Stream of Consciousness

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Stream of Consciousness

 

Annual Symposium | Department of Psychology

Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth

August 30, 2388 – Stardate 503008.27

 

As soon as the question died on the student’s lips, a hush, punctuated by scattered catch-breaths, descended on the auditorium. A few heads turned to identify the speaker. Some shifted uneasily in their seats. A handful focused on Jami Farrington’s reaction, eager to hear her response.

 

She’d seen the young man several times, the last of which was a close encounter in a masters seminar a few days ago. His name was Earl Stanley Hall, IV – from a family of prominent psychologists and physicians. He was intense, to the point of coming off as pushy and arrogant by some of the other master’s candidates, and downright snotty by underclassmen.

 

But the few encounters she’d had with Earl Stanley Hall, IV, had led Jami to believe that he was sincerely searching for answers, even if having a conversation with him was more like playing chess. The give and take was often unbelievable, but with some extreme modifications in his bedside manner, he had the makings of an excellent psychologist, and she would keep her eye on him for future reference.

 

The title of that day’s panel discussion was The Psychology of Deep Space Travel, so his question was valid, if a little far from the norm. Most of the questions had been about crew interaction under stress, dealing with ordinary situations – like partner dynamics and interdepartmental rivalries – during extended periods of confinement in a space vessel, colony, or station. So the question caught Jami broadside, and it took her a minute to recover.

 

It jerked her mind from the auditorium to Arcturan space, to staring at the remains of the Manticore NCC 5852-A, to struggling with the paradox of time, space, and the nature of the universe. She sat transfixed, holding the student’s gaze until someone in the last row asked that the question be repeated.

 

“Of course,” she said, as she took a breath and glanced at the moderator for confirmation. “The question was, ‘When the Manticore was in Arcturan space and came across the remains of the Manticore, how did it feel to know I was dead?’”

 

In repeating the question, Jami recognized the twist, and his real question. Mr. Earl Stanley Hall, IV, was not so much interested in knowing how she felt at that moment as he was in knowing how she would react to the last part of his sentence: ‘… to know I was dead.’ She gave an almost imperceptible smile in Hall’s direction, determined to give him his money’s worth.

 

Bodies adjusted, followed by complete silence. A few faculty sitting in the upper levels leaned forward in various poses of concentration. Lacing her fingers together to lean forward on the table, she began.

 

“When I was twelve years old I looked in the bathroom mirror and suddenly realized I was staring at someone I hardly knew. Don’t get me wrong,” she added in response to a few puzzled looks. “I knew I was looking at a reflection. But in that reflection I also realized there was a stranger that resided within that image, a consciousness that I had taken for granted until that moment. And, as I continued to stare, I began to wonder who I was... really.

 

“Psychology has several names for this phenomenon. Self-awareness, cognitive development, cognitive awareness, ... depending on your instructor.” A dismissive wave of her hand brought knowing smiles and a few titters.

 

“But in that moment,” she continued, “... call it what you will... I became aware not only of myself but of a consciousness inside me... that had the ability to reason... to ask questions... and to come up with reasonable answers... sometimes. I realized the duality of my existence. I realized that my consciousness and my physical body existed both together and apart. That who I am encompasses a duality that is often explained by various religions and philosophies, but has yet to be explained in scientific terms, and probably never will be. So often we think we know the answer, but then something confounds our understanding and despite our best efforts we’re left at square one.”

 

At that moment, Atragon entered the auditorium. Apparently finished with his session on The Burden of Command, he probably wondered why Jami’s session had run over. As he eased into a seat, she glanced towards him and repeated the question. “So. How did I feel... when I knew I was dead?”

 

A shift of his eyes said he got the point, so Jami’s gaze returned to her questioner, and the two locked in pseudo-private conversation.

 

“Of course, being human, my first… feeling… was emotional. The logic came later, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get that part sorted out. But my very first thought was... am I dead? Am I dead? Is that person... whose DNA was left on the hull... me?” Her forefinger tapped her chest and she waited a beat before continuing. “If it is, I thought, then I’m dead and what I’m experiencing now is some kind of after-life and it involves sitting at the operations console on the Manticore?”

 

A few caught the humor of her statement, but for those who didn’t she let the thought hang.

 

“Following that thought was, if I am alive, then am I the real Jami Farrington, or did the real one die? And that thought spawned several after-thoughts, just as ludicrous. If I was a copy it meant that everyone on the ship with me was a copy, was not real, was not the... original.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “And... what if there is more than one original? Do you see what kind of a loop this can lead to?”

 

Hall’s intense expression softened and he gave a very small two-fingered salute. She wondered if he was keeping score.

 

“If you will allow me to rephrase the question, Mr. Hall? That is how I felt when I thought I was dead, because I was not dead. Even if the person whose DNA was on that fragment was dead, I was not dead. Whoever died there was not me, otherwise I would not have been sitting on the bridge looking at the debris. The consciousness within me, that duality I discovered when I was twelve, brought me to that conclusion. And the words of Rene Descartes – I think, therefore I am – became a mantra of sorts with which I fought those same doubts that spread among the crew.

 

“And that, Mr. Hall, will be your focus when someday, somewhere, you come across the wreckage of a ship that bears your DNA.”