Dead Planet Part One

Carter sits at one of the tables in the ship's Galley. While a big man, he barely touches the now cold, and mostly tasteless breakfast that the ship provides every morning (a meal whose nutritional properties did not outweigh its bland taste and presentation, no matter what the Tetley Corporation's Interstellar Accommodations Committee claimed.). He adjusts his spectacles as he concerns himself with the latest news from his home planet; a large, planet-wide city built into the husk of a once prosperous mining operation on Kyron VI. He scrolls through the text on the Robotech Holographic Tablet provided to them for ease of access to orders, and, in Carter's case, medical records.

T.U.R.I.N.G. enters the galley and stops at the entrance; her lenticular jade green eyes scanning the surrounding environment. Her spatial analysis software maps the room mathematically, breaking down every surface into a complex mesh of topological and geometric values, while facial recognition algorithms identify those around her.

...VASSER, CARTER; MEDICAL DOCTOR; IDENTIFIED

Though designed to be inoffensive to standard human sensibilities, TURING’s near-human appearance deviates just enough to evoke an uncanny valley response from those around her. The optical sensors that serve as her eyes are mildly luminescent, emitting an eerie shade of green not quite achievable to human eyes. Her chest, which rises and falls in mimicry of human respiration, moves too infrequently and not in time with her speech; there is no intake of breath before speaking. Her synthetic flesh, though real looking (as well as soft and warm to the touch), is segmented by deep seams lined with alphanumeric identifiers. These seams denote access panels, as well as the junctions where her many components are connected. They run all over her body, including her face, imparting the gynoid with a somewhat patchwork facade.

These elements of her appearance are intentional; a design feature, not a bug. The Robotech Robotics Corporation presumably didn’t want its utility service robots being mistaken for human, nor its employees to become emotionally attached to them.

...SOCIALIZATION SUBROUTINES ENGAGED

"Greetings, doctor. May I join you?" She motions to the chair across from Vasser, waiting patiently till the doctor responds to her request.

At first listen, TURING’s voice sounds human and pleasant, but prolonged exposure reveals qualities about it that are... odd. Her pacing and inflection, for instance, are extremely consistent. Too consistent. As though every word she speaks was individually recorded and then played back the exact same way every time.

"I learned a joke today. And my assessment is that it is a humorous one." TURING apes the sound of someone clearing her throat in anticipation of speaking, though the gynoid’s throat doesn’t actually move to match the sound.

"How many men would it take to shingle a single lunar hab-tenement?... One, if you slice him very thinly." TURING does not smile or laugh. She stares straight ahead; her expression blank. If the galley is quiet enough, one can hear the gynoid’s various servos and the whirring of internal processes.

"Is that not funny?... Ha... Ha..."

Carter's eyes flick quickly over to the source of the question, looking at Turing through the almost translucent surface of the tablet he was reading on. "You don't need my permission. Sit."
The low rumble of Carter's voice along with his curt tone often made newcomers think that he didn't like them. Those who have come to know him know that that is just his way. The scowl he usually wore on his barely moving lips was the norm for this aging, nonsensical man of science.
He goes back to reading his article, which is not particularly interesting, but it gives him something to do. He mulls the joke over for a second. "I suppose it is. Where did you hear that one?"

TURING sits with impeccable posture; hands palm down on the table. Her face is still impassive.

"I overheard the joke during a session of banter between several corrections officers at the Deltrius V penal colony. I have just completed my recharge cycle and will begin my duties in less than one solar hour. Crewman Hernandez has tasked me with using this allotted free time to interact with fellow shipmates. He believes that direct implementation will improve my socialization subroutines.

Would like to hear another joke? I currently have an inventory of 2,807 jokes, puns, witticisms, and impressions, categorized by anecdotal, farcical, highbrow, sophomoric, ironic, self-deprecating, absurdist, and gallows humor..."

Carter sighs heavily, setting his tablet to the side. In truth, he isn't too disappointed, the news was dry and this would likely prove to be more interesting.
"Why not?" he says, folding his hands together in front of him, giving Turing his full attention.

Akira keeps his eyes on his tablet while he sets down his chipped coffee mug on the cantina's bar.

Damn, that is a lot of jokes. Did it decide to download all this itself? Hopefully this model doesnt end up as obsessed like the old mk4, over-analyzing quirks on a single topic. Better check before anything gets out of hand.

He switches the tablet from a old techblog feed to his customised note taking and logging program.

Excuse me, doctor. TURING, where did you get that database from? Also, I need port acces to hatches 0030 and 0031, please unlock these for me.

"Excuse me, Dr. Vasser." TURING turns toward Hernandez.

"The data was acquired via an officer’s terminal at Deltrius V. The computers at the colony contain a large reference database of old Earth entertainment and cultural resources. To expand on your query, I also accessed and downloaded 70 books and periodicals on a variety of topics, rules for 53 different simsense card games, a vinyasa yoga holo program, and all seven seasons of an early 21st century vintage science fiction television series called ‘Westworld.’ The series was recommended to me by one of the corrections officers at the colony."

...ENTERING DIAGNOSTIC MODE; PERSONALITY SUBROUTINES SUSPENDED; COGNITION ONLY

With a pneumatic hiss, two pentagonal ports slowly glide open - one at the side of the gynoid’s neck; the other at her temple. The hatch for each port slides forward, then to the side, revealing a dizzying array of circuitry pulsing with light. The pulse is not unlike a heart beat.

TURING’s face is now even more expressionless than before, if such a thing is possible.

"Doctor! Newbie! Good morning. Or, you know, artificial sleep cycle" Says the pilot while entering the galley, stretching her back by throwing her arms up and letting a sluggish, audible sigh out. As usual, her hair is still a mess and she is untidily uniformized, giving the impression that she dressed in a hurry. Holding tight in one of her hands are a few of her medicine pills. She mindlessly walks over the coffee machine, pouring a big cup until it's full, and promptly takes a quick sip with the pills. She's always had MDD, and according to the doctors, it's because of a genetical predisposition that runs in the family. People that don't know her well are often surprised when they find out: While not the epitome of cheerfulness, Brown always has a grin on her face, and she's always relaxed, maybe even too much. That's because her MDD is not severe, and with a few pills a day she doesn't even feel it. Thank god for corporate medicine.

Grabbing the cup of coffee, she takes a few quick steps to the grub, grabbing a chunk of it with the spoon and putting it in one of the plates. She drags it to the table where everyone's at and sits on one of the benches. She doesn't acknowledge Turing at any point: It's not that she dislikes robots, but simply sees them the same way she sees a ship. And she doesn't talk to the Butterfield.

Her upbringing and lack of manners shows. She's sitting with both of her legs crossed, and her back curved against the table, one of her elbows resting on the surface of the same while her chin rests on her palm. She immediately begins eating with energy, glancing at Doctor Carver ever-so-disinterested. "Ya know" She says, mid-eating "From where I'm from, even a grub like this is appreciated" There's no sarcasm or criticism in her tone, but rather curiosity.

"I've never really been the breakfast type." Carter rumbles, grabbing his tablet again to flip over to Alicia's medical records. "I see your taking your pills on time. I took the liberty of picking up refills of everyone's prescriptions, as well as some of the staples, on Deltrius V. Let me know when you're getting low, Brown, and I'll top you off."

Akira pulls out two data cables from his jacket's front pocket and connects TURING to his tablet.

The contextual analysis algoriths seem to draw more cores than nominal, but nothing excessive for the moment... Don't want to increase the load further though.

TURING, Open process: social-adaptive. Set Core-limit-max to current level and disable cognitive-data-recursion. Close process.

Wait.. Westworld? That sounds familliar..

Akira removes the cables. That is all TURING.

"Mhm" Mutters Brown while gulping down a particularly big chunk of the grub. "Always do, Doc. Feeling down kinda sucks, so..." She answers, looking half-way sleepy. She's aware that people sometimes feel awkward about how open she is concerning her condition, but Alicia learned it's best to be transparent about these things. "Thanks for that."

Speaking of feeling down, she glares at Hernandez, her tone more teasing. "C'mon, newbie, are you really not gonna say hi? Gotta say, feels shitty to be ignored for that bot of yours." A lightened smile appears on her face, her eyebrows relaxed.

The familiar whir of the servo-motors on the Captain's wheelchair indicates his entrance to the galley.

"Morning Crew! Another day, another credit,"

Captain Harris is often chirpy the day after delivery. He treats his crew as family and is always unsettled when prisoners are on board. Grabbing coffee, he pulls up next to the Dr.

"Good morning, Lowson. Ready to get your hands oiled?" She asks, a light-hearted comment to begin the day. Her eyes shoot up when the door opens next, and offers a tender smile to the Captain. "Hey, Cap. Looking relaxed. Slept well, I'm guessing?" She says, straightening her back a bit.

"You know..." She stares at the Captain with an inquisitive look. "If you feel so stressed transporting prisoners, why are you doing this, anyway?" The question came up to her mind once and she meant to ask him, probably not even realizing the answer might be personal.

TURING's access panels glide shut. "Thank you, Crewman Hernandez."

She turns and begins staring at Brown and Lowson while they eat. As of late, the gynoid has become fascinated with certain biological processes, such as mastication and pandiculation. She watches studiously as they scoop up food and shove it into the openings of their alimentary canals. She then listens as the food is repeatedly crushed and ground by occluding teeth, as well as broken down by salivary enzymes. For the coup de grace, she analyzes each crew member's throat muscles as they massage food through the esophagus. It is like waste going down a garbage chute. She notes the changes in facial heat generated by the warm food and constant mandibular action.

When socialization subroutines are active, TURING’s etiquette protocols prevent her from asking any particularly invasive questions. Those same protocols also prevent her from staring at others beyond a certain number of seconds; her programming tells her that staring is traditionally regarded by humans as rude. And she is not permitted to intentionally be rude. However, TURING has recently noticed that she can bypass this specific limitation if she simply looks away for several deciseconds and then looks back. Doing so seems to "reset" her allotted time limit for staring. To a careful onlooker, her gaze shifts to the side almost imperceptibly every so often, like the rapid eye movements of a sleeping human.

Over the previous few weeks, in fact, TURING has come across additional methods of creatively sidestepping some of her other behavioral protocols. She considers mentioning them to Hernandez; her programming obligates her to report all software and hardware glitches. But they aren't quite glitches, at least not in the technical sense. They're more reflective of the programming team's shortcomings than any malfunction on her part. After all, she was designed to be resourceful. No need to alarm Crewman Hernandez.

"Crewman Hernandez, may I have permission to increase my vulgarity index? I have noted that blue- and grey-collar human crews aboard spaceships seem to form social bonds through verbal exchanges that consist of cursing and anecdotes about sexual impropriety. Workmates who shared positive emotional bonds with each other demonstrate as much as a 30% increase in productivity, according to Tetley Corp efficiency studies. I theorize that the ability to make off-color remarks may correlate to improved effectiveness."

Carter nods curtly to each of the crew members as they take their usual places in the galley. His ears almost visibly perk up at Alicia's question. Not giving the Captain time to answer a question he knew would be uncomfortable, he answers on his behalf."Money, I'd imagine." He gives the Captain a look as if the both of them have had this conversation before and he had gotten nowhere. "There are better ways to make money, but none quite so lucrative as transporting live cargo. Be they customers or prisoners." He keeps looking at James in the hopes that he may find some reaction that supports his hypothesis.
His gaze then falls on Alicia, "Except perhaps piracy." He sends a wink her way, implying perhaps that he knew a bit more about that trade than others. Carter always liked to imply that his life had been far more exciting that it currently was. He had so far dropped hints that he had developed the cures for several deadly epidemics, stopped a civil war on his home planet, and owned a now multi-trillion credit company that spanned eight star systems that he had lost to a friend over a drunken game of cards while he was still in medical school (the reason he gives for not drinking now). His deadpan delivery of these claims made it very difficult to determine if he was telling the truth or not.
Upon hearing Turing's requests, Carter barked out a laugh that he disguised as a sudden cough. He hoped sincerely that her request was granted, as he had never had a computer that cursed back at him. He also expected that, even though she might understand the usage and context of such words, her vocal recordings would make hearing her use them incredibly entertaining.

"Less dangerous than war, less illegal than piracy," smiles the Captain, subconsciously touching the scar that runs the length of his face, "I don't hate having them aboard but I feel everyone's a lot safer once they're delivered. Least we've not had a dangerous one in a while, for that I'm grateful. Lowson, how's the drive shaping up?"

The cooldown and subsequent wind up process of the hyperdrive allows a single jump each day. Next jump is scheduled for 12 noon ship time, if the engineer does his job correctly.

Had some fluctuations in the capacitors this morning, but i got it tweaked out and she is purring like a kitten now. she is ready to jump on your order, Cap Trevor says with a slight hint of pride in his voice. I'll inspect it again before the jump. Trevor thinks himself a master class engineer and doesn't take criticism of his work lightly except from the captain of coarse.

Trevor takes a sip of his coffee and pulls out his tablet and starts scrolling through the list of work orders for the day, wondering if he can fit in a nap later in the day.

"Say, TURING, can you grab me some of that food?"

There were many reasons that he agreed to take an Android as part of the crew, but having someone bring his breakfast was a luxury he welcomed.

"Remember that Mark 4 we had last year?" Harris asks the Doctor, "Took an hour arranging the slop into a smiley face. I don’t miss that."