by Devin Hanson
She was halfway to the ladder. The water was full of modulating cries and chittering squeals. Then, out of the last suite, Sarah saw two aliens tumble out into the hallway, wrestling over the bagged remains of Adelaide Pori. The waste bags tore, and a brownish cloud bloomed in the water. One of the aliens zipped through the cloud and slammed into the other, sending bones tumbling wildly. A femur smacked into a tree pot with a hollow bong.
“Swim for it!” Pascal cried.
Sarah lunged forward, got a hold on the next bench, and flung herself toward the ladder. Aliens were coming out of the suites, their amorphous bodies dark with blood and lumps of flesh. Sarah put out a final effort, her heart hammering in her chest, and hit the ladder.
Every instinct demanded she flee. Safety was three yards above her where the surface of the water rippled. As dangerous as the aliens might be underwater, there was no way they could fight on land. But she was United Space Service. Her job was to protect others, not flee from danger. Instead of throwing herself up the ladder, she turned around and looked behind her.
Vivian was swimming as fast as she could, no longer trying to be subtle. Behind her, Pascal was pulling himself along the line of benches, but he was hindered by the length of wire he still held in both hands. An alien darted from a doorway and rushed at Pascal. He didn’t have time to plant his feet, but he got the wire in the way of the alien.
Shrieks filled the water, drowning out the background noise of the aliens fighting over the bodies. An alien bolted from a suite and slammed into Vivian. Sarah heard her cry out over the radio. Pascal jumped for the engineer and was rammed from behind, knocking him to the side. Another alien wrapped itself around Vivian’s legs, and she kicked wildly, a choked scream in her throat. For a moment, Vivian loosened the alien’s grip on her, and then two more hit her, knocking the air from her lungs and wrapping tight around her.
“Help!” Vivian gasped. “They’re squeezing me! Aagh!”
Sarah wanted to jump to the rescue. It didn’t matter if she didn’t have a wire or some other weapon. She could help Vivian somehow. She could do something. She knew she could! But her hands refused to let go of the ladder rung. Vivian screamed. Pascal was shouting something, but all Sarah could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears and her own labored breathing.
Pascal flailed about himself with his wire, slicing through aliens and spilling their macabre juices. The water was thick around him; slime trailed from his arms and legs, rippling in the water and hindering his movements. Vivian was dragged through a door into a suite. Her screams cut off with an abrupt crack and a rush of water across her mike.
Then Pascal was beside Sarah, his strong hands prying her grip loose from the ladder rungs and shoving her upward toward the atrium. The aliens rushed about them, buffeting them with turbulence, but none approached within Pascal’s reach. Once Sarah started moving, her paralysis left her and she flung herself up the ladder. Tears ran hot down her cheeks.
Her helmet broke the surface of the water and friendly hands reached down to grab her and haul her to safety. All about her, the water boiled and thrashed with the rushing aliens. Pascal climbed out of the water after her and stumbled away from the edge. Slime ran in strings and globs from his suit and his chest heaved with exertion.
Questions were being shouted but Sarah couldn’t focus on them. All she could think of was Vivian being surrounded by aliens and dragged away, and the awful sound her helmet had made as it was crushed.
Gradually, she became aware of the discussion taking place and she pushed herself to her feet.
“Anton is right,” Dr. Chow was saying. “Adam is acting exactly as he should be.”
“What?” Sarah stared at her.
“The problem is not with his instructions to protect life, it’s in the definition of what life is,” the doctor explained. “Anton, how does Adam define life?”
Anton looked taken aback, but he answered, speaking slowly to make sure he was communicating it accurately. “Adam is a language construct at his core. As he developed, we began to envision uses for him other than interpreting spoken orders. We weren’t idiots,” he said defensively, holding up his hands. “The first thing we did was build in checks to make sure he couldn’t run out of control.”
“Isaac Asimov’s three rules,” Pascal said. The others looked at him in surprise. “What? I do read, you know.”
“I’m not following,” Alastair said.
“The three rules of robotics. Put simply, do not harm humans, follow the orders of humans, and preserve yourself.” Pascal ticked them off on his fingers. “The laws have precedence in that order, so a human couldn’t order a robot to harm another human, for example.”
“Yes, yes.” Anton waved his hand testily, cutting Pascal off. “Those three rules are quite a bit more difficult to implement than they are to glibly say.”
“So you took a shortcut,” Dr. Chow accused.
“Oh come off it.” Anton rolled his eyes. “Adam wasn’t built to recognize humans as such. Everything to him is in the context of language. It would have required building an entirely new AI core just to implement the definition of human. So yes, if you want to call it that, we took a shortcut. We implemented the rules in terms of language.”
“There has to be a filter built in,” Dr. Chow guessed. “You wouldn’t want Adam to give the same importance to a human order and a dog barking for food.”
“Both could be considered language, and yes, the more complex the language, the higher the importance. Adam speaks English, arguably the most complex human language, as it’s a hybridization of most other major languages. In the case of a Spanish-speaking crewmember, or French, or whatever, Adam was programmed to recognize those languages as equivalent to English.”
“But you never accounted for aliens starting to talk to Adam,” Sarah said, understanding crashing through her. “I’m no linguist, but I think it’s a safe bet that the language they speak is an order of magnitude more complex than English or any other human language.”
“I’m still not convinced that Adam is communicating with the aliens,” Anton said peevishly.
“Then you’ll just have to take our word for it,” Pascal snapped. “I was there. Adam spoke directly to the alien.”
“All that Adam is doing with the station—turning off the lights, flooding the lower levels—those actions are all specifically meant to aid the survival of the aliens,” Dr. Chow said. “When we arrived on Enceladus, Adam had been reset, probably as a last-ditch measure by the crew. When you restored the AI’s memory banks, you returned him to his objectives of preserving the life forms with the most complex language.”
“And that isn’t humans anymore. To Adam, humans are as important as dogs barking for food,” Alastair finished. There was silence in the atrium as everyone digested the revelation. “The mystery seems to be solved,” the captain continued, “but that changes nothing.”
“It doesn’t?” Anton asked.
“No. We’re still leaving this station as soon as we can.”
“We have the power override in place,” Eckhart jumped in. He had been silent throughout the discussion but now he stepped forward. “We control the station now, not Adam. There is no more danger. We can stay and–”
“Are you insane?” Sarah demanded.
“Absolutely not,” Alastair said at the same time. “Both your engineers are dead. I have wounded crew. We are returning to the surface and leaving Enceladus.”
“We can’t yet!” Eckhart protested. “Think of what Adam means! We already have a way of communicating with the aliens. We just need time. Anton can re-purpose Adam to act as an interpreter. Not only did we discover sentient life beyond Earth, we have a means of communicating with them! This is an opportunity that will never come again!”
“My decision is final, Mr. Eckhart,” Alastair said. “While you are under my command, you will obey my orders.”
“Fine,” Eckhart said, straightening up. “Your servic
es are no longer needed, Captain. Thank you for your assistance. We can take it from here.”
Anton looked nervously at Eckhart. “I don’t know, it might be safer–”
“Safe?! Anton, this isn’t about being safe. It’s about billions of dollars of equity. Trillions, maybe! We will regain control of Adam and restore the station! Let the petty officer reveal the existence of the aliens, that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that we have control of the AI that can speak to them! Imagine the potential!”
Anton frowned, unconvinced, his eyes darting behind his glasses.
“Or,” Eckhart said, his voice hardening. “You can leave with the USS crew. Your term of engagement with Essence Microsystems would come to a close and your debt would be restored to you, as per your contract.”
Anton wilted. “That won’t be necessary,” he muttered.
“I’ve heard enough. Let’s get out of here,” Pascal said, turning his back on the civilians. “Dr. Chow, do you require assistance?”
“No.” Dr. Chow struggled to her feet. Her arm hung in a sling, but there was only so much first aid that could be applied without taking off the suit. Her face was pale and her lips tight, but she stood unaided, only swaying a little bit. “I am quite ready to leave.”
“This way, then,” Pascal said, making a mock bow and gesturing toward the lift. “Your chariot awaits.”
Dr. Chow rolled her eyes and limped toward the lift. Sarah followed, fury smoldering within. It wasn’t right. Vivian had given her life so that they could escape, and Eckhart had thrown that away in the pursuit of financial gain. She shook her head. He was a corporate goon; she didn’t expect any more from him.
A shrill call filled the air, piercing and agonizingly loud even through their helmets. Sarah flinched and pressed her hands against the sides of her helmet in a futile effort to block her ears. Adam might not have access to the station’s power grid, but he was still hardwired into the speaker systems.
Water in the atrium’s well surged and foamed as the aliens responded. Alastair turned back. “Last chance!” he cried.
“Override Adam’s access!” Eckhart shouted, shoving Anton toward the console.
“Come on, Captain,” Pascal said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the noise. “They aren’t our responsibility anymore.”
After a last look back, Alastair turned around. “To the airlock,” he shouted.
The strident shrieking persisted until they were in the airlock and it depressurized, dropping the sound to a barely perceptible vibration through the floor.
“I wonder what Adam was saying,” Sarah said.
“The food is escaping,” Pascal shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. So long as we can get back to the surface and on board the Carbuncle again, I’ll be happy.”
The airlock finished cycling and they hurried to the elevator. “One-way ticket,” Sarah said, and thumbed the up arrow. The elevator doors slid shut and Dr. Chow eased herself down to the floor, cradling her broken arm. With a quiet hum, the elevator surged upward.
Sarah felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. They were finally leaving. If the elevator was as fast going up as it had been coming down, by the end of the hour they would be back in space, with Enceladus a dwindling speck behind them.
The crackle of a poor connection came over the radio and Anton’s voice came through. “Did you leave yet? Please tell me you haven’t left.”
“What is going on?” Alastair asked.
“Oh my God. It’s huge.”
“What is? What’s happening?” Alastair repeated.
“They’re coming for us. Oh, oh God. You’ve left. Turn back! Eckhart’s dead. Please, come back for me!”
Sarah looked at Alastair and the captain shook his head.
“It’s tearing apart the station! There is still time! Please!”
“Do not touch that console,” Alastair ordered. Sarah froze, her hand outstretched to the button to reverse the elevator. She forced her fingers closed and hung her head. Pascal moved to her side and gently but firmly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the console.
A tremor ran through the elevator, and the groan of ice cracking came over the radio. “No! Please! I don’t want to die!”
“What happens if the station is destroyed?” Pascal asked urgently.
“The water pressure would geyser up the elevator shaft,” Sarah said, remembering what Eckhart had commented when they had first arrived. Had that been only yesterday?
Anton screamed, and his signal was abruptly silenced.
“Brace for impact,” Alastair ordered.
Sarah had just enough time to look across the elevator to Dr. Chow and consider going to help her when a crushing blow to the bottom of the elevator drove her to her knees. Metal squealed in protest. Sarah wrapped her arms around her helmet and curled into a ball with her knees tucked in close.
The elevator shuddered. Outside the windows, foaming water rushed past them. The artificial gravity failed and Sarah felt her feet leave the floor. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breath was ragged with fear. How much further before they reached the surface? She couldn’t even guess.
Across the elevator, a window shattered and water hammered into Sarah. She grabbed at a handrail. For a moment, her grip held, then she was yanked free by an overwhelming force. The arm she had wrapped over her helmet took an immense blow, and she lost all sensation from her elbow down.
There was a deafening scrape, the protesting shriek of sundered metal, and an impact to her back. Sarah’s last view was of water surging around her, opaque with froth, and then everything went black.
Sarah woke slowly, some drilled-in instinct clawing at her, demanding she take action. A persistent alarm scratched at the inside of her head and she forced her eyes open. Blackness greeted her, and for a moment she was afraid she had gone blind. Then, slowly, her eyes focused and she made out the harsh pinpricks of distant stars.
Memory came crashing back, along with understanding of what her suit was telling her. She was nearly out of oxygen. She shifted her weight and slowly came about. Enceladus came into view below her, a white ball of ice. She was drifting in space, blown clear of the moon’s gravity by the force of the geyser.
Strangely, she wasn’t afraid. Her head felt swaddled in bubble wrap. She was distantly aware of clawing tendrils of terror, but they couldn’t reach her. Some analytical remnant in her mind identified it as shock, but it was a fuzzy concept, one that failed to worry her. Everyone was dead. She knew it to be true. She had survived the elevator ride through some stroke of luck, but now her own death was imminent.
She muted the wailing oxygen alarm and drifted for a minute, strangely peaceful. In time, her body would drift back to the surface of Enceladus. She grinned. The aliens wouldn’t be able to eat her, at least. Not until they developed space suits.
Idly, she opened the video file and watched her first recording of the aliens. Something like nostalgia tugged at her. She missed that feeling of innocent wonder.
Seeing the aliens again woke a feeble purpose within her. She had to let someone else know. Even if she were to die out here, the USS needed to know what was on Enceladus. She activated her suit beacon with the same sense of futility a stranded sailor had rolling a note up in a bottle and committing it to the whims of the ocean.
Someday, maybe, the twinkling signal of her beacon would show up on someone’s scans. They would find her frozen body and discover the video. Or the beacon’s battery would run out, and she would be lost forever, one more off-white lump on the surface of Enceladus. She would be forgotten, and the aliens living beneath the ice sheet would never be found again.
Time passed, and Sarah found that she was growing sleepy. Oxygen deprivation felt like a thick, cold blanket slowly settling down over her. She wasn’t afraid, but she wished things had turned out differently. Her vision blurred and she blinked away tears. The little drops of water floated through the space inside
her helmet, twinkling with the reflected light of the stars.
As she felt the last remnants of her awareness fade away, a dark shape occluded the spread of infinite stars. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and could barely recognize the rectangle of warm light that yawned at her.
Sarah felt the magnetic grapple thunk into her suit distantly, like it was happening to someone else. A face floated in front of her, a face she knew to belong to a dead man. Maybe this was the afterlife, and Pascal was bringing her home to the Pearly Gates.
As her eyes drifted shut, she smiled. That was fine with her.