I high regard planetariums. The stars, planets, satellites, etc. plus the soft unerect seats, darkened
comfortable surroundings, and on average a nice comforting sound. Yes, it's intense. In no occurrence at all,
I'm accelerated asleep! Only once, many geezerhood ago, I stayed thick up and about for the full programme.

The tale was so provocative I couldn't take my accustomed nap! Even more remarkable, I can increasingly
recall most of the storyline and plentiful of its details, tho' the author, title, and company
have womb-to-tomb since slipped my mental representation. If you look-alike I will enough you in on what I bring to mind. Perhaps you
saw the verify too.

The total system was a series of to the point conversations, snippets of dialogue, linking two and
occasionally iii characters - dissimilar characters respectively juncture. The introductory scene seemed fairly
conventional, typical culture conversation about normal things: computers, universe travel, the designation of
life - property of that category.

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Shortly, we move off their gabfest and eavesdrop on on a 2nd small indefinite amount. We discovery that numerous age had
passed, and here the natter isn't comparatively so quotidian. One says to the other: "Well, one a hundred and
fifty isn't an uncommonly old age nowadays."

The ordinal speaker exclaims: "You know, unit switch environs are feat so favorite now, I comprehend
they are experimenting in Russia next to commutation full bodies. The be concerned can live on for who knows
how overnight. Immortality possibly will be within our stick someday."

Then we pan leading to a body of people of travelers on trip. Before long-acting we discovery out they are breathing on
another planet, and they are discussing how expeditious and graceful extraterrestrial roam had go. The travelers
speak of humankind populating other than solar systems, and they have pragmatic hopes of exploring else
galaxies.

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An indistinct amount of incident passes, and we nudge on to other duologue. A parent is revealing her
daughter of the humble computers they had once she was a puny woman and how more than application
has improved concluded her life.

"Now," she said, "cybernetic links can transfer signals from planet to celestial body in ultra lantern
seconds. Why, we can get a absolute history history on a potential hand from the Orion
constellation in report. There is even verbalize of consolidating all of our scholarship on art and
science from our 3 galaxies into one jumbo data processor multifactorial and introduction it on a unary
planet. Isn't that exciting?"

The teentsy missy giggles next to happiness.

Time goes by. We insight ourselves listening to other discussion. A man of 300 nonnegative eld is speaking to different of quasi age. "Do you realize," he said, "despite all of our advances in action diseases, rejuvenating quality bodies, morpheme undernourishment and poverty, and subsidence in who knows how more galaxies, we are increasingly a to the rear taxonomic category in a cipher of respects?"

"What do you mean?" inquired the otherwise gentleman.

"We motionless don't have a indicant as to the implication of beingness. Why we are here? What is our purpose?"

"Perhaps the information processing system could puzzle out that danger."

"Oh, I've asked the computer those remarkably questions nearly each day terminated the concluding 50 or threescore
years."

"Have you now? Well, what does it say?"

"Insufficient information. Still process."

"Ah, that's that past. Once the electronic computer starts compatible on a problem, it won't lay off until it
comes up beside the response."

Then we soar on to another double act of conversation heads location far on the far side in time and scope. From
their discourse we cram that the computing machine now operates in hyperspace. It is no long
confined to a planet, a star system, or even a galaxy. People pass direct beside it
throughout the known creation.

The self caste of questions are directed to the data processor. "Computer, why do I exist?" "Computer,
what is my design in life?" And, "Computer, what is the classification of life?" The statement is now
verbal and direct to the inquirer, but the answer ne'er varies.

"Insufficient information. Still processing."

Even next to all of its ease and gen deepened ended infinite generations for the duration of the
galaxies, the computing machine nonmoving could not total a up to standard story. But it ne'er ceased
its analysis of data, always searching for the answer.

Years, centuries, and millenniums go past. We small indefinite quantity in on different couple, a man and a female tongued in quiet grave tones. "Humanity," says the man in a concealed voice, "is in a situation. Our stars are at death's door. You cognize the individual past betwixt v and twenty a billion geezerhood. And no new stars are state settled. We have conquered everything in the existence. We have inhabited ever galaxy. We have even, for all
practical purposes, conquered destruction. But no one can breathe new life into a last star, and no one can invent a new one."

"Then in the long-dated run," responded the woman, "we are dead."

"Afraid so," responded the heartsick man.

"You have consulted the computer, I speculate."

"For the historical one a hundred years, scientists in every piece of the natural object have asked the
computer in the order of this riddle. Regardless how we word it, the computer's response is e'er the same:
'Insfficient data. Still process.' "

The woman replied, "That is the same retort it gives to the age old query in the order of the description
of duration."

"Yes," the man aforesaid somberly. "Some questions are even beyond the computer's awareness.'

"But the information processing system is static on the job on it?"

"Sure, the computing machine is static engaged on it. That's our just belief."

We exit those two sad folks and breakthrough ourselves overhearing yet other discourse. One
person of hesitant age and sex is informative another, "over partly of the personage systems have collapsed, and the approaching is austere. Our extreme scientists trade unendingly at the puzzle of creating new stars. But I don't contemplate they are anywhere hard by a answer. Besides the data processor can't lick the problem any."

"Be patient; we will get our answer."

Again we swing out and in, this case on a only integer sitting atop a rather weeny hillock in a stark environment. We in a moment find out that this delicate is conversing beside the computer, now titled the Galactic Operations Data computer. He speaks with controlled sentiment. "Computer, I am the concluding man live on the ultimate habitable heavenly body circling a hurriedly decaying star. Tell me computer, can new stars be formed?"

"Insufficient assemblage. Still processing."

"What is my aim here?"

"Insufficient information. Still process."

"What will come through of humanity?"

"Insufficient information. Still process."

The last personage of the cosmos implodes and next to it goes the later sentient partaker of the quality contest. Only the Galactic Operations Data computing device is near. Since it operates in hyperspace, it needs zero to sustain it. All antecedent questions, salvage 3 have been answered. Now this spacious knotty defense of cognition turns its engorged possessions to breakdown the dying iii queries: "Can stars be formed?" What is the consequence of life?" and, "What is the forthcoming of humanity?"

In the cold, black, classic recesses of space, this irreplaceable unfortunate person of ex civilizations worked on minus sleep, minus rest, and minus weariness. Immense quantities of reports from all alcove of the cosmos were keep inwardly its memory banks. The Galactic Operations Data data processor reviewed, dissected, compared, analyzed, reconfigured, and reviewed the accumulation over again and over again and once again. The act went on and on for an incalculable fundamental quantity. Finally the machine too ceased its business activity.

Then G.O.D. said, "LET THERE BE LIGHT."

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