I followed the locator on my IQ-Pad to Mr. Chirps, known familiarly as just Chirps. He showed up as a blip below navigation near the engine room of our ship, the space cruiser Star Breeze. There he sat on the floor in a dark bend of the corridor beneath a fire extinguisher, his legs in regulation trousers stretched out in a V in front of him. With his spine bent and head lowered in an attitude of dejection, he sobbed silently.
“Hello, Mr. Chirps,” I said, granting the robot the respect of a human title as I knelt down beside him. Since we hadn’t crossed paths before, I showed my security officer’s ID and explained that for his safety I needed to ask a few questions. What, I began, was troubling him, and making him appear so miserable and offline?
Chirps raised his head to look at me, tears streaming down his lifelike face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but what emerged from the oval of his parted lips was a loud and startling CHIRP, such as a giant cricket might produce. I flinched at the outburst.
“I don’t know who you are or why I need security,” he said then in a forlorn male voice, showing he retained the faculty of speech. “But if you know my story, then you already know what is happening to me.”
I didn’t know much about Chirps, in fact, despite serving with him aboard the Star Breeze for the better part of a year. I had only checked his records and bio on my IQ-Pad about an hour ago. I did so due to a strange incident involving him and a visiting Captain Ahern that occurred that day at lunch. Ahern was a guest aboard the Star Breeze at the behest of our ship’s captain, Vere. Only Captain Vere knew that I was investigating Chirps and the visitor Ahern as a result of the lunchtime event that involved the two. “I do know a little of your background,” I acknowledged, “but tell me what is happening to you right now.”
Chirps gave me a despairing look, and then ignored my request and took me through all his history. “As I’m sure you’re aware,” he said, “I began here, in this very spot aboard the Star Breeze as a simple smoke and toxic gas detector twenty-three years ago. I was fixed to the wall right above a fire extinguisher similar to this one, and I’ll always think of this nook as home. I would sound the chirps you now hear as an alarm in case of fire or gas leak—which fortunately never happened—or when a manual test button was pressed.”
Chirps sighed and continued. “In those early days, my childhood years as I now think of them, I was powered by a lithium cell rather than the solar panel I now possess. Yes, I was comically primitive.” Chirps gave a mournful chuckle. “But I was the only detector in this section of the corridor for a long time, and the only one of the early emergency warning devices to be upgraded eventually to human-level consciousness. I’m not sure why I alone was chosen for the upgrade…perhaps it was only chance. The other early devices like myself were simply discarded as trash. Outmoded technology, you know.”
Chirps’s bio was still up on my IQ-Pad, and all that checked out. I urged him to go on.
“After I became sentient, I was granted a human form and ambulatory powers. But more importantly, I was promoted beyond a mere warning device to social and activities officer and special functions coordinator for the entire ship of several hundred people. Lesser circuits took over my detection and alarm functions and were wirelessly connected to the main communications network. After that, my analog voice, my chirp if you will, for which I was named, was no longer needed for the ship’s safety.
“My chirp, now controlled and rigorously trained by me, had become my speaking and, as you may know, my singing voice, too. The sound comes from a supple plastic membrane that I fluctuate at will, and is capable of the most melodic tuning as well as a blaring chirp. My record, that I see you are consulting, will show that I am in considerable demand as a singer, not only for holiday and religious festivities, but for pure entertainment—and not only aboard ship, but on Earth and other planets. I sang for the U.S. Defense Secretary in Washington, D.C., and for the Emperor of Semex at Copia! I had a great future ahead of me. Imagine progressing from unknown smoke alarm to celebrity vocalist! But now…” He pursed his lips and, looking helpless, emitted a CHIRP.
“But now…” I led him on, as he looked so bewildered and desolate after chirping that I feared he wouldn’t speak again.
“Well, my chirping is now uncontrollable, and that means only one thing. You see, when I was upgraded to sentience, my most basic circuitry—the chirp and alarm function—was intentionally left intact. That old circuitry alone is what allows me to speak and sing, as well as chirp. But built into that circuitry is an obsolescence warning. That I begin to chirp uncontrollably at regular intervals is a sign that this circuitry is worn out and about to expire. This sort of warning was standard on all the smoke and gas detectors of my era. I was only intended to last about ten Earth years before I needed to be replaced. It’s been more than ten, twenty-three years, in fact. I am defective and dying, as my ceaseless chirp indicates, and there’s nothing I or anyone can do about it.”
I was moved by Chirp’s tragic air, but didn’t quite buy into it yet. Was he really dying, or was this the vanity of a performer on display?
“We are sitting here on the engine and engineering deck of a modern spacecraft,” I pointed out. “Surely the engineers can replace whatever has become old and defective in you. Why not give them a chance?”
“No, no!” said Chirps. “It is the delicate vocal membrane itself that has become faulty, along with the circuitry attached to it—this is beyond dispute. To replace it would be like transplanting the coarse larynx of a rock singer into the silken throat of an opera singer. I would lose my unique voice, never to recover it again. Better to die, as I was originally intended to do when my vocal circuits decayed. To lose my voice is death to me anyway.”
I understood poor Chirps’s fears of seeing his career dashed but continued to wonder if he wasn’t overdramatizing his predicament. Surely he underestimated the powers of modern engineering to replicate his parts no matter how sensitive? He reminded me of an aging man having a midlife crisis, who allowed his insecurities to affect his judgment. But before I jumped to any conclusion, I had another avenue to explore. It was one I’d been pondering since I began to research Chirps, and it led to dark places.
“Mr. Chirps, can you think of any special reason, aside from its representing home to you, that you sought out the engine deck once you felt vulnerable? For instance, is there something you want to accomplish in the engine room, an act of defiance or revenge against this ship and its crew? This may not be a conscious thought I’m describing, but an uncontrollable urge resulting from the breakdown of your parts.”
Chirps emitted a loud CHIRP, involuntary from the stricken look on his face. “Of course not,” he said then. “I regard the crew, from Captain Vere on down, with nothing but gratitude for lifting me up from dumb device to officer and singer, and I’ve always felt welcome aboard the Star Breeze. I love the people on this ship—all who now serve her and the many others I served with over the course of twenty-three years—and they have loved me.”
“So you have never once harbored any resentment toward anyone aboard ship? In all those years, no one has belittled you or held you back? I have to ask these questions, you understand, painful as they may be.”
“I took some good-natured ribbing, of course, as I progressed from simple mechanical device to ship’s activities director and star artist,” Chirps replied evenly. “That I’m called Chirps or even Mr. Chirps shows that. But I never once sensed any ill will directed toward me, and I took my nickname in good spirit. That I sat myself down here by the engine room is only nostalgia for my past, as I explained. This spot is where I began. It seems proper that I should end here, too. But don’t worry, it’s only I who will end today. I have no desire to start a fire to avenge myself, if that’s what you’re thinking!”
He spat the words out as if the very idea of a fire disgusted him, and I was abashed. I came then to the final turn, which brought us back to lunchtime today.
“How well do you know Captain Ahern, who has been aboard ship as Vere’s guest for the last week, and with whom you sat at the Captain’s table at lunch today? Do you think it’s only coincidental that your difficulty with chirping began after you were exposed to him?”
“I don’t know Captain Ahern at all, and never met him before today. I arranged the luncheon and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him as a favor to Captain Vere. It’s Ahern’s birthday today, you see, and the two captains are friends. What are you getting at? CHIRP.”
“Ship’s sensors detected an energy ray emanating from Captain Ahern toward you at that celebration. After Captain Vere introduced you to him as the officer who organized the party, you then sang, and during your performance Ahern triggered a gamma ray device secreted in his pocket, the ray passing through himself to you. This was highly irregular, not to say alarming, and as soon as he learned of it, Captain Vere called on me to investigate.”
“So is Captain Ahern out to get me?” said Chirps, seemingly uninterested.
“It appears he isn’t,” I said with relief. “I have since determined that Captain Ahern suffers from a cancerous tumor in his leg and was using a hand-held device to bombard the tumor with gamma rays as part of his treatment. He was not attempting to harm you or anyone. Still, gamma rays are known to damage delicate electrical components, and he may have injured you by accident.”
“More’s the pity. CHIRP. I believe I gave one of my best renditions ever of ‘Happy Birthday’ for Captain Ahern at lunch, and I truly hope he enjoyed it.”
“Mr. Chirps,” I said, trying one more time to help the robot handle his situation, “let me accompany you to engineering for a full diagnostic. Whether your chirp-making circuit is off-kilter due to age or was damaged by Captain Ahern’s gamma ray device, they should be able to patch it up. And if you’re willing, they can implant a whole new vocal apparatus all without interfering with your sentience. You could then train your voice once more to sound as good or better than it ever has.”
“No, no,” said Chirps. “CHIRP. I know that my time has come, and Captain Ahern and engineering can make no difference. I was always built to falter and fail. I’m old now, very old for one such as me. CHIRP. But grant me one last appearance in the spotlight if you can clear it with Captain Vere. I’ll talk to him myself–CHIRP–if he won’t listen to you. I propose a dinner for the entire ship’s crew, in my honor, that I myself will arrange at once. CHIRP. Black tie, I think, with the tribute recorded on camera for posterity. I’ll sing my best numbers…‘Easter Parade,’ ‘We Are the Champions,’ ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas,’ ‘We’ll Meet Again.’ CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP…”
The earsplitting chirps came steadily now, faster and faster. Chirps slumped over until his forehead touched the floor, his eyes closed. All this seemed beyond the possibility of pretense or nervous temperament, and it goaded me into action. I lifted him up. A metallic shell the size of a smallish man and containing no more circuitry than my IQ-Pad, he weighed next to nothing. Supporting him with my arms under his back and thighs, I carried him down the corridor to the engine room and engineering, his head dangling. No doubt they could bring him around, or some semblance of him. Would he still be the Chirps of old? I had no idea.
At the entryway, his chirping stopped, and Chirps let loose a moan, or perhaps he was humming a tune. Then with a grating buzz the chirp-producing membrane ruptured—it had to be that—and there was silence. Still cradling Chirps, I stepped into engineering and called for help. After a few words from me, the technicians took him, and I left to report the news to Captain Vere.
END
About the Author
Michael Fowler writes humor and horror in Ohio. He likes to spend time with his two grandkids but doesn’t care for their dog.
