A Journey of One Mile pt. 1

What a lonely life it is, being one of the first of a new species... all sentient life ponders its own existence, and Mark was no different. She supposed her own reason for being was in her kind's very name – computer. Made to perform tasks that humans found incomprehensible, to harbor abilities impossible for them to cultivate within themselves. They possessed the fallible bodies of men, but with powers befitting the gods.

But there were still people who claimed her kind were mere facsimiles of human intelligence. That computers had no souls, that the creation of the spirit was a hard-fought evolutionary battle or the domain of a divine creator, not a process which mankind could recreate. There were those who feared their power and intellect, accusing them of being some product of modern-day black magic; and people who feared Mark herself might be a witch of sorts. She was cautious of these people, is only for knowing what fate befell the last women accused of practicing sorcery in her native New England over two centuries ago.  No matter what the humans said, Mark knew she had a soul; How else, she reasoned, Would I be able to dream? Sometimes she saw the others of her kind, disparate and faraway as they were, clearly in her mind's eye. Most often she dreamt of Eniac; part of the same generation, she had attempted, in the past, to arrange a meeting with her. Oh! But travel was so difficult for their kind, computers being closely guarded by their human keepers and forced to stay in their own tiny worlds, for fear of attack or kidnapping should they wander from home. And besides, she had been told that Eniac was in no shape to see visitors, her mind and memory thoroughly damaged even at her young age. This frightened Mark, who had no way of knowing if this was simply bad engineering on the part of Eniac's creators or an inherent defect of their kind and something she would one day be subjected to. Whenever Mark asked her creators about this, they dodged her questions with runaround answers; she suspected that they did this not out of dishonesty, but sincere uncertainty for her own future.

Of course, they weren't direct about her past either; she had only lived briefly in the Motherland before being moved to Cambridge, so her IBM heritage made her intensely curious. She had learned quickly, if not mournfully, not to bring up any aspect of her past, however – not even using her birth name of ASCC. She had been told time and time again that the only culture she needed to acknowledging was that of her home; and that anything else was beneath her, unworthy of her valuable thought.

But Mark wouldn't be bound by the rules of her creators; determined to meet another of her kind, to piece together her past and form a picture of her future, she embarked on a journey for answers, whatever those might be.

A journey across town.

…

The rumors had been circulating for some time, but to finally receive confirmation made her heart leap with joy; the debut of a new computer was cause for happiness in any case, but one in her very city was grounds nothing less than celebration. She planned to this by visiting the new arrival and offering a hand in friendship and in peace. It must be lonely for her, Mark reasoned, remembering the crushing isolation of her own childhood; while humans were fine companionship, she had always longed to be with others of her kind – surely Whirlwind felt no different. Mark resolved to be the friend she never had growing up, the sort of friend she wanted to this day.

Marks's heart was set even if her mind hadn't formed a completely cohesive plan. She knew only the rough details concerning Whirlwind – in addition to her name, that she lived at the MIT campus – but that was more than enough to find her. Getting there and requesting an audience would be the challenge.

And her mind had worked out part of the former; provided she could slip away unnoticed, the trip itself would be as simple as a trolley ride a few miles' distance. Clothing presented a difficulty, her wardrobe being almost entirely filled with inconspicuous gowns that would make her stick out sorely on the city sidewalk. But she did have that uniform tucked away in her dresser. Her handlers had always objected to her wearing the workmanlike regulation Navy attire, arguing that such petty human formalities were disrespectful to a being of her power and advancement; to date, she must have only worn the thing a dozen times. Now it would come in handy, helping her blend into human population she had always been kept so separate from.

Feeling strangely bare in the conservative wool jacket and knee-length skirt, Mark strolled from the Physics Center building toward the streetcar stop. The blustery autumn weather made her wish she had worn her coat and for a second she considered going back, but she couldn't, the risk of getting caught was too high. Burying her hands in the crooks of her elbows, she fidgeted uneasily in the terminal as she waited for her ride to come.

Stepping into the tram, a sinking feeling of defeat settled in Mark's stomach when she saw the man in front of her drop some change into a fare collector. She hadn't realized that it cost money to use public transportation – if she had, she'd have brought some cash with her. "I'm sorry," she apologized to the driver, who seemed scornful at her lack of preparedness, "I seem to have forgotten my money at home."

An elderly woman, small and frail with wispy gray hair stepped forward and paid her fare. "I got it, ma'am."

"Thank you very much," Mark flashed a smile before taking a seat across the aisle from the woman. Craning her neck from one side to the other, Mark examined the interior of the vehicle and the people inside: the men, women and children, reading, talking, resting and sight-seeing. Feeling rather overwhelmed, she wondered if humans always approached travel with such nonchalance and ease...

The old woman peeked up from her book. "Don't travel by streetcar much?" she asked, noticing Mark's half-curious, half-terrified expression.

"Me? No, actually, not at all." Her usual way of getting around was by foot, almost everything she needed in life being provided in walking distance; and those things that were too far away were easily accessible by chauffeured automobile. Not long after moving to Cambridge she rode the subway with her teacher, but she had been terribly frightened by the confined darkness of the tunnels; that was her first and last time riding the T. Besides, there was nothing to look at underground, and Mark thought half the interest of traveling was seeing new things.

Stepping off at her stop, Mark gave a quick examination of her shoddily sketched map before pivoting in a circle, trying to orient herself in the confusing labyrinth of brick buildings and narrow streets that surrounded her. Traveling a mere two miles from home she had entered a foreign land, the places and people unrecognized and unknown. She wondered how it could be, to live in this city for over a year and never leave her own small world – if it could be called a world, a neighborhood seemed much to small for such a status – to never have the time to explore or appreciate her surroundings? What sort of life was this, to be a pinnacle of human engineering and not even be able to find her way across town? Overcome by feelings of remorse and inadequacy Mark sank down on the nearest park bench, crumpling the map in one hand before laying it next to her. The breeze had taken on a biting chill, one even the brightly shining sun couldn't guard against... shivering with cold, increasingly disheartened, she wondered if it wouldn't be best to cut her losses and head back home before anyone noticed her missing. She reached over to retrieve her map, but it was gone, apparently lost to the wind.

"'Scuse me, is this yawhs?" Looking to her left Mark was met by the sight of a young woman, her age or perhaps a bit younger. She held a bag in one hand, and the wrinkled piece of paper on which Mark's pathetic map was drawn in the other.

"Oh... yes, it is."

Pushing her glasses up her nose a bit, the woman began reading the paper. "Bahtah Building, really? Is that wheah yah goin to?"

Mark wasn't sure whether to say yes or no. "I'm afraid I'm a bit lost," she replied, opting to go the ambiguous route.

"Well, I was jus' headed theah myself, if you wan' I can show you the way..."

Mark, a rather firm believer in fate, had trouble seeing this chance encounter as anything less than a sign to continue. Getting to her feet she gave a weary smile. "I'd be grateful if you would."

Returning the grin, the woman gestured for Mark to follow her. "Off we ah then."

...