An excerpt from a short story.
Benson
Battersea B2 whirred itself to life. Across its many bays and compartments fluorescent lights slowly turned on, some more smoothly than others. A low hum that took across the entirety of the craft was followed by affirmative clicks and beeps sounding out from behind doorways and vents. A voice came through the speakers in the lower sections, the cockpit, and the kitchen.
“Good morning adventurers! It has been -“
Along certain hallways, monitors fixed to walls lit up in bright blue. An animated stick-figure woman with a bright smile popped up in the bottom right corner, gently pointing towards a meter that appeared in the centre of the screen.
“- eighteen-thousand six-hundred and forty-two years, three months, and fifty-six days since you began your journey. Wow! Talk about progress.”
Several flaps of various sizes opened beneath the monitors. Drones and gadgets clattered out. Alabama-4, a robot roughly the size and shape of a plastic office bin, fell on its side with a large thud. Ballboy, a large metal pole with several claw-like appendages and two Rotocaster omni-directional wheels, accelerated towards a doorway at the end of Hallway 01. The stick-figure lady checked her notepad.
“Let’s begin with Benson.”
The light above one of the doors on Hallway 01 switched from red to green. A tennis ball shot out of a hole somewhere and rolled itself towards Ballboy, who grabbed it with efficiency. After a brief pause, the small doorway opened vertically like a wing, and a frigid burst of air pushed its way out. A small screen next to the door displayed heart rate and blood pressure readings with green ticks on the side. The stick-figure lady, on all the monitors, gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to no one in particular. The air slowly cleared out.
With uneven, wary steps, a small Jack Russell entered the hallway.
“Good morning, Benson. You look fantastic. The sheen on your coat” - the sounds of an audience applauding accompanied by fanfare played as the stick-figure lady clapped enthusiastically - “you’ll have to share your routine with me sometime.”
The Jack Russell yawned and stretched its legs. The little puddle of saliva he had already left on the linoleum flooring was cleaned up by Fairfax, one of the QuickClean bots.
The first set of medicals ran smoothly. After being guided into a lab by the tennis ball, Benson was hooked by the loop of his standard-issue Explorer jacket onto a smooth, stainless-steel bench. Metal appendages took his jacket off with care, then checked his nostrils, ears and eyes. A brush gently applied anti-radiation coating to his fur as tiny syringes checked for any loss in bone or muscle mass. Alabama-4 surveyed from a platform just above, taking notes on a touchscreen, beeping out major-triad arpeggios whenever Benson passed a stage successfully. When Benson consistently failed to keep his mouth open for dental procedures, Ballboy brought dog treats into the room, after which the tests continued to run like clockwork.
Once the final checks were finished, Alabama-4 beeped out a high-pitched note as a claw secured Benson’s jacket back on. Ballboy guided him into the next room. The speakers spoke out again.
“Let’s run a visual.”
The room darkened and a projector turned on. Large, hidden fans on either side of the room brought in a gentle breeze as the walls seemingly receded into the distance. In the brief pause, Benson ran his tongue across his teeth.
Then the image of a vast meadow surrounded him on all sides. Soft dirt appeared beneath his paws. Long blades of grass swayed from one side to the other. A hot summer sun hung above the scenery, coating everything in an orange haze. A river meandered into the meadow out of a nearby forest and seemed to go on, endlessly, into the horizon. Something cawed in the distance. Benson spun around himself and sniffed at the air.
The two bunnies slowly entered the projection from the right.
Benson stood still. Then he put a paw forward. Someone spoke.
“No, boy. Down.”
Benson gulped. Small monitors just outside the room displayed an increase in room temperature as the fans slowed down. One of the bunnies lifted its head from the grass. Its ears perked up. The distant sounds of simulated nature slowly disappeared as the bunnies’ quick breathing filled the meadow, the noise from the fans reduced to a minimal purr. Benson’s left paw steadied itself. His nostrils flared. The stick-figure lady appeared in the grass, a short distance behind the rabbits.
“Benson, no.” Louder this time.
Fairfax, locked outside the soundproof walls, repeatedly bumped into the door. Benson gulped again, then slowly dropped to the ground. The scent of rabbits filled the air. Somewhere in the ship a lever clicked, and the fans cut off. The temperature rose again. Benson held himself from panting. Silence held the room still.
The bunny on the right moved towards a patch of grass. Benson took off. A server-room in the lower sections flashed a bright red light for two seconds, confirming failure. The walls came back suddenly, and Benson ran into one with a high-pitched squeal.
Of the projection only the stick-figure lady remained. She stood above the small dog, disapproving. For a moment it reminded Benson of something. But his eyes were tearing up from the impact now, and soon he fell asleep as gas filled the room. A carrier came in and escorted him out.
In the corner, Fairfax took a sponge at a tiny patch of blood.