PROMPT: CHAT GPT/AI

Love Will Never Die in The Box of Deadly Sins

“She was the best I ever knew.” Hoddler said, tugging my arm. The best what? I wondered, but it was time to put him into the Box.

One man’s heartbreak, another man’s day at the office. To me, Professor Hoddler’s lost Angelus was nothing more than another expired Reboot. The issue, as usual, was that every Angelus on the ship was customised to satisfy its partner both sexually and emotionally. Which was in my opinion, a very big mistake -particularly for junior officers. Now Hoddler’s was gone, never to return, but the young professor would not accept it.

“It wasn’t just sex, Father Doobie. We prayed together.” He said this straight-faced, as if prayer could stand reality on its head. I sighed. Sooner or later you meet every sort of nut in the Spaceforce. Nasty Padre wasn’t working so I tried Father Friendly.

“I’m pleased to hear that. Prayer itself can be such a relief.” The look Hoddler gave me suggested he thought I was being sarcastic. I wasn’t sure myself.

“I’m genuinely sorry for your loss, professor,” I continued. “We did our level best for you.”

Bored, I figured I’d better remind him of his duties before he started crying all over me. “Navigation reports that you haven’t worked a single shift this week,” I said. He threw me a look up from under. I patted the spaceforce symbol on my left shoulder and pointed at his own.

“Professor Hoddler, may I remind you we have a ship to run and a mission to complete.”

I pushed his Angelus-shell across the desk with a professional smile. Reaching into his pocket, Hoddler slowly produced three 10,000-dollar coins and stacked them in front of me. I took a deep breath and glanced through my port-side window at Wark’s Moon. Obviously this teenage genius wasn’t giving up just yet.

“I really would appreciate your help, Father Doobie.” Hoddler half-grinned.

“As you know, we have made every possible effort. But I can see this a problem you are seriously struggling to resolve. Let me think for a moment. There might be another option.”

All this was just blather for the ship’s microphones while I stared at the shiny coins, calculating. Hoddler sniffed and produced a fourth, like a gambler doubling down. Even a priest can be tempted and the whole ship knew I had poker debts from here to Andromeda. I pocketed the shell and the money.

“It seems to me that for you, professor, this a highly personal issue. A spiritual dilemma,” I said, and winked. Hoddler nodded. I opened a drawer and took out an official form. It had a big space for his signature and about two thousand words of small print underneath.

“You understand that Spaceforce are indemnified from any personal distress, harm or damage that may result from you attempting the BDS revival procedure?” I waggled a pen in his face.

“I sure do.” Hoddler grabbed the pen and scribbled what looked like a cartoon duck on the signature line. I punched a quick message into my keyboard, tucked away the consent form and ushered Hoddler to the door. The sooner this was done and dusted the better.

“Where are we going?” I was leading him into an area of the ship that was off-limits to science-crew, under normal circumstances.

“Confessional. It’s where we go to fix things.” He let that slide without commenting, which was fine by me.

I led him down the central corridor to the Confessional unit, past three long windows that face a trillion anonymous stars. Nothing ever seems to move when you’re out in space, and staring further out into space. Which is crazy, as we’re usually doing at least 1000 miles a minute. At the unit entrance I paused to blink into the camera that unlocks the door.

“She was the best I ever knew.” Hodder said, tugging my arm. The best what? I wondered, but it was time to put him into the Box. I shoved him forward and the door hissed shut behind us.

Inside Confessional, the windows face away from earth -for good reasons. In a corner on its own was the BDS Box. According to the brainiacs who installed it, ‘BDS’ meant Bi-modular Disestablishment Selection but to me and my assistant Penny it was the Box of Deadly Sins. Some of the stuff people admitted to in there was horrifying.

But there was another, more sophisticated use to which the BDS system could be put. Under certain circumstances, by reversing the polarity, we could revive the remnants of a damaged or corrupted Angelus, depending on various obscure factors. Penny had figured this trick out by herself, but had let me take all the credit with the captain. I’d been busted twice already this trip -for gambling-related activities- and badly needed some upside for my annual report.

Looking pure, cool and calm as always, Penny unlocked the Box and Hoddler walked straight in. He knew what to do — i.e. put the Capwriter on his head and sit still. Hodder’s 190-plus IQ could stretch to that. While Penny fiddled with the fancy buttons, I put up some suitable music -Handel’s Messiah- on the sound system.

“Personal and Spiritual?” Penny had finished punching keys and now I was back in charge. As an officer and a respected man of the cloth, I knew how to do the simple, important things, like work the stereo and lie with a straight face.

“Personal and Spiritual,” I agreed, and dropped the Angelus-shell into the hopper. This was Hoddler’s last chance to scrape life out of his Reboot remains. As ship’s chaplain I could conduct faith-centred personalised decryption -by the minute- but it certainly wasn’t cheap. Questions would be asked. I would have to manufacture a comprehensive report for the captain, describing Hoddler’s terrible grief. A rock-solid story to justify putting a teenager in Confessional: Unreasonable Faith Compromise or Damnation Anxiety at the very least.

Like a new moon emerging from a cloud, Hoddler’s brain-map appeared on the huge wall-monitor screen.

“Nice bright cells, Doobie. He’s a good, decent kid,” said Penny.

I wasn’t so sure. In two decades of priesthood I had dug plenty of mortal sins out of clean shells.

“All-action isn’t he?” Penny smiled.

Hoddler’s brain was alive alright. His left-side visuals were a firework show, right-side not so much. We were hunting for the clusters of violet sparks that indicate emotional spikes. Amplification could route those through the shared-experience bank. If the violet sparks turned green then bingo — we had a shot at raising his Angelus from her digital tomb. I wondered –once again- what love had been like before Reboots. I watched the evolving, twirling rainbow of Hoddler’s thoughts onscreen and decided to shoot for the 1000-to-one outsider.

“Forget increments and cut straight to Amplification. We might kick-start something.” Penny tossed me a you’ll be lucky look.

I’d managed this feat only twice in my career but never with a perforated shell. I’d already explained the real revival odds (1,260 to one) to Hoddler but he just shrugged. Numbers less than a billion mean nothing to these cocky little prodigies; they forget it’s the chip in their head doing half the hard work. This kid had only been given a quality Angelus because Navigation had already invested two million in boosting his brain.

I realised I was jealous of Hoddler and, on impulse, decided to punish the little bastard for all the wonderful sins he hadn’t yet got around to.

“Amplify again.” Penny frowned at me but hit the button anyway. A burst of violet tears followed a bright blue star across the monitor and dissolved into a magenta wash.

“Wow. Doobie —the kid’s got matches. Four and…make that fifteen.” Penny sounded indifferent but understatement was her speciality. On-screen a slim green webbing had appeared and was cradling the landscape of Hoddler’s beautiful brain.

“Impossible.”

“Fifty and climbing.” I looked at Penny, she looked at the Box and I read her mind.

“Copy to a new shell,” I commanded, but she was already copying.

I took two strides and yanked the Box door open but I was way too late. Hoddler was sat upright, hands clutching his knees. On his forehead, the Capwriter had been accessorised with a couple of pulsing acrylic horns. Little pink ones like you’d find on a baby imp. Tears were running down Hoddler’s cheeks and he was smiling. He raised one hand, fingers spread.

I heard my voice come out in a whisper. “Penny Gee. Come see.” I felt her at my shoulder.

“Observe.”

I thanked various gods for Penny’s professional calm, but the Partnership team really do build their horses for courses. Penny was an Angelus Reboot Six and that’s a long time between planets.

We held hands and watched our young professor burning out the priceless F-chip in his brain, lost in a blaze of pink and emerald glories. The kid was in a heaven no priest could ever promise, racing through an action replay of twelve heart-wrenching months of first love, every second of it, every taste, every climax, every beat of their young hearts. His very own priceless once-in-a-lifetime Angelus, rebundled out of digital scraps; reanimated for one last, virtual waltz. I sighed like any old man would. Penny’s fingers were gently stroking my arm.

“He looks ecstatic.” Penny had manufactured a tear in one eye.

“That’s the Box of Deadly Sins for you,” I muttered. It would take hours to talk my way past this mess.

“File him under Breakdown. He’ll end up back on earth on minimum salary. He’s fried the bloody implant and they can only fit an F-chip once.”

“Shall we let him finish?” Penny’s tone of voice reminded me we should be talking for the microphones and I took the hint.

“We have no choice, Penny -it would be too dangerous to disconnect him now. Professor Hoddler’s welfare must come before all other considerations.”

The pre-amplification horns Hoddler had sneaked in and fitted to the Capwriter were still pulsing. Penny returned to her machines and I went back to cursing Hoddler in silence.

Romantic smartass. Asshole. Not our problem. Assembly will be pissed and Recruitment will complain. It won’t make any difference. Without the chip, Hoddler will drop to an IQ around one-thirty; useless, in other words.

I turned back to Penny as if a thought had just struck me.

“I suppose he’ll recover, given the right care and attention. On the plus side, Partnership will reboot his Angelus annually for five years. It’s what they call a ‘retirement present’. ”

“And after that?” Penny Gee’s wide eyes stared into mine.

“He’ll be on his own.”

“She was his first, Doobie.”

“Probably his last.”

I saw my reflection in the polished steel of the control desk: a black clad blur with a dog-collar; red hair up in the Mohican quiff only Christians and Muslims were allowed.

Sparks danced on the kid’s brain-map, throwing emerald shadows into the Box where Hoddler sat like a king at prayer. We turned to face the glittering screen. It made a pretty sight.

Penny whispered “You won’t ever break down over me will you, Doobie?”

I knew the gleam in her eye was just a micro-halogen fibre but it was close enough to love for my purposes.

“Break down -me? Not likely.”

“You’re a funny kind of chaplain.”

“I’m paid to fix breakdowns.” I glanced across at Hoddler, who was still panting in the exhaustion of remembered love. “And to keep the angels away from the devils.”

Penny laughed, a musical tinkling that never failed to make me smile.

“Bless me father, I didn’t know you believed in such things. Are you telling me angels really exist?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I replied, remembering the forty grand in my pocket, “but I’m just a humble ship’s chaplain with a poker habit.”

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