Sci-fi Short Story

[Strazio Rockwell]

So I wrote this short story that I was hoping to get critique and feedback on.

The Ship of Theseus

　　Imagine you have a ship, a boat, one of the wooden ones from back in the old days. The kind we humans used to travel across the oceans eons before our inevitable voyage out in to space. You take this ship and crawl across an ocean, in your travels the ship naturally decays. You repair the damages and even replace older planks with newer and stronger timber. Over time; over many generations and battles and adventures you eventually replace the final plank. The last piece of original wood is removed and replaced with yet another new plank. My question to you, is this still your ship? In other words, is something still the same even though every little piece of it has been replaced?

　　This thought experiment is known as The Ship of Theseus. In third grade we learned about this hypothetical ship and even now in my mid-forties my thoughts drift back to that damn question. Our teachers and parents taught us about this concept because it was an easy way of taking a complex issue and breaking it down into something easily digestible. At the age of five children are allowed to travel using teletransportation devices. Teletransportation is a well defined and documented scientific process, supposedly safe and foolproof; refined by hundreds of years of scientific advancement. And yet I’ve never stepped foot inside one of those cold transporters.

　　Even now at the end of the line, even though I’m stranded in the drifting shell of a trashed spaceship, lost in the nothingness of space, I’m still avoiding the question. At the end of the day after everything is done and dusted, is that still the same ship you started with? Most people would argue that the ship is still the same. Five year old me disagreed. Five year old me was terrified of the teletransporter. You see, the transporter works by scanning your body, taking note of the position of every atom and molecule in your body. Then painlessly the transporter breaks apart the chemical bonds of your molecules tearing them down into raw atomic mass. Your blueprint is then transmitted to another transporter anywhere within the known universe. This transporter receives the data and reconstructs you from a block of raw matter, positioning every molecule and atom precisely where they were. The entire process has a ninety-nine percent success rate and can take anywhere from a few minutes to several years, depending on how far away you decide to travel. So I guess the real question I’m asking is at the end of a transportation are you still the same person?

　　The computer flared to life and echoed a warning throughout my ship.

　　“Less than three percent power remaining” My ship had been hit by an asteroid, something our scanners should have noticed, but due to a computer error they didn’t notice until it had already smashed into our engines and ripped them from the hull. For the past week my crew and I have been marooned in an uninhabited stretch of space. Most of them have already opted to bail and use the transporter. The only one left is Martin, my best friend and most trusted crew member. He doesn’t have the same issues with the transporter that I do. As far as I can tell he’s only staying behind to try and change my mind, I almost wish he was more persuasive.

　　Using conveniently placed handrails, Martin floats onto the bridge of the ship. Every thing except for the oxygen synthesizer and the transporter was disabled shortly after the asteroid impact, including the gravity generator. Most ships are designed to be functional in 0 Gs and this one is no exception. I released the belt holding me fixed to the captain’s chair and with a light push I began to drift towards the large plasticite viewport. I pressed my hands against the dome and heald the breadth of space in front of me. All I could see was a curtain of black, with bright white pinpoints scattered throughout. We truly were in the depths of nowhere, lost in a void of nothingness.

　　“I’m leaving Charles, I wish I could stay longer. But the transporter will be inoperable very soon” his voice was even and solemn and hung in the air, slightly echoeing in the empty room. We were used to making tough choices, but even so I could feel the apprehension in his voice. He didn’t want to leave me behind, but I didn’t want to go.

　　“I understand Martin” I pushed off the view port and oriented myself to face him “thank you for staying with me for as long as you did.”

　　I flashed him a big toothy smile, something to try and lighten the mood. Unfortunately matters of death are rarely afforded the luxery of light-heartedness. Martin steadied himself against the captain’s chair, my chair, and looked up at me. He shook his head and dug his fingers deep into the foam backing of the chair.

　　“Listen Charles we’ve known eachother since we were boys, so I hope you’ll take what I’m about to say to heart. But come the fuck on, we’re supposed to be survivors tough badass mercenaries and you’re just going to roll over and die like this? Take the damn transporter, and don’t be a coward” he was a man of few words, but when he spoke he spoke with the force of a crashing wave.
　　“Is the Ship of Theseus still the same ship?” I asked him.

　　“What are you talking about?”

　　“You know exactly what I’m talking about Martin, the Ship of Theseus we all learned about it and yet no one has been able to convince me that the ship is the same after all of its components have been replaced” I wanted him to prove me wrong, convince me otherwise. We met eyes and he took a few seconds to compose an answer, these seconds felt like eternities. His voice shattered the silence, it rolled and rumbled before finally ending in a crushing crescendo.
　　“Of course the ship is still the same. It serves the same purpose and for all intents it is the exact same damn ship. We’re not hunks of wood, we’re living breathing and thinking creatures. My thoughts have not left me and I still have the same hopes and dreams and aspirations. I am still me.”

　　“How are you so sure? You’re just whatever the transporter decides to create, you’re a copy of a copy of a copy” my voice raised and trembled to match his conviction.

　　His hands dug deeper into the foam backing of my chair. He knew better than to argue with me, I’m stubborn. But even still, Martin didn’t back down.
　　“I’m a copy?” he scoffed and threw his hands in the air. Before he could continue I interjected, hoping to drive the point home.

　　“Yes, the transporter just creates a copy of you.. It may have the thoughts and body of Martin, but it is not the original Martin, just a well-made facsimile. I haven’t stepped near a transporter I’m one-hundred percent authentic, my mind and my body is my own and my soul has never left its home.”

　　Another warning echoed through the ship. Less than two percent power remaining. I floated down to my chair and stood across from him. He was speechless, his eyes bore holes into my skull. His devilish look did nothing to abate me, being moments from death does amazing things to boost one’s courage. I continued to speak, hoping to deliver the coup de grace.

　　“There’s nothing you can say Martin, just go. I’m not going to let that transporter kill me just so an imitation can take my place and that’s the end of it. Sorry”

　　I kicked off from the chair and floated back towards the view port. Silence had never been so loud, I almost felt bad for him.

　　“You know what I think? I think you’re a fucking coward too terrified to take any chance less than concrete. You’re scared and you’d rather die alone than take a chance. Goodbye Martin” he hit me harder than any asteroid ever could, I felt a tightening in my gut. My brain scrambled to piece together a retort, but rather it fell short. I turned around just in time to see him take one last look at me

　　“One more thing, I’m glad you don’t think I have my soul, that I’m just a copy. I am just as genuine and complete as you are, in fact the only difference between me and you is that I’m not the one that’s going to die alone today.” he retreated into the doorway and left me devastated.

　　Having never stepped foot in a transporter I know that I am genuine, that these thoughts are mine and mine alone. How can he be so sure that he is completer? To step inside that transporter and be killed just so a computer can rebuild a copy of you elsewhere seems ludicrous. Some would argue that you aren’t your body nor your thoughts, but rather some immeasurable soul. They say that this soul will follow itself to your new body and consciousness. How can he be so sure that his did? Even if that’s that case I don’t want to risk some body double running around with my thoughts and dreams, but without my soul.

　　So here I wait, watching the curtain of space from my little broken ship. Waiting for the inevitable suffocation as the oxygen synthesizer runs out of power. I’ve done all that I’ve wanted to in live. I’ve had more than enough adventures and loves. But one thing I wish to know before I die. One final question that haunts me i s the Ship of Theseus still the same ship at the end of its journey?