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"Good morning, Computer," the boy said.

"Good morning, Grey," the Life Support Computer replied.

Grey sat up in his bunk, pushed aside the weighted bed covers, and wiggled out onto the cold bunkroom floor. Observing from a small auxiliary monitor, the Life Support Computer noticed the boy flinch against the chill and adjusted the chamber's temperature.

"What's my programming for today?" Grey asked as he dressed in his heavily weighted patchwork overalls.

The green signature patterns registered dimly on the monitor screen indicating a delay in the response. Grey sat down, stretched his shoulders, and discovered an elbow seal failing to grip again. I must fix that soon, he noted prudently.

As he often did while waiting, Grey glanced around the narrow room, noting four walls, one door, and eight beds. He didn't understand why there were eight beds, never having used more than one.

Grey knew the Life Support Computer was still developing a response because the green signature patterns, which he knew to be Computer's, continued moving back and forth. The other computers had their own signature patterns. Grey recalled the time when he had believed there was but one computer, before he learned to differentiate between their functions.

But I was only a baby then, he thought.

Grey stood up and twisted his thin shoulders, letting the heavy suit settle more comfortably. Sometimes, especially early in the morning cycle, Computer failed to respond quickly. Grey assumed that, like himself, the machine had been sleeping.

"Standard Thursday schedule modified by 1300 hours adjournment," the Life Support Computer finally announced.

"Thank you, Computer," Grey responded, pleased the training session would be an easy one. During the last few weeks the physical conditioning periods had become more intense than ever before, especially the gravity chamber sequences, and several times he had vomited from exhaustion. He didn't like those programs. Unlike the early years when he had often experienced illness, Grey had been healthy now for a long time. Almost six months. He had no desire to repeat the illness cycles.

Seeing the Life Support Computer holding on response mode, Grey decided to ask a question that had occurred to him. Initially he had wanted to ask about sleeping, because he couldn't remember doing it, but he also wanted to know about dreams, because sometimes the computers acted strangely in dreams. But there was an even more important question that might possibly explain everything!

"Computer? Why are time periods divided into day and night?"

The signature patterns swirled faster as the Life Support Computer processed his request for information. For a child just reaching his fifth birthday, Grey's vocabulary skills were excellent and he was well aware of the dictionary definitions for the terms, but the many social references confused him. Grey sighed when brown signature patterns took dominance in the monitor screen flux.

"Day is a colloquial term used to describe the time period between sunrise and sunset. Night identifies the hours between sunset and sunrise," the Library Computer answered.

What difference does it make whether a sun is visible or not? Grey wondered. Why is sleep always associated with the night cycle? Who made such a rule, and why? Why must every answer lead to another question?

Deciding to pursue the subject another time, Grey entered the long central corridor that formed the artery of his world and bounced the full fourteen meter length in slow, laboring lunges. When he reached the far end, he turned and trudged back to the crew quarters. Then he repeated the procedure nine more times, making the best of the monotonous routine by recalling his lessons from the day before and considering new subjects he needed to investigate. There was much to learn if he wanted to become a computer.

– End Chapter One –