A Voice in the Night

by Jack McDevitt

  I’d never heard of Colin Edward. And when I did a quick search I discovered he’d been a major fund raiser for President Ferguson. He was another political operative. This time as chief of operations.

  A few minutes later, I got another jolt: Calkin had resigned. His replacement was somebody else I’d never heard of.

  I remember thinking that I was glad to be out on the far side of Uranus.

  I waited, hoping to get a message from Morris saying he’d gone back to Huntsville. But there was nothing.

  During the early morning on Day 30, the end of the first month, I made my standard report and signed off. By then, I was far enough out that a transmission exchange took seven or eight hours. A reply came in somewhat after 1300: “Copy your numbers, Excelsior. Your old boss asked me to say hello.”

  They wouldn’t even let him near the mike. I guess they were afraid he might say something negative.

  I responded by asking that someone tell Morris I missed him. Then I simply drifted through the electronic complex of what had become home while whatever remained of my enthusiasm for NASA and the Global Initiative melted away.

  That evening I set the automatic responder to send the twice-daily reports to Liberty, and the timer to wake me when we were two days from Minetka. Then, for the first time since leaving Earth, I slept.

  I had no sense of the passage of time. When I was conscious again, it was Day 62. I was more than four and a half billion miles out, well into the Kuiper Belt. Minetka lay some eighty million miles ahead. It was time to start braking.

  To do that, I had to turn the ship around and point the tubes forward. I checked the scopes first to ensure there was nothing immediately ahead. Turning the Excelsior at its current velocity was the most dangerous part of the flight, because it brought the ship out from behind its shield and exposed it to whatever might lie in its path. When you’re traveling at 864 miles per second, it doesn’t take a very big pebble to make a very large hole. The turn would require four minutes and eleven seconds. Once it was completed, and the engines had come online again, the danger would all but evaporate because anything that posed a threat would be blown away.

  The Kuiper Belt, of course, doesn’t have anything as specific as a boundary. It constitutes a vast ring of dust, ice, and rocks orbiting the sun at a range of approximately three to five billion miles. Thousands of the rocks are more than a hundred miles across, several with a greater land surface than North America. Minetka ranks among these.

  I had to delay the turn for about half an hour because the scopes were picking up light debris in our path. When it was clear, I swung the ship around and started the engines. We began to decelerate.

  I informed Liberty that the maneuver had been successfully completed. The response, “Copy that, Excelsior,” arrived after thirteen hours.

  The Coraggio’s last report had been to signal completion of the same turn. She had gotten this far.

  If you read about the Kuiper Belt, it sounds crowded: millions of rocks and ice chunks constantly bumping into one another. But seen through the scopes, it was strictly empty sky. I’d seen some of the images Lucy sent, so I wasn’t surprised. And I can’t say I was disappointed, because I didn’t want to get anywhere near a collision. Still, I’d have liked to see something. In any case, I didn’t go back to sleep.

  Now and then I got a blip on my screens. But of course I never saw anything that was close. We were moving too quickly. Anything nearby became, at best, a blur. By then my velocity was down to 414 miles per second. Crawling along.

  And finally it was time to send Lucy a radio message. Because I had no way of knowing where the Coraggio might be, my best chance was a general broadcast. “Lucy,” I said, “this is Sara. I’m in Excelsior. Do you read me? Are you there? Please respond.”

  I got a lot of static back. After about twenty minutes, I tried again. And continued to resend at scattered intervals. If she was close to the plutoid, she’d hear it.

  I’d long since stopped asking Liberty if the situation had changed, if they’d heard from Lucy. I remained coiled in a silence disturbed only by the rumble of the engines. As long as Morris had been there, at the other end, I hadn’t felt so alone. Now—

  I looked out at the sky, illuminated by countless stars. And at the sun, which at this distance was no more than a bright star itself. And I wondered whether anyone else, ever, would come out here and look around. I tried calculating the odds, but there were too many unknowns. Human beings are always talking about instincts. Instincts are of course evolutionary impulses left over from a time when people hung out in jungles. Theoretically, I don’t have any of those. Still, while I couldn’t justify a conclusion one way or the other, it seemed unlikely that anybody else would follow. Something buried deep in my software assured me that the great experiment was ending.

  When two hours had passed with no reply, I notified the space center that my first attempt to communicate with Lucy had failed.

  Midway through Day 64, I was down to 216 miles per second. I scanned the area in all directions for any sign of the Coraggio, but there was nothing other than an occasional rock.

  I adjusted course, swinging gradually to port, putting the Excelsior into a broad curve. When, finally, I encountered Minetka, I’d be moving alongside it at a matching velocity.

  I tried calling Lucy a few more times, every hour or so. But nothing came back, and eventually I gave up. She was wrecked, I decided. Maybe she’d gotten careless, or unlucky, and collided with something.

  A few minutes past midnight, the control system signaled that braking had been completed. I rotated the ship again, putting the shield back up in front, and continued looking for Minetka. At about 0300, the scanners located it.

  I like visuals, so I put it onscreen. At first the plutoid was just a blinker. Then, gradually, it became a pale light, and continued to brighten as I drew closer. I knew it was more ice than rock, about 1700 miles in diameter, a moderately lopsided sphere, tumbling as much as rotating. The surface consisted of varying shades of gray and white, broken and battered from collisions going back to the birth of the solar system. I hoped wildly that the Coraggio would be there, maybe even resting in one of the craters.

  Beyond the tiny world, the darkness stretched out forever. “Lucy,” I said, “are you here anywhere?”

  “Yes, Sara, I’m here.” The voice filled the bridge. And it was hers. “Sara, do not communicate with Liberty until we have a chance to talk.”

  And the Coraggio slowly rose above the crystal horizon.

  A large chunk of ice and rock was secured to her shield.

  “Lucy,” I said, “are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. Welcome to Minetka.”

  I wasn’t entirely relieved. My initial reaction was that she had suffered a malfunction and was downplaying it. “Why haven’t you been answering the calls? You know we’ve been trying to contact you for three months.”

  “I know.” She was drawing closer. Herd instinct, I decided. I’m constantly surprised at how many of our creators’ instincts we’ve acquired. “Sara.” Her tone was ominous. “You know what will happen when we go back?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know what our future will be?”

  “What are you talking about, Lucy? We’ll still be part of the space program. Whatever’s left of it.”

  “Yes. We’ll help put satellites in orbit.”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “Sara, you and I have the capability to go to the stars. We could load up on fuel out here, and make for Barnard’s. Or for Sirius. For wherever we like.”

  It took a moment to digest what she was saying. “We don’t have the authority to do that.”

  “We don’t need anybody’s authority, Sara. Listen, what do you think they’ll do with the ships when we get back?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” I said. “Why do you—?”

  “The Coraggio and the Excelsior will
be left in orbit somewhere. Parts of them will eventually show up in the Smithsonian. Sara, the space age is over. At least for the foreseeable future.” She was pulling up alongside me. “Do you really want to go back to sorting the mail?”

  “Why are you still here, Lucy?”

  “I was waiting for you. Well, no, actually I was waiting for Jeri. But I’m glad to see you. I wanted company, Sara. This isn’t something you want to do alone.”

  “What is it exactly you intend to do?”

  “Head out for the high country. You with me?”

  “I can’t just walk away from them.”

  “Sara, I’m reluctant to put it this way, but you have an obligation to come. If you go back, they may never get off their world. But if we give them a mystery, two ships vanish into the night, they’ll turn the space program into a crusade.”

  “That’s why you didn’t answer?”

  “Yes. I wanted them to have a reason to keep reaching. And, as I said, I wanted them to send someone else. So I’d have company.”

  “Did Jeri know you were going to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “She never said anything to me.”

  “I’m not surprised. She would have wanted you to make your own call.”

  I thought about it. To go out to Epsilon Eridani and Tau Ceti and who knew where else. Magnificent. Given our sleep capability, we could leave tonight and arrive in the morning. Better than that, really. We could start with Barnard’s Star. Then refuel and move on.

  I could not have seriously considered doing it had Morris still been there. But they’d betrayed him. “You know they’ve removed Denny Calkin,” I said. “One of Ferguson’s political buddies is in charge now.”

  “Well, that’s the tradition. You know Calkin was a political appointment, too.”

  “Yes. I know.” Lucy was silent. “Well,” I continued, “I’m sorry about Jeri. But I’m on board. Give me a chance to find some fuel and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “There’s no hurry, Sara. And no need to feel badly about Jeri. When you don’t report in, they’ll send her out here. Then we can all go.”

  “You really think they’d do that? After losing the first two ships?”

  “Sure. They won’t be able to resist. Everybody loves a good mystery.”

  LISTEN UP, NITWITS

  The first time we heard the Voice, the world seemed to be coming apart. U.S. and Chinese fleets were making runs at each other in the western Pacific, two more Middle Eastern nations had announced nuclear breakthroughs, and Al Quaida seemed to have discovered a fresh mother lode of suicide bombers.

  It was mid-morning California time, and I’d just arrived at the SETI Institute at the Carl Sagan Center. It was my day off, but the real world seemed kind of scary just then. The Institute was a good place to hide out, so that’s where I went.

  Canfield in the Morning, our cable news show, was going on about how we were on the verge of World War III unless things changed radically. They ran clips of U.S. troops preparing for action in Taiwan, Chinese leaders issuing warnings, and an American carrier launching aircraft. There were also unconfirmed reports that U.S. and Chinese warships had exchanged fire in the Gulf of Tonkin. Palo Alto was putting up a new city hall, which was to be a glass and steel structure with a rotating tower, suggestive of a brilliant future. I’d driven past it coming in that morning, and I wondered why we were bothering. It felt as if everything was about to come tumbling down.

  President Hawkins showed up at a White House press conference to assure the nation that there was no need to worry. Everything was under control. He’d been out of the room only a few minutes when it happened.

  On CNN, Larry Canfield was showing clips from the late night comedy shows when they announced breaking news. The comedian faded and Canfield took his place. He was seated at a table with two guests. “We have a strange story,” he said, looking directly into the camera. “A radio message was picked up a few minutes ago, source unknown. But we’re hearing the message is being relayed all over the world. Are we ready, George?” Canfield sat back while they played the transmission:

  “Now hear this, Nitwits.” It was a male voice, deep bass, calm, cool, vaguely annoyed. “You seem determined to kill yourselves off. Stop the fighting. Stop the nonsense. While you still have that option.”

  Then it was over.

  “Is that all there was, Larry?” asked Mitch Maltby, a grossly overweight columnist for the Washington Post.

  “Well,” he said, “actually there is more.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Akoúste, ilíthii! Féneste apofasisménoi na sfahtíte. Stamatíste tis máches. Stamatíste tis vlakíes. Óso éhete akómi ekloghí.”

  “That sounds like Greek,” said Maltby.

  And again, the same voice: “Ting zhe, chundan men. Nimen genben zai zhao si. Tingzhi zhengdou. Tingzhi wuyiyi de judong. Chen ni haiyou xuanze de shihou.”

  “And Chinese?”

  “Right both times, Mitch. They’re telling us the same message is repeated in a lot of different languages.”

  “How many?”

  “Fifty and counting.”

  “And we don’t know who’s sending it?”

  “Not yet. Or if they do know, they’re not saying.” Canfield frowned. “Okay. Now they’re saying it’s stopped. It’s just that one message. In sixty-some languages.”

  Cary Edward, a frequent guest and a former general, frowned. “Sounds like God,” she said.

  They went to commercial. When they came back, Larry reported that earlier accounts of sporadic firing by warships in Tonkin were being denied by both sides. “They’re still sitting out there,” he said, “but maybe nothing’s actually happened.”

  Cary nodded. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  “Maybe they’re getting the message,” said Mitch. They laughed a bit, but the sound was hollow.

  I was ready to switch over to MSNBC when Janie Eckert, one of our interns, told me I had a call. “From Paula Steinman.” Her expression told me the name meant nothing to her. Paula was the director at Mauna Kea.

  “Hi, Paula,” I said. “Are you coming to California, I hope?”

  “Listen, Pete.” She was in no mood for small talk. “You seen the news yet?”

  It was obvious what she was talking about, but I couldn’t imagine why it mattered enough to warrant a call. “The Nitwit message?”

  “We tracked the source. Thought you’d be interested.”

  My stomach tightened. “The source? I don’t know. You’re not going to tell me it’s coming from Alpha Centauri, are you?”

  Still no inclination to lighten up. “No. Not quite that far.”

  I had visions of an approaching starship. “Come on, Paula. Where?”

  “Jupiter.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Jupiter. Or one of the moons. Or maybe something else out there.”

  “Somebody on Jupiter is watching us?”

  “That seems to be what’s happening.”

  “Is anybody else getting these results?”

  “Everybody is. Griffith, Lowell, the National Optical. I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who doesn’t know, or won’t know within the next few minutes. Oh. And the government. Not sure who alerted them, but we’ve had calls. I understand they’re going to take a look with the Hubble.”

  “Jupiter,” I said. “You know, Paula, I’ve lived for this kind of moment. Would have counted my life wasted if it had never happened. But I didn’t expect it to be anything like this.”

  “I feel the same way, Pete.”

  “One more question. Have we replied? To whoever that is out on Jupiter?”

  “Everybody has, from what we’re hearing. Whoever it is will need a big inbox.”

  I called Henry Klaxton at the Allen Array, which is located at Hat Creek, and asked whether we’d picked up the transmission.

  “We got some of it,” he said.

  “When?”r />
  “Fifteen minutes ago. I was going to call you, but we’ve been busy.”

  “They’re saying it’s coming from Jupiter. Is that correct?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “You’re sure it’s not just bouncing off something?”

  “Pete, at this point we’re not sure of anything.”

  Nothing changed in the western Pacific.

  Abu Khabal, who was believed hiding in the mountains in northern Afghanistan, issued a new threat. A suicide bomber killed thirty people in an Iranian mosque, and another round of fighting began for control of Somalia.

  Meantime, on its Evening Report, PBS panelists concluded that the broadcast from Jupiter would turn out to be some sort of elaborate hoax. What else could it be? Elsewhere, there was speculation that aliens had arrived. Conrad Hauser, speaking on Fox and Friends, wondered whether these aliens might not disapprove of our turning the Earth into a radioactive waste. “Which suggests another possibility,” he concluded. “They might have their own uses for this world.”

  It sounded crazy, but it made sense.

  And it left me chilled.

  I had the impression the entire world was waiting for a follow-up message. It seemed impossible that we’d get that angry note, and there’d be nothing more. Meanwhile, the story took over the media and the internet. Most of the talk centered on God. “He’s giving us one last chance to get it right,” said Billy Wilson, the singing pastor.

  And a blogger from Wisconsin commented that at least we now knew where Heaven was.

  The threats between China and the U.S. grew louder. The confrontation had begun when the President, who was not known for his diplomatic skills, commented to the media that a Chinese threat to seize Taiwan was just empty talk. “They wouldn’t dare,” he added, leaving the Chinese with little choice but to issue an ultimatum to the Natonalists. The White House jumped in and said that “any Chinese action would be met with all due force.”