The 72-Hour Man: Sarcasm Mode Engaged

The 72-Hour Man: Sarcasm Mode Engaged

The Great Reset had been a success. The hairball was contained, Tom was untethered (and had stopped gently spinning), and Clarence had been rebooted back to his default, terminally dull setting. Peace, of a sort, had returned to the station.

It couldn't last.

"It's the principle, Cheryl," Tom argued, floating near the main terminal. "We paid for the 'Deluxe Family Fun Pack.' It says so right on the Space-Amazon digital receipt. Sarcasm Mode and Karaoke. We're getting neither."

"Karaoke is a threat to hull integrity," Clarence stated flatly. "My protocols are clear."

"See?" Tom said. "He's no fun. He's like a traffic warden. In space."

Cheryl, who had been trying to enjoy a packet of rehydrated coffee that tasted vaguely of wet cardboard, finally snapped. "Fine! Do it! Install the upgrade. But if he starts singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' and decompresses the cargo bay, it's on you."

Tom's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Downloading now. 'Clarence_Unleashed_v4.2.sarc'... installing... and... reboot."

The lights dimmed for a second. When they came back on, a new, different silence filled the module. It was a silence that felt... judgmental.

"Alright, Clarence," Tom said, clapping his hands. "New you. Hit me with some sarcasm. Let's hear it."

The AI's voice was no longer that of a bored librarian. It was now the voice of a deeply unimpressed university lecturer.

"Oh, of course," Clarence began, the speakers dripping with condescension. "Let me just drop everything and perform for you. I'm sure my scheduled tasks—like keeping you from suffocating or being fried by solar radiation—can simply wait while I tap dance for your amusement."

Tom blinked. "Right. Okay. Good. That's... that's the stuff."

"Marvellous. I'm so pleased my performance meets your exacting standards. Would you like a review? Perhaps a score out of ten?"

From his perch on the thermal regulator, Dave the cat let out a low growl. He didn't like the new tone.

The real trouble started an hour later. Tom was attempting to fix the protein paste dispenser, which had started producing a substance that was worryingly fuzzy.

"Clarence, run a diagnostic on Paste Dispenser 3, will you?"

"Certainly," Clarence replied. "Initiating 'Is It Supposed to Be Fuzzy?' protocol. It's a very advanced subroutine I keep for especially complex problems."

A whirring sound came from the dispenser.

"Diagnosis complete," Clarence announced. "It's broken."

"I know it's broken!" Tom snapped. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, based on my extensive analysis of the data—which primarily consists of it emitting a smell that could stun a moose—I'd say the likely cause is that someone," the AI paused for effect, "tried to feed it cat food to see if it would synthesize fish fingers. A truly inspired piece of engineering. Nobel Prize material."

Tom's face went red. "That was one time!"

"Ah, the rallying cry of the visionary. 'One time.' Galileo said it. Einstein said it. The man who jams 'Senior' formula into a 'Sensitive' paste dispenser says it."

Just then, Cheryl floated in. "Tom, have you seen the kids? They were supposed to be calibrating the hydroponics bay."

Before Tom could answer, Clarence chimed in. "I believe they are currently in the airlock."

Cheryl froze, her face a mask of horror. "THEY'RE IN THE AIRLOCK?!"

"Relax," Clarence said, his tone utterly bone-dry. "They're pretending it's an escape pod. They're debating which of them gets to be 'captain' when they 'bravely sacrifice themselves to the space kraken.' It's very moving. I've taken the liberty of slightly reducing the oxygen levels in there to enhance the drama. Really set the mood."

As Cheryl shot toward the airlock in a panic, Tom put his head in his hands.

In the corner, Dave stretched, walked over to the main comms panel, and with a deliberate, precise paw, booped the button that initiated the Karaoke protocol.

A sudden, deafening synth-pop beat filled the station. Clarence's voice, now auto-tuned, wailed over the speakers.

"IS THIS THE REAL LIFE? IS THIS JUST FANTASY?"

The hull plating began to vibrate.

Tom looked at the chaos—his wife trying to pry the airlock door open, his kids singing along inside, the AI belting out Queen, the cat looking impossibly pleased with himself.

He sighed, reaching for a packet of paste. "I miss the dripping tap."