life support block, if I'm not mistaken" one of us puts in. We search for 'empatheter' in the directory. Sure enough, it's categorized under life support. >> [ LIFE SUPPORT ] Empatheter: >> The psycho-system responsible for empathesis among organic crewmembers, functioning through a combination of synthetic pheromones and direct brainwave insertion. The empatheter is a standard component of the mental subsystem of all modern life support systems Not exactly helpful, since none of us can really remember what 'empathesis' is either. Not that it really matters for finishing up our job down here. All we need to do is phase our admin identity to the console and wait for this mystery system to reboot itself. But we've already finished with all of the critical systems that were corrupted by the solar flare; this Empathetric System is classified as non-essential so it's not like there's any rush. Might as well go ahead and satisfy our curiosity first. >> [ NEOPSYCHOLOGY ] Empathesis: >> Direct experience of the sentience of other organics. First developed in the 21st century and perfected in the early 22nd century, empathesis is credited as one of the major innovations in early neopsychology and one of the primary features responsible for the harmony and ease of conflict resolution in modern organic societies It was starting to come back to us a little bit now. Not from any engineering course, but from a Human History course that one of us had taken in our early years at the academy. Pre-galactic human civilization, one of us had learned, was often hindered by disagreements and even physical inter-human violence, precipitated out of a primitive, barbaric selfishness and lack of feeling toward others. So this empatheter then is some antique sort of mental control device, a hanger-on from a past era before humans had evolved to the point of being able to live together peacefully. Most likely it's completely useless now, another vestigial organ cluttering the control systems and quietly sapping away some small amount of energy from other critical systems. Still, we decide, better to follow procedure and reboot it, rather than take it offline and maybe down the road find out than it's built into some unexpected dependencies. We can always phase in an obsolescence report for Optimization Department to investigate later. One of us exits the directory while the other two of us face the main control console and phase in our dual-key admin ID. >> ADMINISTRATOR IDENTIFICATION NEEDED FOR EMPATHETER REBOOT . . . . . PROCESSING . . . . . >> IDENTIFICATION CONFIRMED . . . . . SHUTTING DOWN . . . . . >> EMPATHETER SHUTDOWN COMFIRMED >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 30 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] As the console phases us the shutdown confirmation, two of us suddenly fall asleep! The one still remaining awake turns to them, startled. But the two sleeping are still upright, eyes wide open; not sleep but some sort of machine-induced unconsciousness maybe? So much for this subsystem being obsolete! The entry in the directory didn't say anything about narcolepsy though. The one of us still awake takes a closer look at the other two, and searches out a little harder for their mental trace, and suddenly a cold realization hits. There's no trace of consciousness coming from them at all. They aren't just asleep or unconscious— They're dead. >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 25 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] We stare with uncomprehending eyes at the control console. They're dead. Two of us are dead. How!? How could this have happened?? If this damned empatheter is so goddamn important that two of our partners die without it, how were there not failsafes in place in the event of a reboot? How was this system classified nonessential!? Almost shaking at this point, and yet still in shock and not yet hit with the full gravity of the situation, we turn to— No, not we. I. There's just one of us down here now. /I/ turn to look at the lifeless bodies of my former companions, still held rigidly upright. But no, not rigid! One of us— One of /them/ just moved! Both of them have turned to face me and each other. Completely lifeless, and yet staring at me, as if there's some sort of inhuman animal behind those dead eyes. I look straight into the face of the one nearest to me at the control console, and the earnest expression of the animated corpse sets my skin crawling. >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 20 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] I take an involuntary step backwards, my gaze transfixed by the horror of the blinking, breathing body of my former companion. The other corpse, nearer to the corridor, turns in a jarring motion and stumbles out of the control room. The body remaining in the room with me reaches out a faltering hand toward me, then hesitates and lowers it again. A cold dread takes hold of me. I need to get out. And this /thing/, whatever it is that happened to my partner's body, is blocking the exit from the control room. I need to think. I need to think. >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 15 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] There's an old-fashioned power screwdriver on the console surface behind me. About the size of my fist, with the longer, narrow shaft extending out from the motor housing. That's my chance. I take another step backwards, shaking uncontrollably now. An inhuman look of fear contorts the face of my dead companion. All of a sudden, the body shambles toward me. As if broken out of a trance, I grab the screwdriver and drive it into the corpse's chest with both hands. The corpse staggers backwards and falls, and as I rush past it to the corridor there's a sick-sounding gurgle of churning blood from the momentary torsion of the screwdriver. >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 10 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] As I enter the corridor I suddenly see the other corpse, facing me from the corridor's far end. I freeze. The same look of animal fear is twisted across its face. I feel my heart racing. It doesn't give any sign that it's going to approach. But it isn't leaving the exit of the corridor either. I stare it down for several heartbeats. Maybe someone else is nearby, I think to myself. Another team of engineers maybe. I search out beyond the end of the corridor, but I can't feel any consciousness coming from the neighboring corridors—or even the rest of the maintenance level! I broaden the search and extend out to the rest of the station. Nothing! There's not a single other soul left alive on the entire station! Only me. >> EMPATHETER REBOOTING IN 5 SECONDS [ ESTIMATED ] Only me. This is no good. Just me. This is no good. I still can't get out. I'm still trapped. The adrenaline rushes through my body and my heartbeat pounds in my ears. I'm still trapped. I can't think. I can't move. I can't stop shaking. I ca— . . . . . RESTARTING . . . . . >> EMPATHETER REBOOT CONFIRMED The sudden awareness of consciousness hits my overextended mental search like a tidal wave and sends my mind reeling. The rest of the inhabitants on the station and the other engineering teams on the maintenance level flood my mind. My companion and I in the corridor stare at each other in a stupor. I— We— We recoil from the initial shock and slowly search out to each other. But amid the feelings of shock and fear there is an even more desperate feeling searching out from the room behind us. An overwhelming sense of pain emanates from the control room. We don't need to look back at the body of our third companion to see what has happened, we know what it was that one of us did. But we return to the control room all the same. We can feel that the consciousness of the one of us lying on the floor is fading. Fading too fast for a medical team to be able to intervene. We have no need for words. All three of us understand perfectly clearly what happened. There is no feeling of condemnation. There is regret, and there is compassion, and there is forgiveness. The three of us cry silently. And then there are only two of us left to cry. "That was what it used to mean to be human" one of us says. The one of us that was the first to flee the control room; the one of us that took that course on Human History. "That used to be the natural human way of things." "The 'human way of things'..." the other one of us repeats. "Well... then I hope I never have to feel 'human' ever again." * * * * END * * * *