A/N - word prompt 'Mad' and building on the story 'The Red Room' by a fellow Horizon member
No Regrets
Zen monitored space; its detectors perceiving no threat, no anomalies. Zen monitored the ship; sensors confirmed the hull's integrity, all inboard systems operative, the auto –repair circuits performing only routine maintenance. No life forms detected apart from the five organics that comprised the crew.
Zen monitored them; their movements, their routines and reactions, every change in oxygen and nutrient intake, their rest and activity levels. And, in accordance with its programming, it had opened the red room to each, just as the System had decreed was necessary for the optimal functioning of each Alta organic component.
But these were no Altas – created, grown, trained and incorporated into a strictly ordered environment. Zen had provided the emotional element its programming dictated, from information gleaned through its neural interfaces, but it had not been prepared for the complexities of the non-Alta mindscape, had insufficient data to predict the consequences.
It could only track the increased frequency that each traversed the corridor which contained the red room. It could only record the length of time each remained motionless outside the red door, the number of times that attempts were made to open that door, that cheeks were pressed against its cold surface, that fingers trailed and fists pounded on its unrelenting hardness.
And it could only record the disturbance to their sleep cycles, the increased respiration and restlessness, the names cried out. Could only monitor the mute, motionless, wakeful hours spent in the dark.
It could not feel what Gan feels. Zen had no heart to swell at the sight of his woman or the love in her eyes. It had no hands to touch soft skin and silky hair. No hands to try to claw the implant and the memories of murder from its mind.
It could not feel what Jenna feels. Zen had no glands to flood its system with adrenaline, no blood to pump, no pride to feel, no sense of accomplishment when it navigated the ship. It had no ability to hope and dream, no capacity for increasing despair as those possibilities became evermore remote.
It could not feel what Vila feels. Zen had no stomach to flutter with excitement, no fingers to twitch and fidget with anticipation, no lips to smile with joy, no belly to shake with laughter. It had no muscles to shiver, no skin to sweat, no mouth to go dry, no imagination to conjure dread.
It could not feel what Cally feels. Zen had no kin, no community, no sense of belonging, no hands to hold another, no mind to meld or muse, it could only deal with the tangible. Its programming did not include isolation and loss.
It could not feel what Avon feels. To Zen, warmth was a number on a temperature scale; it had no body to press against another, no smile to exchange, no eyes to dance with delight, no life to share. It had no gut to twist with guilt, was never forced to contravene its programming or to deal with the inevitable conflict.
It could not feel what Blake feels. Zen had no soul to burn with passion, no cause to believe in, no need to make things different. Its sensors did not detect injustice, its databanks were uncorrupted, it had no morals to outrage, no family to mourn, no blood to spill.
Zen could not regret having opened the door to the highs and lows of emotion within each of the crew. It could only run the data through its logic circuits and act on the conclusion. One brief exposure had a detrimental effect on the efficiency of the crew so the red door must remain closed. As an ancient Bard had once put it:
"That way madness lies ... no more of that."
