Iterative Science Fiction

The Memories We Choose

Posted in main story by Mark on November 29, 2009

“What are you doing with that stack of my memories?”
I looked at Kurt over the pile of electronics in my arms.
“This is just storage, right? I’m moving it back into the comp room.”
“Ishmael, please set them down gently. If any of the data sectors are damaged, I will not be able to replace it for months due to the limited bandwidth on the IPN. I will move them back into my quarters personally.”
“Uh, ok.” I set them on a nearby shelf. The clacking sound of several trays of datables made Kurt visibly flinch, as if he was going to catch one. Kurt rarely flinched since most things wouldn’t dent his exterior.
“I can not stress how easily these high density formats are corrupted, Ishmael.”
“What are you irritated about? Don’t leave your stuff lying around the hold. This ship is small enough without both of our junk lying around.”
“I was sorting through my external storage backups to find a pleasing memory. It is faster to have the ship index them instead of going sensory deaf while I relive the experiences.”
“Does the ship know what makes you happy? I thought I’d only just learned and we’ve been traveling years now.”
“One year, nine months, and twenty seven days does not make multiple years.”
“Stars above, Kurt. I must’ve lost count of the number of good days or something. Perhaps it was the number of times you’ve corrected my facts.”
“I am reasonably sure you do not want the actual number of times I’ve corrected you.”
“Of course not. But you know that number, don’t you?

“This is why you will never get married to a Second Woman. Forget that stuff. Besides, I thought these datables were your memories.”
“Certain information is better to have readily available in internal storage.”
“Right. Glad you got your priorities straight.”
I headed into the kitchen to make some food to eat. I was less likely to run into Kurt in there.Less likely is still just a probability, apparently. Kurt followed me in as I turned on the water heater.
“Do you dream, Ishmael?”
“Sure. Everyone does.”
“Let me clarify. Do you remember your dreams?”

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