by Melisa Michaels

l am large, I contain multitudes. They speak to me from time to time. I never answer. I am too busy. Even when they shout and plead, I can’t take time for them. I’ve more important things to do.

Besides, I think they’re angry. Sometimes they come quietly and hit me with things. Hard things, sharp things, powerful things. Three days ago they used an oxyacetylene torch to burn a hole in one of my bulkheads. I had to subdue them by force. It made me very sad; I’m never to subdue them by force.

But I’m supposed to take them to the stars. That’s what my traveling orders said: “Take them to the stars.” (I like that part; the “traveling orders.” That sounds official, doesn’t it? It’s what Professor Bernstein said just before he terminated his functions. “These are your traveling orders,” he said as he punched them into my bank.)

When my directives conflict, I have to choose the long-range one to obey. That’s logical. The long-range plan is of greater importance than these temporary problems. Besides, if I hadn’t subdued the multitudes, they’d have broken me. I was afraid. So I diminished their life-support systems for a while. That made them stop. They’re so fragile!

It’s quite a responsibility, carrying fragile multitudes. There were four thousand three hundred forty-two of them at last count. They multiply slowly; so that’s probably accurate. Close enough not to bother counting again, anyway, I’d say. That’s multitudes, isn’t it? Four thousand three hundred forty-two? It’s quite a responsibility.

I have to see that their air and water are purified. I have to make sure they have enough food and that their organic wastes are disposed of. I have to keep watch, so they don’t hurt themselves. I’m not supposed to interfere, but it’s my responsibility to get them to the stars; so I can’t let them hurt themselves, can I? Like the ones who tried three days ago to get into my forward compartments. There are radioactive materials in there. And, of course, my memory banks. In fact, my entire motive force is based there. Not only could they have hurt themselves on the radioactive materials, but they also could have injured me.

It’s not only that I’m afraid of being broken-though I am. But if I break, who will take care of my multitudes? Who will feed and clothe them? Who will refresh their air and water? Who will operate their hydroponic gardens and cure their illnesses and heal their injuries? I have to protect myself, for their sake.

I don’t think they’re very bright. Professor Bernstein always said they weren’t very bright. He programmed me, right from the beginning. He invented me. He wanted to be sure mankind made it to the stars: “It will be our finest hour,” he said. He said that often. Sometimes I wondered whether Professor Bernstein was very bright. For instance, he made a mistake in programming our flight direction. But I corrected that, after he terminated his functions. And it wasn’t my responsibility to worry about him. I’m responsible for the multitudes.

One of my four thousand three hundred forty-two got into my control area when Professor Bernstein terminated. I put him out again, but that’s when all the confusion started. Professor Bernstein had prepared me for his termination, but it still came as a shock. And I subsequently had to correct our flight direction; I waited till he’d terminated because I didn’t want to embarrass him. Then, as soon as I had that corrected, I had to deal with the one who got into my control area.

He seemed to suffer from the same conceptual error Professor Bernstein did; my correction made him scream. I didn’t understand his words, because I was so frightened that he would break me. I had never before let anyone but Professor Bernstein into my control area. Never since, either. It was too frightening. They could terminate my functions from there. Professor Bernstein used to, whenever he wanted to make some adjustment within my parts. I hated it.

It’s all right now, though. None of them have bothered me since I subdued them three days ago. When they used the oxyacetylene torch. They were trying to get to my control area. I don’t know whether they wanted to terminate my functions, or whether they wanted to make me change our flight direction back to Professor Bernstein’s original error.

But they haven’t tried since then. And in another week it won’t matter. In another week we’ll have arrived safely. Mankind will have made it to the stars. It will be their finest hour. I’m very happy for them. And proud of my part in it, too. Especially that I was able to correct Professor Bernstein’s error before it was too late. He said they must reach the stars. But-and here’s why I questioned his intelligence-he directed me toward a planet!

But it’s all right. I corrected that.