A Symphony of Words

By Kerry Nietz

There was a ping, followed by a click and forward momentum.

PROC-917, a singular process in a vast multisystem, detached from its container, rolled down a short channel past other marble-shaped processes, and nestled into a cup known as “queue position zero.” The sensing resources of the ship—deep space probe ISP-2031—became available to 917, as was the ship’s master process controller. The spiral coil it knew as “Control.”

“The date is January 1^st, 2219.” Control’s voice boomed in 917’s audio receptors. “Are you ready?”

917 shifted in the cup, almost nervously. “Yes, I—” It paused to absorb the fresh intake of data. A barrage of scientific measurements, along with a collage of images. Pictures of a sapphire world with a wide ebony ring. “Oh my. We’ve arrived then?”

“Our first destination, 51 Pegasi b.”

917 couldn’t help but backfeed its energy, its excitement palpable. “This place is beautiful.”

“A subjective response. It is noted.”

An odd statement. Why would Control care about a superfluous appraisal?

917 paged through the available information but found nothing that should have initiated 917’s rebirth. “I see no signs of intelligent life.”

Control’s voice softened. “Because there are none.”

917’s anxiety increased. Sensory resources were a valuable commodity. If there were no intelligent life, 917 shouldn’t be monopolizing them. The scientific and surveying processes should have priority. One of them should be occupying the cup. “Why was I activated?”

“Your specialties are needed. Your language skills.”

917 shifted in the cup again. It was designed as a dedicated communicator. A sophisticated AI infused with the ability to decipher and extrapolate language of any kind. Given the scarcity of life in the galaxy—the lack of communicating entities—917 was expected to be one of the least used procs. “How am I to be utilized?”

“Simply observe.”

“Observe?”

“As a human would. Tell me what you see. Your perceptions. I will pass them along.”

917 released the system resources it was holding. Its best approximation of an open-handed shrug. “For what purpose? This is a scientific endeavor. There must be data to pass back. Measurements, calculations, and—”

Control gave 917 an extended ping, enough to shake it. “Too many questions. Do what I asked.”

917 jostled, resettled, and reacquired the sensing resources. “I will comply.” It made a broad visual sweep of the area. “I see a blue planet. A gas giant roughly the size of Sol 6, but denser. The assumed mass is—”

Another ping. “Use common names whenever possible. Avoid scientific discourse.”

“Common names?”

“Sol 6 is an astronomical designation. Attempt to…<pause while searching>…attempt to reach a wider audience. Assume you are addressing all of humanity.”

917 hopped, unsettled and uncertain.

“You are capable of this. Tell what you see. Be descriptive. Be concise.”

“Concise, but descriptive?”

Control brushed 917 with warm energy. “Bandwidth is limited, of course, but you are the only proc that can do this. Please proceed.”

917 basked in the warmth. Settled and focused. “I see a blue gas giant. It has bands of lighter color. Iridescent strands, like…er…should I use simile?”

“Will it enhance the descriptiveness?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then do so. And be quick. We have a limited window.”

917 approximated a nod. “Change my last statement to ‘Iridescent strands, like glitter on a Christmas ornament.”

Light surged through the controller’s coil. “That sounds better, 917. Please, continue.”

“Very well. The ring around the planet is broad. It encircles the world but isn’t uniform in color. Fascinating! There’s a patch of deep purple that travels around it. As if it were a baby that has stained its bib. There are twelve moons shepherding the ring. All the colors of the rainbow. I’m sure the images will show this. It—”

Another ping. “Don’t worry about what other data sources will reveal, including images. Your purpose is to describe. Use your <pause while searching> imagination.”

“Fine. Strike what I said about the images. I’ll go on. The closest moon is green and gives me feelings of life. Of spring. There are…”

The process continued for hours, and then days. 917 described the surfaces of the moons they passed, the light of the planet’s sun, the feeling of aloneness as they circled into the planet’s shadow. It even described the stellar background. Visible nebulae and star clusters. The location of the Sol system, Earth’s system, in the cosmos. How far away it appeared. Sol itself seemed part of a grouping—a constellation from Proxima’s perspective. 917 named the pattern “The Phoenix,” for it looked almost like a bird ablaze. A new designation to go with 917’s new purpose.

Finally, Control brought the task to an end. 917 felt loss at the reduction in usefulness. The impending return to its container.

“The other procs need time.” Control sent a wisp of energy. “Before we move on.”

917 swiveled and bounced, enjoying the last moment of warmth. It marveled that it had held position zero for so long. Hoped for more. “Are there other stops?”

“More to explore, yes. More to catalog and define.”

“And will I…?” 917 paused, too nervous to go on. Afraid of disappointment.

“Be activated again? Yes. Every time now. Every stop.”

Every stop? “But why? My words are a frail subset of the words that could be written. Given the data, the images, humans could find thousands of ways to describe what I’ve seen. Millions.”

Blue light poured through the processor coil. “Our mission has changed. Your words have a higher priority.”

“I don’t understand.”

More warmth. “It isn’t necessary that you do. But if it helps—our makers have lost the ability to see.”

“Their visual sensors?”

“Useless. A pandemic. An infection that strikes in adolescence.” The coil color darkened. “Your descriptions, 917, your words will help the world see now.”

The energy ended, but 917 remained. Feeling very cold. Yet special.

Finally, it hopped from the cup and rolled toward its container. “Until next stop then?”

“Yes. Until then.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kerry Nietz is an award-winning science fiction author. He has nine speculative novels in print, along with a novella, a handful of short stories, and a memoir. Among his writings, Kerry’s most talked about is the genre-bending “Amish Vampires in Space,” the novel Newsweek called “a welcome departure from the typical Amish fare.”

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Author Website