Masterpieces

by Orson Scott Card

  But now the initial inspiration was gone. Rather than wait by the port until the electronic navigator slipped the ship back into normal space, he turned and left the control room. He didn’t feel like searching for habitable planets. It was getting late, and he could do it the next morning.

  He fed his cat instead. He punched up the code and took the cat’s dinner from the galley chute. “Here you go,” said Gillette. “Eat it and be happy with it. I want to read a little before I go to sleep.” As he walked toward his quarters he felt the mild thrumming of the corridor’s floor and walls that meant the ship had passed into real space. The ship didn’t need directions from Gillette; it had already plotted a safe and convenient orbit in which to park, based on the size and characteristics of the star. The planets, if any, would all be there in the morning, waiting for Dr. Gillette to examine them, classify them, name them, and abandon them.

  Unless, of course, he found life anywhere.

  FINDING LIFE WAS one of the main purposes of the journey. Soon it had become the Gillettes’ purpose in life as well. They had set out as enthusiastic explorers: Dr. Leslie Gillette, thirty-five years old, already an influential writer and lecturer in theoretical exobiology, and his wife, Jessica Reid Gillette, who had been the chairman of the biochemistry department at a large middle-western state university. They had been married for eleven years, and had made the decision to go into field exploration after the death of their only child.

  Now they were traveling through space toward the distant limits of the galaxy. Long, long ago the Earth’s sun had disappeared from view. The exobiology about which both Gillettes had thought and written and argued back home remained just what it had been then—mere theory. After visiting hundreds and hundreds of stellar systems, upon thousands of potential life-sustaining planets, they had yet to see or detect any form of life, no matter how primitive. The lab facilities on the landing craft returned the same frustrating answer with soul-deadening frequency: no life. Dead. Sterile. Year after year, the galaxy became to the Gillettes a vast and terrifying immensity of insensible rock and blazing gas.

  “Do you remember,” asked Jessica one day, “what old man Hayden used to tell us?”

  Gillette smiled. “I used to love to get that guy into an argument,” he said.

  “He told me once that we might find life, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of finding intelligent life.”

  Gillette recalled that discussion with pleasure. “And you called him a Terran chauvinist. I loved it. You made up a whole new category of bigotry, right on the spot. We thought he was such a conservative old codger. Now it looks like even he was too optimistic.”

  Jessica stood behind her husband’s chair, reading what he was writing. “What would Hayden say, do you think, if he knew we haven’t found a goddamn thing?”

  Gillette turned around and looked up at her. “I think even he would be disappointed,” he said. “Surprised, too.”

  “This isn’t what I anticipated,” she said.

  The complete absence of even the simplest of lifeforms was at first irritating, then puzzling, then ominous. Soon even Leslie Gillette, who always labored to keep separate his emotional thoughts and his logical ones, was compelled to realize that his empirical conclusions were shaping up in defiance of all the mathematical predictions man or machine had ever made. In the control room was a framed piece of vellum, on which was copied, in fine italic letters and numerals:

  N = R*fpneflfifcL

  This was a formula devised decades before to determine the approximate number of advanced technological civilizations man might expect to find elsewhere in his galaxy. The variables in the formula are given realistic values, according to the scientific wisdom of the time. N is determined by seven factors:

  R* or the mean rate of star formation in the galaxy (with an assigned value of

  ten per year)

  fp or the percentage of stars with planets (close to one hundred percent)

  ne or the average number of planets in each star system with environments suitable for life (with an assigned value of one)

  f1 or the percentage of those planets on which life does, in fact, develop (close to one hundred percent)

  fi or the percentage of those planets on which intelligent life develops (ten percent) fc or the percentage of those planets on which advanced technical civilization develops (ten percent)

  L or the lifetime of the technical civilization (with an estimated value of ten million years).

  These figures produced a predictive result stating that N—the number of advanced civilizations in the Milky Way galaxy—equals ten to the sixth power. A million. The Gillettes had cherished that formula through all the early years of disappointment. But they were not looking for an advanced civilization, they were looking for life. Any kind of life. Some six years after leaving Earth, Leslie and Jessica were wandering across the dry, sandy surface of a cool world circling a small, cool sun. “I don’t see any advanced civilizations,” said Jessica, stooping to stir the dust with the heavy gauntlet of her pressure suit.

  “Nope,” said her husband, “not a hamburger stand in sight.” The sky was a kind of reddish purple, and he didn’t like looking into it very often. He stared down at the ground, watching Jessica trail her fingers in the lifeless dirt.

  “You know,” she said, “that formula says that every system ought to have at least one planet suitable for life.”

  Gillette shrugged. “A lot of them do,” he said. “But it also says that every planet that could sustain life, will sustain life, eventually.

  “Maybe they were a little too enthusiastic when they picked the values for their variables.”

  Jessica laughed. “Maybe.” She dug a shallow hole in the surface. “I keep hoping I’ll run across some ants or a worm or something.”

  “Not here, honey,” said Gillette. “Come on, let’s go back.” She sighed and stood. Together they returned to the landing craft.

  “What a waste,” said Jessica, as they prepared to lift off. “I’ve given my imagination all this freedom. I’m prepared to see anything down there, the garden variety of life or something more bizarre. You know, dancing crystals or thinking clouds. But I never prepared myself for so much nothing.”

  The landing craft shot up through the thin atmosphere, toward the orbiting command ship. “A scientist has to be ready for this kind of thing,” said Gillette wistfully. “But I agree with you. Experience seems to be defying the predictions in a kind of scary way.”

  Jessica loosened her safety belt and took a deep breath. “Mathematically unlikely, I’d call it. I’m going to look at the formula tonight and see which of those variables is the one screwing everything up.”

  Gillette shook his head. “I’ve done that time and time again,” he said. “It won’t get you very far. Whatever you decided, the result will still be a lot different from what we’ve found.” On the myriad worlds they had visited, they never found anything as simple as algae or protozoans, let alone intelligent life. Their biochemical sensors had never detected anything that even pointed in that direction, like a complex protein. Only rock and dust and empty winds and lifeless pools.

  IN THE MORNING, just as he had predicted, the planets were still there. There were five of them, circling a modest star, type G3, not very different from Earth’s Sun. He spoke to the ship’s computer: “I name the star Hannibal. Beginning with the nearest to Hannibal, I name the planets: Huck, Tom, Jim, Becky, and Aunt Polly. We will proceed with the examinations.” The ship’s instruments could take all the necessary readings, but Gillette wouldn’t trust its word on the existence of life. That question was so important that he felt he had to make the final determination himself.

  Huck was a Mars-sized ball of nickel and iron, a rusty brown color, pocked with craters, hot and dry and dead. Tom was larger and darker, cooler, but just as damaged by impacts and just as dead. Jim was Earthlike; it had a good-sized atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen, its range of temperat
ures stayed generally between - 30°C and + 50°C, and there was a great abundance of water on the planet’s surface. But there was no life, none on the rocky, dusty land, none in the mineral-salted water, nothing, not so much as a single cyanobacterium. Jim was the best hope Gillette had in the Hannibal system, but he investigated Becky and Aunt Polly as well. They were the less-dense gas giants of the system, although neither was so large as Uranus or Neptune. There was no life in their soupy atmospheres or on the igneous surfaces of their satellites. Gillette didn’t bother to name the twenty-three moons of the five planets; he thought he’d leave that to the people who came after him. If any ever did.

  Next, Gillette had to take care of the second purpose of the mission. He set out an orbiting transmission gate around Jim, the most habitable of the five planets. Now a ship following in his path could cross the scores of light-years instantaneously from the gate Gillette had set out at his previous stop. He couldn’t even remember what that system had been like or what he had named it. After all these years they were all confused in his mind, particularly because they were so identical in appearance, so completely empty of life.

  He sat at a screen and looked down on Jim, at the tan, sandy continents, the blue seas, the white clouds and polar caps. Gillette’s cat, a gray Maine coon, his only companion, climbed into his lap. The cat’s name was Benny, great-grandson of Methyl and Ethyl, the two kittens Jessica had brought along. Gillette scratched behind the animal’s ears and under his chin. “Why aren’t there any cats down there?” he asked it. Benny had only a long purr for an answer. After a while Gillette tired of staring down at the silent world. He had made his survey, had put out the gate, and now there was nothing to do but send the information back toward Earth and move on. He gave the instructions to the ship’s computer, and in half an hour the stars had disappeared, and Gillette was traveling again through the darkness of null space.

  HE REMEMBERED HOW excited they had been about the mission, some thirty years before. He and Jessica had put in their application, and they had been chosen for reasons Gillette had not fully understood. “My father thinks that anyone who wants to go chasing across the galaxy for the rest of his life must be a little crazy,” said Jessica.

  Gillette smiled. “A little unbalanced, maybe, but not crazy.”

  They were lying in the grass behind their house, looking up into the night sky, wondering which of the bright diamond stars they would soon visit. The project seemed like a wonderful vacation from their grief, an opportunity to examine their lives and their relationship without the million remembrances that tied them to the past. “I told my father that it was a marvelous opportunity for us,” she said. “I told him that from a scientific point of view, it was the most exciting possibility we could ever hope for.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  “Look, Leslie, a shooting star. Make a wish. No, I don’t think he believed me. He said the project’s board of governors agreed with him and the only reason we’ve been selected is that we’re crazy or unbalanced or whatever in just the right ways.”

  Gillette tickled his wife’s ear with a long blade of grass. “Because we might spend the rest of our lives staring down at stars and worlds.”

  “I told him five years at the most, Leslie. Five years. I told him that as soon as we found anything we could definitely identify as living matter, we’d turn around and come home. And if we have any kind of luck, we might see it in one of our first stops. We may be gone only a few months or a year.”

  “I hope so,” said Gillette. They looked into the sky, feeling it press down on them with a kind of awesome gravity, as if the infinite distances had been converted to mass and weight. Gillette closed his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too, Leslie,” murmured Jessica. “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” she said. “I might have been afraid to go with you if you weren’t worried, too. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ll have each other, and it’ll be exciting. It will be more fun than spending the next couple of years here, doing the same thing, giving lectures to grad students and drinking sherry with the Nobel crowd.”

  Gillette laughed. “I just hope that when we get back, someone remembers who we are. I can just see us spending two years going out and coming back, and nobody even knows what the project was all about.”

  Their good-bye to her father was more difficult. Mr. Reid was still not sure why they wanted to leave Earth. “A lot of young people suffer a loss, the way you have,” he said. “But they go on somehow. They don’t just throw their lives away.”

  “We’re not throwing anything away,” said Jessica. “Dad, I guess you’d have to be a biologist to understand. There’s more excitement in the chance of discovering life somewhere out there than in anything we might do if we stayed here. And we won’t be gone long. It’s field work, the most challenging kind. Both of us have always preferred that to careers at the blackboards in some university.”

  Reid shrugged and kissed his daughter. “If you’re sure,” was all he had to say. He shook hands with Gillette.

  Jessica looked up at the massive spacecraft. “I guess we are,” she said. There was nothing more to do or say. They left Earth not many hours later, and they watched the planet dwindle in the ports and on the screens.

  The experience of living on the craft was strange at first, but they quickly settled into routines. They learned that while the idea of interstellar flight was exciting, the reality was duller than either could have imagined. The two kittens had no trouble adjusting, and the Gillettes were glad for their company. When the craft was half a million miles from Earth, the computer slipped it into null space, and they were truly isolated for the first time.

  It was terrifying. There was no way to communicate with Earth while in null space. The craft became a self-contained little world, and in dangerous moments when Gillette allowed his imagination too much freedom, the silent emptiness around him seemed like a new kind of insanity or death. Jessica’s presence calmed him, but he was still grateful when the ship came back into normal space, at the first of their unexplored stellar systems.

  Their first subject was a small, dim, class-M star, the most common type in the galaxy, with only two planetary bodies and a lot of asteroidal debris circling around it. “What are we going to name the star, dear?” asked Jessica. They both looked at it through the port, feeling a kind of parental affection.

  Gillette shrugged. “I thought it would be easier if we stuck to the mythological system they’ve been using at home.”

  “That’s a good idea, I guess. We’ve got one star with two little planets wobbling around it.”

  “Didn’t Apollo have . . . No, I’m wrong. I thought—”

  Jessica turned away from the port. “It reminds me of Odin and his two ravens.”

  “He had two ravens?”

  “Sure,” said Jessica, “Thought and Memory. Hugin and Mugin.”

  “Fine. We’ll name the star Odin, and the planets whatever you just said. I’m sure glad I have you. You’re a lot better at this than I am.”

  Jessica laughed. She looked forward to exploring the planets. It would be the first break they had in the monotony of the journey. Neither Leslie nor Jessica anticipated finding life on the two desolate worlds, but they were glad to give them a thorough examination. They wandered awe-struck over the bleak, lonely landscapes of Hugin and Mugin, completing their tests, and at last returned to their orbiting craft. They sent their findings back to Earth, set out the first of the transmission gates, and, not yet feeling very disappointed, left the Odin system. They both felt that they were in contact with their home, regardless of the fact that their message would take a long time to reach Earth, and they were moving away too quickly ever to receive any. But they both knew that if they wanted, they could still turn around and head back to Earth.

  Their need to know drove them on. The loneliness had not yet become unbearable. The awful fear had
not yet begun.

  The gates were for the use of the people who followed the Gillettes into the unsettled reaches of the galaxy; they could be used in succession to travel outward, but the travelers couldn’t return through them. They were like ostrich eggs filled with water and left by natives in the African desert; they were there to make the journey safer and more comfortable for others, to enable the others to travel even farther.

  Each time the Gillettes left one star system for another, through null space, they put a greater gulf of space and time between themselves and the world of their birth. “Sometimes I feel very strange,” admitted Gillette, after they had been outbound for more than two years. “I feel as if any contact we still have with Earth is an illusion, something we’ve invented just to maintain our sanity. I feel like we’re donating a large part of our lives to something that might never benefit anyone.”

  Jessica listened somberly. She had had the same feelings, but she hadn’t wanted to let her husband know. “Sometimes I think that the life in the university classroom is the most desirable thing in the world. Sometimes I damn myself for not seeing that before. But it doesn’t last long. Every time we go down to a new world, I still feel the same hope. It’s only the weeks in null space that get to me. The alienation is so intense.”

  Gillette looked at her mournfully. “What does it really matter if we do discover life?” he asked.

  She looked at him in shocked silence for a moment. “You don’t really mean that,” she said at last.

  Gillette’s scientific curiosity rescued him, as it had more than once in the past. “No,” he said softly, “I don’t. It does matter.” He picked up the three kittens from Ethyl’s litter. “Just let me find something like these waiting on one of these endless planets, and it will all be worthwhile.”

  Months passed, and the Gillettes visited more stars and more planets, always with the same result. After three years they were still rocketing away from Earth. The fourth year passed, and the fifth. Their hope began to dwindle.