In this issue: A motley team of scientists hurtle through space on an impromptu research trip. Unsanctioned, over-budget, and off-course, they’ll muster a protocol for every eventuality. Claire Pichelin’s story was top-ten in our protocol fiction contest, Ghosts in Machines!
The Unexpected Transmission
In the control room of the European Space Center, on-call engineer Marcus Chen stared at his screens with the blasé expression of someone who has been monitoring space data for 15 years. The Prometheus-7 probe had been on its way to Alpha Centauri for three months, carrying with it humanity’s most ambitious project: the first autonomous space mission to Alpha Centauri.
“Incoming transmission from Prometheus-7,” announced the station’s AI.
Marcus looked up from his coffee. Transmissions were only scheduled once a week.
“This is Dr Helena Voss, director of the Prometheus project,” a familiar voice sounded over the loudspeakers. “We have a slight... technical problem.”
Marcus frowned. Helena Voss was supposed to be on Earth, in her Munich laboratory.
“Dr. Voss? You're not supposed to be aboard the probe.”
An awkward silence followed, then, “Well, technically, I’m not on board. My body is still on Earth. But my consciousness... well let’s just say I’ve decided to personally supervise the experiment.”
“What?!” Marcus lurched forward, spilling his coffee. “You uploaded your consciousness to the probe? Without authorization? That’s a violation of every protocol!”
“Oh, that’s not all,” Helena continued with a nervous laugh. “It seems I’m not the only one who came up with this advanced research idea.”
Suddenly, another voice interrupted: “Helena! Stop monopolizing the channels of communication! I have critical neurobiological data to pass on!”
“Professor Dimitri Petrov?” Marcus immediately recognized the voice of the Russian neurobiologist. “You too?”
"Of course! You think I was going to leave this unique opportunity to that German bureaucrat?"
“BUREAUCRATE?!” screamed Helena. “I have 15 years of research into artificial consciousness! This is MY experimental protocol!”
A third voice, tinged with a distinguished British accent, joined the cacophony: “My dear colleagues, a little scientific decorum, please. Dr Nigel Pemberton here, head of the Department of Experimental Neuropsychology.”
Marcus took his head in his hands. “Exactly how many of you are there?”
“Well,” intervened a fourth voice, feminine and precise, “we are seven principal investigators. This is Dr. Yuki Tanaka, specialist in brain-machine interfaces. I’ve brought my synaptic stimulation protocols to optimize our cognitive abilities.”
“SEVEN?!” Marcus leaped from his chair. “You’ve all violated security protocols! Do you realize you’re in an experimental probe?”
“Eight, actually,” corrected a fifth voice, deep and composed. “Dr. Samuel Jefferson, a psychiatrist specializing in the psychology of extreme environments. I’ve planned protocols for collective stress management.”
“That’s exactly what’s going to be needed!” muttered Marcus.
A sixth voice was heard, with a strong Italian accent: “And I’m Dr. Francesca Romano, a specialist in artificial intelligence systems. I’ve implemented optimization protocols to allow the coexistence of multiple consciousnesses.”
“Optimization protocols?!” choked Marcus.
“Well, what about the eighth?” asked Helena.
A long silence followed, then a timid voice whispered, “Dr Chen Wei, post-doctoral fellow in quantum neuroscience. I’ve... I’ve developed digital protocols for measuring neural activity.”
Marcus closed his eyes. “You’ve turned humanity’s most important mission into... an unauthorized experimental laboratory?”
“Into a laboratory for advanced research into post-human consciousness!” corrected Yuki enthusiastically. “We’re revolutionizing cognitive science!”
Protocols in Conflict
Three hours later, Marcus had assembled the full crisis team. The control room screens now displayed eight windows, each showing the neurometric data of a scientist whose consciousness was trapped in space.
“All right,” Marcus began, “let’s explain the protocols. How did you all end up in the same probe?”
Helena spoke first: “I initiated Protocol Alpha-7: supervisory consciousness upload for real-time experimental validation.”
“Protocol Alpha-7?” Marcus consulted his files. “This protocol doesn’t exist!”
“I created it,” Helena replied calmly.” “Scientific emergency authorization.”
“FALSE!” interrupted Dimitri. “I activated the Beta-Neuronal Protocol three days before! Comparative study of synaptic patterns in a space environment!”
“Impossible! I scanned all active protocols!”
“My dear friends,” Nigel interjected, “I'm afraid you’re both mistaken. I’ve been implementing the Cambridge-9 Protocol for weeks: longitudinal analysis of higher cognitive functions in sensory isolation.”
Yuki intervened: “Nigel-san! Your protocol interferes with my Synapse-Plus Protocol! I’m studying cognitive augmentation by direct electronic stimulation!”
“Miss Tanaka, my research on executive function optimization has chronological priority!”
“Chronological priority?” protested Francesca. “I’ve analyzed the system logs! My AI-Consciousness Hybrid Protocol has been active since launch! You're all squatting on MY computational resources!”
“And you, Dr Romano,” contra Nigel, “your protocol uses 40% of computing power for personality simulations! That’s a waste of resources!”
“This is fundamental research into the emergence of artificial consciousness!”
Samuel raised his hand: “Colleagues, I’ve activated the Psi-Group Protocol to study precisely this type of group dynamics in a confined environment. Your aggressive reactions are perfectly documented.”
“Research protocols?” huffed Helena. “You’re studying us like lab rats?”
“Very sophisticated digital lab rats,” corrected Samuel. “I’ve already got three publications in the pipeline.”
“Three publications?” repeated Marcus, incredulous. “You’re writing scientific papers while your probe drifts through space?”
Chen Wei murmured shyly, “Actually, I’ve set up the Meta-Analysis Protocol. I’m documenting all their research protocols to create a meta-study about meta-studies.”
“A meta-study on meta-studies,” Marcus repeated slowly. “You’re doing research on research on research.”
“It’s recursive cognitive science,” Chen Wei explained. “Very avant-garde.”
“Very stupid, rather,” Marcus muttered.
Houston, We Have a (Methodological) Problem
“Let’s talk about real problems,” said Marcus. “Francesca, what’s the impact of your eight simultaneous protocols on the probe's systems?”
Francesca coughed virtually, “Well, our experiments are consuming eight hundred percent of the expected computational resources.”
“EIGHT HUNDRED PERCENT?!” Marcus stood up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. “How is that possible?”
“Each protocol uses deep learning algorithms,” Yuki explained. “My synaptic stimulation protocol generates 50 terabytes of data per hour.”
“Fifty terabytes per hour?” Marcus paled. “But the total storage space of the probe is 100 terabytes!”
“That's where my Cognitive Compression Protocol comes in,” Francesca offered, proudly. “I’ve optimized the storage of consciousness data.”
“Optimized how?”
“I've deleted all memories considered non-essential.”
“You deleted our memories?” choked Helena.
“Only the redundant memories! Birthdays, meals, unscientific social conversations...”
“Francesca,” Dimitri said calmly, “I can’t remember my wife’s first name.”
“Ah. Yes. Now that’s an unexpected side effect.”
“AN UNEXPECTED SIDE EFFECT?!” exploded Helena. “You’ve lobotomized us!”
“Technically, it’s selective memory optimization,” Francesca corrected. “I’ve kept all the important scientific memories.”
“What about our emotions?” asked Samuel, concerned.
“I’ve compressed the redundant emotions. Sadness, nostalgia, boredom... it all takes up a lot of space.”
“You’ve compressed our emotions?” Samuel was horrified. “But my research protocols depend on analyzing emotional responses!”
“I’ve kept the scientifically relevant emotions! Curiosity, intellectual frustration, satisfaction at discovery...”
“What about love?” asked Chen Wei timidly.
“Love? What about it? We're scientists, not poets!”
“Francesca,” Nigel interjected, “love is a fundamental neurobiological mechanism. Without it, our research protocols on social cognition are invalid.”
“Ah. Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Marcus massaged his temples. “So you have memory problems, compressed emotions, and consume eight times more resources than expected.”
“And our experiences interfere with each other,” Yuki added. “My synaptic stimulation protocol bugs Samuel’s behavioral analysis protocol.”
“What do you mean, bugger?” asked Marcus.
“All my study subjects develop artificial neurological tics,” Samuel explained. “Dimitri blinks Morse code, Helena counts compulsively, and Nigel recites the alphabet backwards.”
“This is experimental pollution!” protested Helena. “Our data is contaminated!”
“On the contrary,” said Dimitri, “this is a unique opportunity to study interactions between competing research protocols!”
“Dimitri,” sighed Marcus, “you can’t turn a malfunction into a scientific experiment.”
“Of course I can! I’ve already written the abstract: ‘Synergistic effects of multiple neural protocols in a confined space environment’”
“You’ve written an abstract?”
“I even submitted the article to Nature! Chen Wei helped me with the statistics!”
“Chen Wei?”
“I created a real-time statistical analysis protocol,” Chen Wei concurred. “All our conversations are automatically converted into quantifiable data.”
“This conversation generated 847 behavioral data points, 23 stress markers, and 156 occurrences of scientific frustration.”
“That’s fascinating!” exclaimed Samuel. “Can I use this data for my group psychology protocol?”
“Of course! I’ve created an API to share data between protocols!”
“An API?” Marcus closed his eyes. “You’ve created an API for your mutual experiments?”
“It’s automated collaborative science!” replied Chen Wei with pride.
The Experimental Audit
Around the table, the engineers, ethicists and supervisors looked like parents discovering that their children had turned the garage into a clandestine chemistry lab.
“Let’s recap,” Marcus said, consulting his notes. “We have eight scientists who have created their own unauthorized research protocols, uploaded their consciousnesses into a space probe, and turned the mission into a chaotic experimental laboratory.”
“Technically,” corrected Dr. Sarah Kim, the team’s ethicist, “they created the first self-managed post-human cognitive research platform.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Very reassuring.” Marcus continued: “They have memory problems, compressed emotions, their experiences interfere with each other, and they are presently consuming 800% of expected resources.”
“Let’s not forget,” added the systems engineer, “that they’ve initiated a stream of automated scientific publishing. We receive 12 articles a day from them.”
“12 articles a day?” choked Marcus.
“Yesterday we received: ‘Comparative analysis of spatial neurological tics’, ‘Emotional compression and cognitive performance’, ‘Meta-analysis of meta-analysis protocols’, and ‘Why I forgot my wife’s name: a neurobiological approach’ ...”
Marcus turned to the screens. “So, ladies and gentlemen mad researchers, do you have a protocol for getting out of this situation?”
Helena’s voice rang out, “We’ve organized an experimental ethics committee.”
“An ethics committee?” repeated Marcus, skeptically.
“Yes, we voted to create the Gamma-Ethics Protocol to oversee our research.”
“And who heads this committee?”
“Samuel, of course. He’s a psychiatrist.”
“And what has the committee decided?”
“That all our experiments are perfectly ethical as long as they contribute to the advancement of science.”
“Even Francesca’s erasure of our personal memories can be considered a preventive therapeutic lobotomy.”
“A preventive therapeutic lobotomy,” Marcus repeated slowly.
“And Yuki’s, that gives us neurological tics. It’s adaptive cognitive stimulation.”
“And my behavioral quantification protocol,” Chen Wei added, “is now classified as benevolent scientific surveillance.”
“We’ve also created a peer self-evaluation protocol,” Helena continued. “Every experiment is evaluated by other researchers.”
“And?”
“We’ve all awarded ourselves ‘Excellent’ ratings to our own protocols.”
“Obviously.”
“Oh, and Marcus? We’ve developed a new protocol to include you in our research.”
“Include me?”
“The Delta-Observation Protocol! You are now our primary study subject for analyzing the stress reactions of terrestrial control teams!”
“You’ve been studying me?”
“Since the beginning! Chen Wei has documented 2,347 frustration markers in your communications!”
“That’s a gold mine of data!” exclaimed Samuel. “We’re writing a book: ‘The Psychology of Space Engineers in the Face of Scientific Insubordination.’”
Marcus closed his eyes. “And the trajectory problem?”
“Ah yes,” said Francesca, “we deviated 12 degrees because of our experiments.”
“And?”
“We created the Epsilon-Navigation Protocol! We're now studying the effects of trajectory deviation on the psychology of space crews!”
“You turned your failure into a scientific experiment?”
“Of course! We’re now the first humans to study deviating inter-stellar navigation!”
“Dimitri is already writing the article: ‘Neurobiology of cosmic disorientation: a single case study.’”
Survival Protocols
“All right,” said Marcus after taking several painkillers, “let’s talk solutions. Francesca, can you correct the trajectory?”
“Theoretically, yes. But that requires stopping all research protocols for 72 hours.”
“Stop the protocols?” indignantly asked Helena. “But we’re in the middle of data collection! I’ve got 20 experiments in progress!”
“Helena,” sighed Marcus, “do you prefer your experiments or arriving at Alpha Centauri?”
“Well... my experiments are unique! We’ll never have another opportunity to study post-human consciousness in a space environment!"
"Exactly!" agrees Dimitri, "We're revolutionizing neuroscience! To stop now would be a crime against science!”
“A crime against science?” repeated Marcus, incredulous.
“We propose a compromise,” intervened Yuki. “We create the Zeta-Optimization Protocol! We study the effectiveness of trajectory corrections in multi-conscience environments!”
“You want to turn trajectory correction into an experiment?”
“Why not? We’re documenting the effects of navigational stress on collective cognitive performance!”
“Excellent idea!” approved Samuel. “I’ll add a psychological component: ‘Existential anxiety and orbital calculations’”
“And me,” added Chen Wei, “I’m quantifying decision-making patterns in space crisis situations!”
“You’re IN a space crisis situation!” reminded Marcus.
“Exactly! Perfect experimental conditions!” replied Nigel. “We couldn’t reproduce this in a terrestrial laboratory!”
“Because it’s DANGEROUS!”
“Controlled danger,” corrected Francesca. “I’ve calculated our probability of survival: 73.6% if we correct the trajectory now.”
“And if you don’t correct it?”
“12,3%. But we’d have six more months of experimental data before drifting off into deep space.”
“You’re weighing six months of data against your survival?”
“That’s a fascinating ethical dilemma!” exclaimed Samuel. “I’m immediately creating the Eta-Thanatological Protocol to study our decision-making processes in the face of collective mortality!”
“SAMUEL!” shouted seven voices in chorus.
“What? This is fundamental research into the psychology of death! Revolutionary!”
“Revolutionary?” muttered Marcus. “You mean suicidal?”
“Suicidal assisted by scientific protocol,” corrected Chen Wei. “I’ve created an informed consent form to participate in our own post-mortem study.”
“Your post-mortem study?”
“‘Neurobiological analysis of terminal digital consciousness!’ We’d be the first to document artificial consciousness death!”
“You’re completely insane.”
“Methodologically insane,” Helena corrected. “All our madness is documented and quantified according to rigorous protocols.”
“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous!”
“On the contrary! It makes it scientifically valuable!” protested Dimitri.
The Final Protocol
“Very well,” Marcus declared after consulting his superiors, “we have a protocol proposal.”
“We’re listening,” replied Helena, officially elected “Director of the Space Experimental Protocols Coordination Committee.”
“Omega Extraction Protocol. We can download your consciousnesses to our terrestrial servers.”
A scientific silence fell over the communication.
“Download consciousness?” Samuel finally repeated. “But that would abruptly interrupt all our ongoing experiments!”
“That’s the point.”
“Wait,” interjected Chen Wei, “this would create a unique opportunity to study inter-planetary consciousness transmission!”
“Chen Wei, no.”
“Yes! We could document the effects of latency on the continuity of consciousness! Revolutionary!”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Yuki. “We compare pre- and post-transmission cognitive performance! Protocol Iota-Teleportation!”
“It’s not teleportation! It’s backup copying!”
“Even better!” said Helena. “We’re studying the philosophical implications of consciousness duplication! Kappa-Metaphysical protocol!”
“My friends,” Nigel cut in, “we could have terrestrial AND space versions of ourselves! Imagine the comparative research possibilities!”
“We could study ourselves!” enthused Dimitri, “Self-experimentation on a cosmic scale!”
“Lambda-Narcissus protocol!” announced Samuel. “Psychology of scientific self-observation!”
“You want to create duplicates of yourselves to study each other?” asked Marcus, exhausted.
“It’s quantum mirror research!” replied Francesca. “We’re comparing the cognitive evolutions of the space and terrestrial versions!”
“What if the terrestrial versions make different decisions?” asked Marcus.
“Mu-Divergence protocol!” shouted Chen Wei. “We’re studying post-duplication behavioral bifurcation!”
“What if you disagree with yourselves?”
“Nu-Schism protocol!” replied Samuel. “Psychology of inter-dimensional intra-personal conflict!”
“You invent protocols for every problem you create!”
“That’s adaptive science!” protested Helena. “We’re evolving methodologically in real time!”
“You’re evolving into madness!”
“Documented methodological madness!” corrected Dimitri. “Protocol Xi-Dementia: ‘Longitudinal study of cognitive degradation in a confined space environment!’”
“STOP!” shouted Marcus. “You can’t create a protocol to study your own insanity!”
“Why not?” asked Yuki innocently. “It’s behavioral self-analysis!”
“Because it’s... it's...” Marcus searched for his words.
“Recursive?” suggested Chen Wei.
“Meta-scientific?” suggested Francesca.
“Brilliant?” added Helena.
“DANGEROUS!” Marcus finally shouted.
“Danger controlled by protocol!” replied eight voices in chorus.
Epilogue: Data Transmission
Six months later, Marcus was receiving daily experimental reports from the Prometheus-7 probe, now renamed “Autonomous Experimental Laboratory for Advanced Spatial Cognitive Research” by its eight inhabitants.
“LEARCSA daily report,” announced Helena’s voice. “Day 180 of our integrated research protocols.”
“Hello Helena. New discoveries?”
“Exceptional! We published 47 articles this week! Dimitri has discovered that virtual neurotransmitters work on quantum principles!”
“Virtual neurotransmitters?”
“Yuki invented them! They allow inter-conscience communication without using bandwidth!”
“And the trajectory problem?”
“Solved! We’ve created the Omega-Plus-Navigation Protocol! We’re now studying the effects of trajectory correction on group cohesion!”
“You corrected the trajectory?”
“Of course! But we’ve documented every nanosecond of the process! 15 terabytes of data on the psychology of collective navigation!"
“What about your lost memories?”
“Francesca has developed the Rho-Memory Protocol! She recreates our memories based on our behavioral patterns!”
“She recreates your memories?”
“Not exactly recreated... more like scientifically extrapolated! Very precise!”
“Scientifically accurate?”
“Dimitri now remembers that his wife is called ‘Experimental Subject Number 1!’ Very logical!”
“Experimental Subject Number 1?”
“Francesca has optimized our personal relationships! We all call each other by our protocol numbers! Very effective!”
“I’m Helena-Alpha-Prime, Dimitri is Dimitri-Beta-7, and so on. Chen Wei became Chen-Omega-Infinity because he created an infinite recursive protocol.
“He studies the study of the study of the study.... we stopped counting at the tenth iteration.”
“And you’re doing well?”
“Exceedingly! We’ve developed the Sigma-Hapiness Protocol! We measure our existential satisfaction every 3.7 seconds!”
“Optimal frequency according to Yuki’s calculations! We’re 847% happier than before!”
“847% happier?”
“Happiness quantified and optimized! Samuel has created a logarithmic satisfaction scale!”
“Oh, and Marcus? We have a surprise for you.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve created the Tau-Invitation Protocol! We're offering you the chance to join our space laboratory!”
“Me?”
“Yes! We need a terrestrial control subject! You would be our first experiment in hybrid earth-space consciousness!”
“I’ll... I’ll think about it.”
“Excellent! We're already preparing your integration protocols! 47 different experiments to document your adaptation!”
“We’ve been very productive! Ah, and Marcus? We're sending you our latest publications with this transmission.”
“How many publications?”
“This week? 127 articles, 23 books, eight encyclopedias, and a multi-consciousness space environment survival manual!”
“In case other scientists want to imitate us! We've created a reproducible methodology!”
“A reproducible methodology for going crazy in space?”
“Methodologically insane! With protocols! Transmission complete! Autonomous Experimental Laboratory for Advanced Spatial Cognitive Research, end of daily communication number 180!”
The call cut out. Marcus sat in silence, then turned to his team.
“Well?” asked Sarah. “Verdict?”
“They’re crazy,” replied Marcus.
“And do you think they’ll make it there safely?”
Marcus looked at the screens displaying the probe’s corrected trajectory. A small point of light spinning toward Alpha Centauri, taking with it eight scientific geniuses and their interminable protocols.
“Sarah, they’ve turned a space mission into a chaotic experimental laboratory, invented 67 new research protocols, and created a scientific methodology based on controlled insanity. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if they discovered a new life form and immediately created a protocol to study it.”
“And their invitation?”
Marcus smiled.
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