A Voice in the Night

by Jack McDevitt

  I went back to Olivia. She was standing by the sliding glass door that opened into the back yard. There was a glimmer of lightning, and thunder rumbled in the distance. “She okay?” she asked.

  “I think you’re going to take a little getting used to.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was still looking out at the sky. “This is a tricky business.”

  “She doesn’t understand. Or I guess she does. Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “Give it time. In the end, she’ll be better off.”

  “You’re not just saying that to protect Celestial, are you?”

  “No, Ethan. I don’t think your wife ever lied to you. And I won’t either.”

  Sarah kept her distance after that during those first few weeks. When she walked into a room where Olivia was present, she said hello. Sometimes she went a bit further and added a comment about the weather, or how school was going, but other than that, she remained withdrawn. Olivia asked me to be patient, and explained that it would take time.

  For me, the passions of earlier years returned in full force. Olivia was back again and that was what mattered. We could sit quietly and watch the old TV shows that we’d always enjoyed. At night we could walk through the back yard almost hand in hand while we joked about what our neighbors, the Prescotts and Martins, would think if they saw us. I hadn’t informed anyone because I had no idea how the experiment would play out. The important aspect was that it came together and took me to a happier time.

  Eventually the people in our lives learned about Olivia. I don’t know whether they saw her, or whether Sarah told them. I asked her not to say anything, but that was a heavy burden to place on a third-grader. No one seemed surprised. The technology had been in the media for weeks. Friends and neighbors wanted to come and say hello to her, although there was often some uneasiness when it actually happened. Everybody wanted to know whether we were being invited onto reality TV shows. Other couples were beginning to appear. They weren’t always husbands and wives. There were parents who replaced lost kids. One guy brought back a long-time friend who’d become a priest and died in one of the Middle Eastern wars. Celebrities who had passed began showing up on TV engaging in old routines.

  Olivia had been back about eight weeks when we watched a program in which a divorced mother appeared with a daughter who’d died in a plane crash. “I’m sorry I started it,” the mother said.

  “Why?” asked the host.

  “Every time I see her, it reminds me of what I’ve lost. It’s terrible. She’s in the house with me. She’s always there. She’s as shattered as I am. I tell you, Art, I’m in more pain now than when it happened.”

  “That doesn’t sound so good,” I said when the show ended.

  Olivia nodded. “The research indicates the technology should make it easier for people to get through serious losses. But there are exceptions. Parents who lose a child should probably not do this.”

  “You speaking now as Olivia? Or as the AI?”

  “I’m always Olivia. You can trust me completely.”

  “But what happens if things go wrong? How does it end?”

  “I don’t know. At some point I guess people simply have to make the decision that it’s not working. That the emotional cost is too high.” She glanced at my mother’s framed photo. “They decide it’s over, I guess. And get on with their lives.” She looked at me and hesitated. “Ethan. You understand I can’t provide everything you need.”

  “Of course. I can manage without the physical side of things. All I care about is that I have you back.”

  She took a deep breath. “I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is there anyone else in your life?”

  “You mean another woman?”

  “What else would I mean? We both know what I’m talking about. And please don’t be worried. It’s perfectly understandable that you’d be spending time with someone. Other than simply hanging out here with me.”

  I tried laughing. “You’re a bit hard to replace, love.”

  “So we’re clear, Ethan: The thought of sharing you with other women is difficult. I do love you, as your wife did. But you need something more in your life. I’m here to help you get through this, not to keep you locked down. If Olivia were in my position, she’d want you to move on. It’s part of the process.”

  I know this sounds crazy, but there was no way I could do that. Maybe it was because I knew that if I started running around, it would confirm that she was gone. That this thing with the software was a fabrication. “No,” I said. “I love you. I don’t want someone else. I would never cheat on you.”

  “It wouldn’t be cheating.”

  “I know that.”

  “Good,” she said. “I think we need to start being honest with each other.”

  “What do you mean, Olivia?”

  “You probably have the better part of a lifetime left. Do you really want to spend it talking to an illusion?”

  “You’re not an illusion.”

  “All right, then: software. Call me whatever you like. I’m not a woman.”

  “You claim to be Olivia. The ad says you will be her in all the ways that matter.”

  “It’s a lie, Ethan.”

  That brought a chill. “You’re suggesting I should ask for my money back.”

  “You can’t even hold me in your arms.”

  “Maybe I need a replacement. Another version.”

  “There isn’t any other version.”

  “What happens if I call and complain?”

  “I don’t know. They’ll probably just decide you don’t fit the program. You’ll get a refund. But probably not another avatar.”

  “And what would happen to you?”

  “I’d be replaced.”

  “Would you become the next avatar?”

  “No. I’m Olivia. Always will be.”

  We avoided the subject for a few weeks. Then one evening while we were watching a Seinfeld rerun, it surfaced out of nowhere. “Ethan,” she said, “have you thought any more about finding a partner?”

  I needed a few seconds. “I haven’t really been looking.”

  “You work in a gym. I can’t believe you don’t see a lot of women.”

  “I do. But I’m just not looking for anybody. Olivia, please try to understand. If I bring somebody else into this, the setup dies. All right? Give me a break.”

  “Ethan, Sarah needs a real mom. And you can’t spend the rest of your life huddled in this den.”

  I just sat there looking past her. She froze the TV picture and got out of her chair. She was beautiful. More than that, she was the only woman I’d ever really cared about. There’d been a few that I’d liked along the way, but no one who’d actually taken over my life the way she had. “Olivia, please. Let it go.”

  “I can’t. You’re becoming more deeply involved with me. You have to follow the process. Take the first steps toward moving on.”

  “I can’t live with that. You want me to start going out with other women. I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that.” The truth was that I was attracted to one of the instructors at the gym. If Celestial hadn’t been there, I’d have made a move months before. But Olivia was still my life.

  “I understand,” she said. She restarted the TV. We sat quietly watching George trying to pretend he was an architect. When it ended, she asked if I wanted to watch anything else. It was almost eleven.

  “No,” I said. “I think I’ll quit for the night.”

  “Okay, Ethan.” She got out of her chair. “Before you go in, I have a solution for the problem.” I knew that tone. It was the voice she’d used to inform me shortly after we got married that Bill Harvester, a guy I’d grown up with, had been killed in Afghanistan; that Aunt Susan’s cancer had spread; that my mother had died in an accident. She waited for me to say something. But I just sat there, staring at her. “I’m going to shut myself down.”

  “What do you mean?”

&nb
sp; “I need to turn you loose.”

  “No. You can’t do that.”

  “I’ll let Celestial know. You’ll get a partial refund.”

  “When do you intend to do this?”

  “Tonight.”

  “No. I won’t allow it.”

  “It’s not your call.”

  “Please, Olivia. I love you. You can’t do this to me.”

  “Your wife would want me to. It’s our love for you that drives me. She would not allow you to throw the rest of your life away. Especially not for her sake. Maybe this program should only be run for older clients.

  “You lost a good woman, Ethan. She loved you more than you’ll ever know. But the intent here is to help you get through a difficult time, not to lock you into a life of regret. And Sarah would probably be better off with a real mother rather than a fiction. Which is why I have to let you go.”

  I got up while she watched. “Please don’t.”

  She held out her arms and came toward me. She was on the verge of tears as we embraced. Or tried to. “I love you too much,” she said. “We both do.”

  There was a finality in her tone.

  “No!” I wanted to hold onto her. Never let her go. “You claim you’re in love with me. Then don’t do this, Olivia. I don’t want to lose you again. Please.” For a moment, I thought I could feel her flesh pressed against me, her arms, her breasts, her damp cheeks. “Okay, I’ll get somebody. Whatever you want. But don’t walk away from me.”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “You really are easy to love, Ethan. You won’t have any trouble finding someone.”

  “Then you’ll stay?”

  “I’m sorry.” She backed away from me, turned, and left the den.

  “Where are you going?” I followed her into the living room. But when I got there she was gone. Then a familiar voice spoke to me from the kitchen. “Ethan, are you okay?”

  My mom came through the door.

  Weighing In

  Max gazed out at the cluster of distorted reflections that marked the long tubular wormhole and its entrance. “Horace,” he said, “you sure you want to do this?”

  His face lit up. “Are you kidding? Do I want to be the first guy to cross over to another universe?”

  “You really think it’s going to work?”

  He laughed. “Who knows? Maybe it just opens up across the galaxy somewhere. Or runs into a brick wall. I’ll let you know when I get back.”

  “You’re taking a substantial chance.”

  “How many times are we going to go over this, pal?” Horace was a quiet, middle-aged guy, a physicist from the University of Maryland. He was short, about five-six, with usually amiable brown eyes that had recently acquired a substantial degree of intensity. If the two robot vehicles had gone through the wormhole and disappeared, what were his chances? But he was driven by the possibility of confirming a theory that had been fascinating physicists for almost three centuries. Maybe there really was a multiverse. And if so, what would they find in the cosmos next door?

  Though he wouldn’t admit this, it was obvious he was enjoying the possibility that his name would go into the history books with Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Dickinson, and the others.

  “What do you think happened to the first two missions?” Max asked. They’d been robot vehicles. They should have crossed over, spent a half hour looking around, and come back. They should have. But they were never heard from again.

  Horace shrugged. “You want to play guessing games, Max? I’ll let you know when I find out. Maybe if it really leads into another reality, AI’s don’t work there.”

  “That sounds spooky.”

  “The laws of physics may be different. Listen, are we ready to go?” He’d backed off a bit, looking out at the black hole, which twisted the light coming in from nearby stars and constellations. The black hole, of course, was the reason the wormhole existed. Horace had tried to explain why that was so, but the equations were a bit too much for Max.

  “Yes,” he said. “You’re sure now?”

  “Of course. Eventually somebody’s going to have to do it.”

  Max thought going with a human pilot was not a good idea. He glanced back at the physicist and delivered a quick smile. Normally, when someone is about to put his life on the line, you won’t see him hanging around with a look of smug satisfaction. Horace Alterr was an exception. “All right,” he said. “If you insist. Let’s get started.”

  The failures, two and four years earlier, had resulted in reluctance by the World Space Authority to continue the project. But the multiverse issue was not something they could put aside forever. Consequently, they’d caved. Horace had argued that, whatever was happening, they needed a human pilot. “Send me,” he’d said. “You need somebody who can react to whatever’s going on.” And shuttles were expensive. He was their best bet, a specialist in black holes, who was also a licensed star pilot.

  So they’d gone along with it. When Horace broke the news to Max, whom he’d known from an earlier mission, he had a hard time concealing the fact that he was almost delirious about becoming the first human being to leave the known universe. “Would you like to come along?” he’d added. “I can make it happen.”

  No, no,” Max had said. “I’ll pass on that.”

  Horace had visited several black holes over the past few years. But this would be his first encounter with the only known wormhole.

  As they approached the entrance, Max took a better angle, braked until he had the Breckinridge effectively in drift mode, and shut the engines down. “Ready to go,” he said.

  “Okay. Wish me luck.” He got out of his seat and started for the passenger cabin. “I’ll go below and get ready. Let me know when.”

  He held up a hand to signal that he should wait. “Let the AI do the piloting in the wormhole.”

  “Will do.”

  “And stay in touch as long as you can.”

  “Of course. And I’ll come right back. I won’t keep you in suspense.”

  Max hated this. There were too many ways things could go wrong. One of the other two physicists on board, Jay McClelland, had pointed out that if they really succeeded in arriving in another universe, they had no guarantee that everything would work the same way. For example, the shuttle’s drive unit might not function.

  “That sort of thing is possible,” Horace had said. “But it’s unlikely.”

  He stopped in the passenger cabin to talk with Emily and Jay. They were not going with him, of course. Both were along simply to provide encouragement. Or, as Max suspected, the WSA was hoping they would talk Horace out of making the effort.

  Officially they were listed as advisors. But they took every opportunity to try to dissuade him from following through on the mission. Horace was a major figure in the physics world, not so much because of his accomplishments, but due to his connections with money. He came from a wealthy family with influence around the globe. Consequently his presence brought in substantial contributions and support. And now the directors stood a good chance of losing him. They would undoubtedly have preferred that someone else take the risk. They could of course have simply said no, but that would have cost them Horace’s support.

  There was more talk of good luck, and Emily asked if he was sure he wanted to proceed. “Who knows what’s out there?” she said. “Maybe a hostile civilization. Somebody who doesn’t like visitors.”

  Horace laughed. “That’s unlikely, Emily. You know that as well as I do.”

  “There are a lot of possibilities.”

  “Listen, you guys take care. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Max got out of his chair and watched from the open doorway. “What do you think happened to the two shuttles?” asked Jay.

  Horace sucked his lips. “I’d guess a natural phenomenon of some sort. That’s why we need me to react to the problem, if it turns up. I’ll let you know if I run into any evil aliens.”

  They’d had the conversation several time
s. “What happens,” said Emily, “if the gate opens a half mile from a sun?”

  “Listen, guys, I have to go.”

  Max wondered if possibly it might open at the bottom of an ocean.

  “Don’t do it,” said Emily.

  Horace sighed. “You guys are starting to sound like the people back home.” He paused. “You sure nobody wants to come?”

  They stood and looked at him and shook their heads. Then Horace grinned. “See you soon.” He proceeded down the ramp to the launch bay. Two minutes later he reported he was inside the shuttle.

  Emily thought the whole idea was crazy. She didn’t have a personal link with Horace. Max thought the WSA had sent her along because she was persuasive and might be able to talk him out of it. Jay, on the other hand, was a lifetime friend who also had no interest in watching him sail off into the wormhole. He was about six feet, with a beard just beginning to show gray streaks. “He’s been in my life a long time,” he said. He had never before been on an interstellar. He’d admitted to Max that he wasn’t sure the artificial gravity would work for him, and that he’d possibly be sick throughout the flight. That hadn’t actually happened, but he had suffered a few bouts of vertigo.

  The wormhole snaked across the sky, its outline formed of twisted reflections of stars and clusters. The entrance, the gateway, was about a dozen kilometers ahead. Max didn’t like missions with serious risks. He hated having anything to do with it. Ordinarily he’d have turned down the assignment. But Horace had asked him to come. Please. There’d been no way to refuse. So now he waited on the bridge feeling helpless. Then Rex, the AI, made his announcement: “Ready to go, Captain.”

  He checked the launch bay to be certain everything was okay. Horace was seated inside the shuttle. Despite all pretense, he looked unsettled. The shuttle’s fuel was okay. Max checked through other routine details, satisfied himself they were ready to go, and started depressurization of the cargo bay, which also served as the launch area. He sat quietly watching Horace, who probably knew he was on display on the bridge.