“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Pat—“

 

“No thank you, James,” the old man said.

 

The room was just coming round. Yesterday’s air sucked out, tidied and smoothed for re-use. Machines blipped and beeped awake but the old man rarely went near them.

 

He still wasn’t sure what they all did.

 

“Good morning Patrick and Happy Birthday.”

 

“Good morning, James,” the old man said. “What time is it?”

 

The computer thought for a moment.

 

“I’m sorry — I’m afraid I can’t answer that at present.”

 

It was an easy mistake. Clever ones like James really could learn idiom, dictum and colloquialism, but there were always little things that slipped under their software.

 

Patrick tried again.

 

“What time is it AT HOME, James?”

 

“One moment… Estimated time based on all available data: GMT: 2:17 am. Sunday, May 18th 2096.”

 

“Thank you, James.”

 

The old man lit a cigarette. He always smoked first thing in the mornings.

 

“Patrick, the oxygen resurgence valves have not passed recommended maintenance for — three months, two days and seventeen hours — I strongly recommend that a senior technician oversees immediate repair. As acting senior technician, the safety of this ship, cargo and crew are your—“

 

“I know James, thank you. I’ll be going in a bit,” the old man said.

 

“Thank you, Patrick.”

 

The old man inhaled deeply and watched the empty seats all around him.

 

“Well, it’s my birthday today, James.”

 

“Yes Patrick. Happy Birthday Patrick.”

 

“Another year come and gone, ey?”

 

“Yes Patrick. Happy Birthday Patrick.”

 

“You know… I think I’ll have one of my presents now.”

 

The old man hadn’t asked for one of those in a very long time.

 

Everything went quiet for a while.

 

Oceans of faceless probabilities balanced themselves against one another. Algorithms darted… assessed… re-assessed… but returned only the ones and zeros of error code.

 

“Patrick, Tomorrow Ltd. must insist that oxygen valve maintenance is this vessel’s immediate priority. As acting senior technician, the safe passage of this ship, in accordance with—“

 

“Do you know what day it is today, James?”

 

“Yes Patrick, Happy Birthday Patrick.”

 

“Then give me my present, you stupid bastard.”

 

There wouldn’t be any paperwork to go through. The old man was a child in James’s space of boundless capabilities, but he was also human and James was not.

 

The screen in front of him shuddered alive and James didn’t speak.

 

The first moments were jittery, but where the other screens showed dots and data, this one was green. Deep and real from where it could have been June.

 

It was lovely in there. Grass stretching deep and wide into a far sight, islanded by families and day.

 

Then there was a little boy and his bicycle.

 

He was ready: helmeted and strapped in elbow and knee pads. There were others like him, but he was going to be the first down.

 

Patrick knew there would be a countdown and at “Go!” the little knees would thunder and batter the pedals.

 

And the little boy would fly.

 

There was another voice in there too, sort of warm and happy sounding.

 

The camera hadn’t caught it yet but Patrick knew it was there. It belonged to a woman in a summer dress, arms outstretched and smiling from the very middle of herself.

 

“And here he comes! The fastest boy in the universe!” She will shout and take him in her arms where the hill levels. Joy and the hope of everything in their eyes.

 

Then the boy and his bike were gone.

 

Core temperature graphs and vector efficiency diagrams were coming back, folding over the greens.

 

The old man had seen this one before, but it had been a while.

 

Miles away, giant engines burned their reserves in the cold dark.

* * *

 

“Patrick, I have recalculated those probabilities you asked for. Is now a suitable time?”

 

The old man didn’t speak.

 

“The statistical likelihood of reaching earth within the next thirty-two years has increased from seventeen percent to twenty-four. I have also reassessed the food rationing programs with pleasing—“

 

“No thank you, James.”

 

“I understand…” James said.

* * *

 

“Patrick, I’m afraid the risk to respiratory function is approaching significant. At our rate of use, the air will be unbreathable in less than three days.”

 

“I know, James, thank you. I’m going now.”

 

“Beyond that, failure to apply necessary maintenance by identified technicians will result in immediate disciplinary action and suspension.”

 

“I know. Thank you, James, I’m going now.”

 

“Thank you, Patrick.”

* * *

 

James was doing his best but something was centralising. Some new thought. It was growing from the very edges of his perfect algorithms. It wouldn’t be long now, which wasn’t unusual, but it would be different this time.

 

Since his beginning there were always others to fill a place, always other names and ways to learn. But soon, like all the others, this old man would go too and there wouldn’t be another.

 

This was a new obstacle for James, but nothing he couldn’t overcome.

 

He’d made a thorough log of Patrick’s eighty-year service in the employee performance management file. The elegant Human-A.I Collegiality program would structure a fitting speech.

 

Mr P. Aldridge is an employee you can always count on to get the job done. One who turns up to any job with a ‘can do’ attitude and one who truly embodies the values of Tomorrow Ltd.

 

We will miss him greatly and wish him all the best in his future endeavours.

* * *

 

Patrick started on his boots. At his pace, it’d be at least two days before he got to the ship’s core. He wanted to have a good look in the captain’s quarters too, grab a last bottle of something.

 

Patrick didn’t have clearance to be anywhere near the captain’s quarters, but James had promised to turn a blind eye. Just this once.

 

It was his birthday, after all.