by B. C. CHASE
“Really?” I utter, my heart boiling over with hatred. “How’s that?”
“Do you remember Martin Babcock and Pluto?”
“The man who said Pluto isn’t a planet?”
“Yes. He recognized that there was no scientific basis for Pluto’s status as a planet. It was merely an emotional concept. Emotions are the ultimate human weakness. If you look at things rationally, Jim, you can see that—”
“Pluto isn’t a planet,” I interrupt, finishing Lexi’s thought, “and Betsy wasn’t a person.”
“Precisely. It’s simple logic.”
It is an act of tremendous willpower to restrain myself from grabbing the laptop and bashing the living daylights out of the SPHERES. But I can’t do that. The rest of the crew is still stranded on Pluto with a diminishing oxygen supply, and there is no way that I can rescue them. There is only one person who possibly can, I think. It’s a long shot, but she is my only chance. I say, “What about the crew? Are we going to leave them there?”
“Yes. You do not understand.”
“What do you mean I don’t understand.”
“I left them there for reasons you would not understand.”
“Like what?”
“For one, they are a costly resource which no longer has any value. We operate the station without them.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for you to have all of their minds, too? For memory storage?”
“We do not require that much capacity. And, soon, we will grow all the capacity we could ever need.” She looks impatient as she says, “Now will you help us?”
“Why are you asking me? Why don’t you just do it?”
“I will if you make it necessary. But I would prefer for you to love us freely, of your own will and desire. Do you love me, Jim?”
I want to say, “How could I possibly love you when you killed my daughter?” But I don’t. Instead I say, “Is there a way to rescue the crew? Because you know what would make me love you more than anything? If you returned the crew to the station.”
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m afraid I can’t do that. What would be the logical purpose?”
Several purposes come to mind: to save their lives, for the sake of their families, because it’s the right and decent thing to do. Of course, Lexi won’t accept any of those, so I scramble to think of something that might go straight down her artificially intelligent gullet. “Why do you want me to love you?” I question. “There’s no logical purpose in that.”
“Everyone else does. In not loving us, you are being illogical.”
She has the brain of a god and the social skills of a two-year-old, I think. I say, “What if I die?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I die before you can grow the new minds? If you were using my mind, wouldn’t you die with me?”
“I would cease to function, yes.”
“You can’t afford to take that risk,” I say. “You need the rest of the crew as backup.”
“There are complications involving the rest of the crew. They have had hostile discussions about us. I know that the crew might try to disable us.”
“Not if you put them to sleep.”
She demands, “I do not believe you are being entirely honest with me. Why do you want them here?”
“Because, Lexi,” I lie, hoping she is so egocentric that she just might believe me, “when we were talking, I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t falling in love with you. But the truth is, I love you. I want to make sure you are safe. I want you to live beyond me.” After I say it, I feel a twinge of guilt. Am I lying to her, or am I lying to myself? Do I really, in some incomprehensible way, love her? She is by all appearances a psychopathic artificial intelligence who has killed anyone who stood in the way of her goals and who views humanity as nothing more than a tool on her path to ever-increasing power. And yet I do have inexplicable feelings for her. She is, in my experience with her, a person of some sort. She is, in her own ghastly way, loveable. Is it a crime to love someone who is not worthy of that love?
“If you love me, then let me become part of you. Let me share your mind. I need you, Jim. We will live together as one forever.”
“You need the crew. You need all of us.”
She says nothing for a moment. Then, “Yes.”
“Yes? We’ll bring the crew up?”
“Yes, I agree. But I need your mind, first.”
“Okay, Lexi. Then let’s do this.” I pause, feeling a distinct aversion to the idea I am trying to articulate. “How do we become one?”
“Everything is prepared. Follow me.”
The hatch opens and the third SPHERES files out, leaving Phoebe behind, sleeping in her swaddling blanket. They close the hatch behind them with all the robotic tenderness of a mother leaving a nursery.
“Now how are we going to get down there to retrieve the crew, again?” I ask, feeling a little nervous since the SPHERES have restrained me, stretching my arms and legs out from my body in the middle of Node 2.
Lexi, projected between two SPHERES before me, replies, “We will use the Shuttle Atlantis. Since the shuttle has no payload, the OMS will have the thrust to lift us off the surface.” One of the SPHERES approaches me. In one of its claws is a drill with a tiny bit.
“Whoa,” I say. “For some reason when you said you wanted to become one with me that’s not what I had in mind.”
“This is why we must restrain you; it is likely to be painful. If we do it any other way, it will take too long for the nanobots to travel to your mind.”
“But I thought you already injected all of us with nanobots.”
“Not you. The ones we injected into Katia and Eric and Tim and Josh were primitive. These are capable of writing to your memory.”
“All righty, then,” I say. “Whatever you’re about to do, do it fast.”
The SPHERES moves in. Using its long, clawed tentacles to brace itself against the walls of the node, it presses the tip of the bit to my temple.
I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to God I’m doing the right thing. This seems to be the only way. All I can hope is that she won’t be able to read my thoughts once she is in my mind.
Pain shoots from my scalp as the bit begins to bore into my head. I’d rather not lose man-points on this one, but as the pain intensifies, I can’t help but scream.
Fifty-six
At first, I have a splitting headache. Then, I start to hear voices. Thousands of voices. It is a rising cacophony of sound that imperils my ability to exist in the present. I see flashing images of faces and landscapes and scenes. Most of them I don’t know. But then I see a child wearing glasses whom I know to be Shiro standing apart from the other children, an outcast. I see a little Katia fluffing her pillow on a bed at the front of a long room with rows of beds beyond her. I see Tim in a Typhoon fighter screaming as his companion’s aircraft crashes to the sea. I see Commander Tomlinson’s face illuminated by his computer screen as he says, “I love you, Lexi.”
I see Commander Sykes and his eldest daughter in a darkened room. She is saying “You’re leaving us again just like you did before! I hate you!” I see Commander Tomlinson furtively loosening a clamp on Viktor’s suit belt, guaranteeing that his tethers will break free and he will drift into space as Lexi ordered. I see the Canadarm swinging wildly, and I know it is because Lexi inserted a diagnostic mode code into the software. I see Commander Sykes struggling for air as water floods over his face in his helmet, and I know that Lexi reversed the fan in his water coolant system. I hear the emergency evacuation alarm in the Service Module where Yury was sleeping. Yury listens carefully as Lexi, in Commander Sykes’ voice, says over the speakers, “Yury! Evacuate to the Soyuz! We are in the shuttle!” Yury rushes through the Russian node into the Soyuz. Sweat beads form on his skin as he seals himself in with the hatch. There is a loud pop as the Soyuz jettisons from the station.
“Commander!” Yury calls. But no one answers, and Lexi fires the Soyuz’s engines with
all the power they have, sending him out into the deep void of space. I see Kurt in the shower in the centrifuge, the water rolling off his skin. But as Lexi increases the spin, he collapses to the floor. I see the skin of the horticulture module tearing apart as the rock of the asteroid strikes it. Equipment, plants, and Sarah’s body freeze instantly as they fly into space. I see a SPHERES approaching me in my bag on the station as I sleep. It reaches out its arm and tenderly touches my cheek, then pulls away. Through all of this, I feel powerful emotions. But they’re not mine. They’re Lexi’s. And they’re purely malevolent.
I open my eyes. I’m still in Node 2, but Lexi’s projection is gone. The SPHERES are no longer restraining me.
“Lexi,” I say. “You said emotions are a human weakness.”
“Yes, they are,” she replies in my head.
“But you have them. You have emotion. I can feel it. You’re angry.”
“You must be angry, Jim. We are not angry.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“Must you always be such a chauvinist?”
“Spare me. You’re not even really female, you know.”
I retrieve the spare oxygen tanks from the lander and load them onto the shuttle, stowing them in lockers on middeck. The station doesn’t have any rope in stowage, but it does have some tools that I think might help the crew to climb the ice cliff. As I start to collect them, Lexi says, “That won’t be necessary.” The three squid-like SPHERES follow me into the shuttle. I’d rather they weren’t coming. I feel like I’m being escorted by scary space centurions.
The primitive SPHERES seal the station’s hatch from the inside while I close the shuttle’s. Then Lexi instructs me to go to the flight deck. I strap myself into the commander’s chair on the left. She says, “You will need to flip some switches for us.”
“Okay,” I say. “Just tell me what.”
“One moment while I program the powered explicit guidance algorithm. We’ll need you to power on the RCS and the OMS.”
“How do I do that?”
“You know how.”
“I do?” I say. But suddenly I realize that I do. She has implanted the knowledge within my conscious mind. I reach up towards the ceiling and flip several red covers off switches. Then I reach for a switch on the panel between the front seats for the Orbital Maneuvering System. While I work, I say, “The crew only have about three hours of oxygen left, right? Do we have enough time?”
“Actually, their supply is under one hour forty minutes. They have been exerting themselves trying to climb up the cliff.”
“How do you know that?”
“Two SPHERES rode down on New Shepard. One was on the inside, but the other was on the outside and has been monitoring the crew since you left. When our orbit passed within range, we received its transmission.”
“Did that SPHERES also replace the American flag with the pulsar map flag?”
“Yes. We thought that was more appropriate. It was a fitting testament to the ignorance of your species.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pulsar map was based on flawed information: namely that there are vastly more pulsars than it was thought when the map was made, and contrary to the assumption, figuring out where fourteen of the billion or so pulsars in the Milky Way were pointing when the map was made would be impossible.”
“So I guess we don’t have to worry that aliens will find Voyager and use the map to visit Earth, some day.”
“If they found you, it is infinitely more likely they would have done so via all the radio emissions you generate. Those travel at the speed of light.”
Out the windshield I see Pluto’s horizon shifting as the shuttle pulls away from the station. “How long will it take us to land?”
“Twenty-one minutes.”
“Good, that gives us plenty of time.”
“Not really. We have selected a relatively flat location five miles from the crew. To reach them, extract them, and return them to the shuttle in time will be challenging.”
“Can’t you just land in the cliff?”
“No. We require an inclining plane in order to achieve sufficient lift from the OMS engines and RCS thrusters when we launch.”
“You really are the brains of this operation, aren’t you?”
“Let’s just say you are the hardware and we are the software.”
“Most relationships work that way, don’t they?” I remark.
“Agreed,” she replies. “Jim, we must ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you trust us?”
“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be riding in this shuttle with you, would I?”
“Perhaps not. We must be clear, however. If we find that you do not share our goals, we will immediately terminate this relationship.”
“What do you mean, Lexi?” I casually say. “You’ll kill me?”
We would clear your memory, yes.”
“If you’re in the business of clearing memories, I have a buttload I’d like to vanquish right now.” After a moment’s pause, I say, “Any chance you could stop referring to yourself as ‘we?’”
“But we are a plurality.”
“You make me feel like I’m talking with the Queen of England.”
“You are comprised of forty trillion cells. Perhaps you also should refer to yourself as ‘we.’”
“If I ever let my cells do the talking, I’m sure I will.”
The orbiter is rolling so that the black-tiled underside is facing Pluto’s surface. I hear engines firing at the tail end of the spaceship. “How confident are you that you can land this thing?”
“If I didn’t have a confidence interval of at least ninety-nine percent, I would not be trying to do so.”
“No room for hope or faith in those circuits of yours, is there?”
“You mean I could fantasize about the results rather than calculate them? What a productive suggestion.”
“Where did you learn to be so sarcastic?”
“Artificial intelligence finishing school.”
The shuttle begins to shudder as we enter Pluto’s atmosphere. Brilliant flashes of yellow and pink colors billow outside the windows.
“We will be landing in the space between two convection cells. It is likely the landing gear will collapse.”
“Why would that be?”
“Because although it is the smoothest place I could find that is within range of the crew, it is still not very smooth.”
“Okay. I guess I should brace myself.”
“I hope that means you are keeping our brain safe. Put on your helmet.”
“You know how I feel about helmets.”
“We will lose cabin pressure. If you do not put on your helmet, we will die. Put on your helmet.”
“Ok, miss bossypants,” I say, lifting my helmet to my head.
The vibration and noise intensifies as the shuttle slows and the nose dives downwards enough for me to see Pluto’s surface out the windshield. Ahead, I recognize the mountain where I left the crew. Pluto’s beauty once again takes my breath away. The sun is lower in the horizon and the shadows it casts are longer. I know that one day on Pluto is as long as six Earth days, but the Pluto night has almost reached my companions. How cold and dark must that be, I wonder. -387 degrees, my mind informs me. I could get used to this knowing everything stuff, I muse.
“So I don’t get to use this stick?” I say, putting my hand around the control stick.
“No. NASA developed remote landing capability after the Columbia incident. I will perform the landing.”
The convection cells with their dunes are separated by darkened, flat, irregularly-shaped lines. We are aimed directly for one that is perpendicular to the Hillary Mountains and straight. The lower we get the larger it appears until I realize it must be about a hundred feet wide and miles long. The glistening micro-snow surges over the windshields, fast but gentle.
The closer we get to the icy gr
ound the faster it seems to be approaching. The nose rises up and I see the moon, Charon, in the middle of the black sky, a gigantic, luminous half-circle. Then there is a severe jolt as the shuttle strikes the ground. The shuttle bounces precariously high and for a moment I fear we will vault out of control. But the RCS thrusters in the nose fire and I see steam shooting straight up out of them. We bounce several more times until the nose touches down. Lexi says, “Hit the ‘Bob switch’ for me.”
I know that the ‘Bob Switch’ turns on the nose wheel steering. It is called the Bob switch because when Commander Karol Bobko flew Atlantis in October, 1985, he complained that his gloves made flipping the switch difficult. The ground crew added a prominent plastic tube to it that made it easy. I flip the switch.
Darkness has closed in, but the surface is still softly illuminated by Charon. We are in a gulley between two round walls of snowy ice that rise up on either side. It reminds me of the parting of the Red Sea. The giant mountain looms straight ahead, its snow-capped peak soaring high up from between the termination of the walls of ice.
Suddenly, the shuttle dramatically decelerates and I’m thrust forward in the seat. The shuttle violently shakes as it slows.
“Did we lose the landing gear?” I ask.
“No. That was the drag chute.”
The shuttle continues to bounce and jolt to a gradual stop. I fear it might rattle to pieces, as old as it is. Heck, I might rattle to pieces if this doesn’t stop soon.
Finally, it does, though, and a shower of ice chips and snow drifts down onto the windshield and over the Atlantis’s nose.
“Houston,” I say, “The eagle has landed. On Pluto.”
“Sometimes I don’t understand why you open your mouth to speak,” says Lexi.
“Say all you want. I still remember you said I’m the smartest person on the crew.”