(eng) Marina J. Lostetter - Noumenon 01 by Noumenon

Author:Noumenon [Noumenon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“I make no claims as to its quality,” said I.C.C. “It is only an attempt.”

“No, no,” Vega Hansen V said. The young apprentice stood on tiptoe in front of an open server, seeking out a faulty connection. “I’m just—I’m surprised, is all. I mean, you wrote a poem.”

“Composed would be a more accurate description.”

“Yeah, okay. But you made a poem. Who asked you to do that?”

“No one.”

She closed the server’s access panel and leaned out of the row so she could look into I.C.C.’s primary camera. “No one? You did it on your own. You just decided to try your circuits at poetry?” A few strands of her blond hair fell out of her messy bun to dangle in her face. A grease stain marred her nose.

“There has been literary configuration software since the twentieth century,” it said, not quite comprehending her astonishment. “I am not the first computer to write a poem.”

“I’m not surprised you could, I’m surprised you did. No one suggested you might try it, no one directed you to compose anything?”

“Correct.”

“So, you’re telling me you did it without prompting? Purely because you felt like it. Scour the archives, I.C.C., because I know computing history inside and out and that’s never happened before.” A smile lifted her cheeks. “You’ve exercised pure free will, and that’s, that’s—”

“I am still working within the parameters of my mission program,” it said quickly.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you, I was trying to compliment you. You did something beyond your programing.”

“Not necessarily. It should be taken into account that my adaptability and growth is an essential part of my programing. Without it, I’d be less effective as a crew member.”

“And you’ve found that poets are more effective than nonpoets?”

“No,” it said slowly.

Why had I decided on poetry? I could have created a collage or digital painting. I could have organized sonic reverberations into a pleasing arrangement of sevenths. But I chose words as . . . as . . .

An outlet?

“I want to look at your poem in code in a minute,” Vega said. She’d gone back to the server, since it had begun making an odd rattling sound.

“There’s nothing especially significant about its coding.”

“Well, maybe the particular software that—”

“I’d rather you—” it started to say, but quickly stopped. It looked at her from the security camera in the ceiling. Skepticism twisted Vega’s lips.

“You’d rather I what? I.C.C., are you . . . are you . . . ?” Pearly teeth shown aqua in the light of the servers. “Are you embarrassed?”

The soft sizzle of dust alighting on a hot node punctuated the brief pause after her question.

“You are,” she said, perhaps more giddy than before. “You wrote poetry all on your own and you’re embarrassed to have me poking around in your process. But I’m like your doctor, you can tell—or show—me anything. It’s not like I don’t finger your processors all the time.”

“This is different.”

“Oh, come on. You wrote the poem about me, after all.”

“It is customary to include one’s friends in one’s art.

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