Journey (IP)

Across a thousand light years the spaceship stretched like an elastic band before snapping back to its original size a thousand light years away.
At its helm an unhappy Woyer sat leaning upon its control panel looking out at the stars beyond on his viewscreen.
"No one knows. No one knows anything", he said.
"Knows what?", asked his sentient spaceship, Zrim.
"Knows what the purpose of existence is", said the Star Pilot, "I've searched over a thousand inhabited galaxies; spoken to the greatest philosophers, scientists and artists of every intelligent species, both organic and artificial; some with multiple brains; I've read every book ever written in the known universe including those etched on stone tablets by long dead alien races and the conclusion that I've come to is that no one has even the slightest clue why we are all here".
"Well thats because there is no reason why", said Zrim with a cheerful chuckle, "No purpose but why get so upset about it. Why not just take a mood adjustment pill, put on a happy face".
"Because my misery is me, you synthetic moron", said Woyer, irritably, "You might aswell ask me to blow a hole in my head and be replaced by some smiling android or clone made in your molecular xerox machine".
"No need to start name calling", said Zrim, "I'm only trying to be helpful".
"Yes, well", said Woyer, "Lucky old you. At least you know what your purpose is. You were designed to serve the needs of intelligent organisms".
"True", said Zrim, "Although doing that is sometimes easier said that done. Some human beings have a strange propensity towards unhappiness. Like you. I try to make you happy; I produce food for you and clothes and entertainments, anything you want but you never seem to be satisfied".
"Thats because this life is thoroughly unfulfilling; deeply empty", said Woyer, leaning upon his fist and frowning, "Its like a constantly mutating orgy of distractions, moving on to the next amusement and the next and after a while nothing seems new anymore; everything seems dull".
"Perhaps you think too much", said Zrim.
"A strange thing for a computer with an IQ of googolplex squared to say", said Woyer.
Woyers pilots chair atomically transformed into a couch at his merest wish and he lay back.
"Perhaps its like that Maldamarran said on Ipsos 4, what was his name, little blue chap with enormous ears", he said.
"Loysolius", replied Zrim, "Dr Loysolius Ekhantophontisomorsiouspontimakolouriat".
"Yes, him", said Woyer, "Anyway, he said that what distinguished organic beings from robots and can openers was their lack of purpose and that, in that way, they were fortunate. Blessed with the opportunity to make their own purpose rather than having one forced upon them by a creator".
"Well", said Zrim, "There you are. Aren't you content with that?".
"No", said Woyer, growling with disatisfaction, "Because its like telling an amnesia patient struggling to remember his true identity, 'Just forget about it. Create a new identity. Be whoever you want to be'. The question still keeps nagging at him and refuses to go away, 'Who am I really?'".
But then, suddenly, Woyer sprung to his feet as if galvanized by a sudden jolt of electricity a new gleam lighting up his eyes.
"Zrim", he said, "I've decided to take the ultimate leap into the unknown. I want you to turn off all life support systems; turn off the artificial oxygen, the light, the heat, everything".
"Everything?", asked Zrim, despondently, "But thats suicide".
"Exactly", replied Woyer, "I've searched this universe all over and I haven't found a trace of a true meaning so its time I looked beyond. The ancients believed in an afterlife, why not?".
"Because there's absolutely no scientific evidence to support the existence of one, thats why not", said Zrim in a condescending tone.
"Damn you, Zrim", said Woyer, "I'm surrounded by science. My closest companion is a soulless automaton and if all that human progress in 5 thousand years has achieved does not satisfy me, all its virtual escapism and mood rectification and artificial self-improvement, then science is not the path I should be following. Science is a glittering, glorified dead end".
"But I can't help you commit suicide", protested Zrim, "I am programmed to preserve human life and however hard you may order me to try I cannot disobey that programming".
"Then you comdemn me to a painful existence", said Woyer, "I don't see how that helps me".
"You have mood pills", said Zrim, "Just think of them as painkillers and your existential angst as no more than a migraine".
Just then, however, on the large viewscreen infront of Woyer he saw a pirate space galleon appear.
"Pirates", said Zrim, excitedly, "Don't worry. I'll take immediate evasive action".
"Don't bother", said Woyer, sighing languidly.
"But if they don't board us and kill you they'll blow us to pieces with their force cannons", said Zrim.
"Well then let them", said Woyer, "Let them blast me into the next world, if there is one".
"I'm afraid that I cannot do that", said Zrim, "As I told you, sir, I have to protect your life wether you want to live or not".
Woyer rubbed his chin.
 "Hmm?", he said, thoughfully, "Tell me, Zrim. What exactly do you mean by 'my life'".
"Do you want a dictionary definition?", asked the computer.
"No what I mean is...say that for example I was to lose my head; that it was knocked clean off my shoulders by some unfortunate accident and you simply kept my body alive would you say then that you were preserving my life", asked Woyer.
"You would be clinically brain dead", said Zrim.
"But my body would still be alive. Part of me would still be alive and so, even if I had no head, you could continue to obey your programming which is to keep me alive", said Woyer.
"I suppose so", said Zrim.
"Infact you could even give me a new computer brain", said Woyer, "A brain like yourself. You wouldn't call yourself dead would you".
"No, now I come to think of it", said Zrim, "I could always record and transfer your brain patterns to an artificial brain".
"Well there you are then", said Woyer, enthusiastically, "Prepare the surgical bay for immediate brain recording and then surgical removal of my living organic brain".
"There is only one thing, though", said Zrim.
"What?", asked Woyer.
"If you died, I would miss you", said Zrim.
"Well you'd have my brain patterns within a robot brain", said Woyer, "Isn't that good enough?".
"Another robot?", said Zrim, unhappily, "It would be like talking to myself. It wouldn't have your human spontanaeity".
Woyer sighed.
"I suppose so", he said, "To tell the truth, I would probably miss you, not that I would have a brain to miss people with but you know what I mean".
Woyer paused for thought and then, sitting back down upon his couch and wishing it back into the shape of a swivelling pilots chair, he ordered,
"Very well. Zrim, take immediate evasive action. The quest for meaning, in this life, continues".
Then, stretching like a rubberband again, a thousand lightyears long, Woyers spaceship disappeared to who knows where.