“And who were they?”
“A race of great accomplishment and much promise. But the very qualities that drove their energies betrayed them.”
“In what way?”
“They questioned everything. Disputed everything. And if they were thereby enabled to uncover the deepest secrets of the cosmos, they were also unable to achieve long-term political stability. Those who came here were refugees.”
“Where did they come from?”
“I am unable to think how I might show you. Let me say only that, if their home star were a hundred times closer, it would still not be visible, I suspect, to your unaided eyes.”
“And they came to Mars.” Murray looked out at the sterile landscape. “Why not Earth?”
“It was too crowded with predators. And life. The gravity index was too high. Practical matters aside, they considered this world more beautiful.”
“Why did they die off?” asked Bryan Trahan, who had been observing quietly. “What happened to them?”
“After we had settled, after a period of great achievement, they began again to disagree. Sometimes on form of government. Sometimes on the ethics of certain medical procedures. Sometimes on the value of literary works. Their quarrels splintered them into smaller and more hostile fragments. We could have removed the part of them that resisted socialization. Could have tamed them. But that issue itself became divisive. They loved combat.
“Eventually they became subject to their own technology, lost the knowledge without which reason is only of limited use. And they retreated into their own barbaric past.”
Jason picked up one of the tablets and inspected it.
“Yes. That is exactly right. They forgot who I was. Who they were. They converted the surface villas, which were designed to allow appreciation of the vistas of this world, into places of worship.”
“And you,” said Bryan, “became the resident deity.”
It laughed. The sound was bone-chilling. “Yes. Toward the end, they were killing one another to curry my favor.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” asked Judy, her voice cold.
“It was not my prerogative to interfere, but only to help.”
“My God,” said Warren. “It sounds like one of the laws of robotics.”
“What?” asked Bryan.
Warren was surprised that anyone in that group would not have heard of the three laws of robotics. “A robot must obey a human,” he said.
“I am not a robot.”
Patti stared at the pyramid.
“And they did this while you watched?” asked Murray.
There was no answer. As the silence stretched out, they glanced uncomfortably at each other.
“Do you have a moral sense?” asked Eddie.
“That’s an impertinent question, Edward.”
“You know who I am.”
“I know who all of you are.”
“You,” said Bryan, “are able to tell us their whole history. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Not only here, but on the home world.”
“I do not have all that in my memory, but I can make it available.”
“How?”
“It is stored in the ships.”
Murray’s face clouded. “The ships,” he said. “The vehicles they used to cross the stars.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of vehicles?” asked Eddie. “How fast were they?”
“They traveled at multiples of light speed.”
“My God,” said Judy. “You can give us FTL.”
“There is little that the People did not understand about the mechanics of the universe. That which is allowed, they were capable of performing. I suspect you do not have anti-gravity?”
“No.”
“Temporal manipulation?”
“Probably not.”
“Quantum power?”
“Not to speak of. But you can make all this available to us?”
“If you wish. You might want to consider whether you have the wisdom to control the capabilities I can provide.”
“Where are the ships?” asked Abu.
“In the asteroid belt. I will give you their location if you will do something for me.”
“I thought,” said Judy, “there’d be something.”
Murray looked puzzled. “What could you possibly want from us?”
“I’ve been here a long time. I want you to disengage my circuits. Give me peace.”
“You mean kill you?” asked Patti, shocked.
“I mean terminate my existence.”
“We can’t do that,” said Bryan. “We can’t kill a sentient creature.”
“I’m a machine.”
Abu shook his head. “You said you weren’t a robot.”
“It is my request. You have an obligation to honor it.”
“We’re not bound to honor someone else’s code of conduct,” said Jason, lowering himself into a chair. “Listen, I understand you’ve been alone for centuries. But you’ll never be alone again. Someone will always be here.” He looked up at Murray. “Won’t we, Murray?”
“I don’t think you understand. I don’t wish to give offense, but you’re not appropriate companions for me. There’s hope for you, but you still lack the subtlety of an advanced intellect.”
Eddie sighed. “Advanced intellect? You used to run subways.”
“Good. I’m pleased to see you have a sense of humor. If the behavior exhibited on the reports coming in from your home world is typical, I can understand why.”
It was time to break off. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” I told them. “We’ll discuss the issue in the morning, and when we know what we want to do, we’ll recall the Administrator and give him our answer.”
Technically, when the program had ended for the day, the Baranovians were expected to get away from it. They were supposed to go boating or play shuffleboard or just sit around in The Hawk’s Nest. But Sam explained to me that these people took the game very seriously. I’d already seen some evidence of that tendency when Murray’s team stayed up wrestling with the translations. On this third night, they could be found in groups all over Skyhawk, in conference rooms, along the benches, out on the terrace behind the dining room, debating the choice that had been laid before them.
Could they comply with the wish of a sentient being and, in effect, kill it? After all, Patti argued to a small group outside the boathouse, there’s nothing physically wrong with it. It’s only depressed. Killing it would be murder.
Warren Hatch and Eddie Edwards almost came to blows. Warren also thought it would be murder. But Eddie explained that he’d kept a cancer-ridden sister alive against her will. When he described the experience, his eyes grew wet. “Never again,” he said. “If this thing wants to be terminated, then I think we should comply.”
Warren shook his head. “Even if you have to violate your own moral code to do so?”
Maureen and I felt so good about what we were seeing that we left the grounds and went downtown to celebrate. There was a small college town nearby with a hotel featuring a sidewalk restaurant. The evening was pleasant, there were no insects, and the moonlight was serene. We started with BLT’s, and finished with gin tonics. “I think we can relax now,” she said. “The program’s going to be fine.”
We’d both been worried. Neither of us had participated in anything like this previously, and we hadn’t been sure what to expect. Sam had warned us how last year the Baranovians had solved the Moonbase murder mystery too quickly and simply taken the program away from the advisors. We thought we’d built elements into the Martian scenario to ensure that didn’t happen again. But you never knew.
“Thanks,” I said.
She squeezed my hand. “What interests me is that they’ve got so involved in the ethical dilemma that they haven’t yet seen the political implications.”
Each evening, I’d prepared the set of bulletins that would come in the following day from Worldwide News
and Mars Central. I’d written a complete set before coming, but quickly discovered it was impossible to predict what the program would need. Although I could keep the flow of action within parameters, I could not determine in advance what might need to be emphasized here, or redefined there. For example, Maureen was right: the Baranovians needed to think about the world beyond their dome. And we were going to see to that first thing tomorrow.
And in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t score. Not then and not later. I think she liked my mind.
Sam was listening to the earphones again. “Things are going downhill,” he said. He pushed a button. Explosions and gun shots rattled out of the speakers. And screams.
“—Show no sign of backing off, Howard.” Warren recognized the speaker as Christine Talley, a correspondent for Worldwide. “I can see three, possibly four, people down in the street. All civilians. The soldiers now are trying to go house to house. But there are snipers in the upper apartments. We’re getting reports that it’s like this all over Atlanta.” They could hear the sound of an approaching helicopter. “We’re still hearing rumors of summary executions. But the Army won’t comment.” She was shouting now to be heard over the roar of the aircraft. “Okay, you can see what’s happening, Howard. The gunships are positioning themselves directly over the houses where most of the shooting has been coming from. The troops are keeping their distance.” (Long pause. Then:) “We’ve got company.”
Another voice: “You’ll have to leave, ma’m. For your own safety.”
After that, everything dissolved into confusion: shouts, protests, the sound of a brief scuffle. Then Howard Kilminster from the Worldwide desk: “We’ve encountered technical difficulties for the moment with Christine Talley in Atlanta. We’ll get back to her as soon as we’re able. Meanwhile, the Pentagon has confirmed that two Regimental Combat Teams in the Chicago area have fired on other U.S. troops—.”
Somebody said, “turn it off.” Sam complied and the room got very quiet.
“Not sure what we’re going to have to go home to,” said Judy.
Warren wondered about his two kids living with his first wife in Philadelphia, and about his sister in Ardmore. Were they in danger? What was really happening?
Murray Fineberg had been standing staring out at the bleak red sky. “Something we need to think about,” he said. “We may be about to come into possession of some very high technology.”
Warren understood immediately where he was going.
“Do we really want to turn quantum power, whatever that is, over to a military dictatorship?”
“It’s not a military dictatorship,” said Jason hotly.
“I think,” said Warren, “it would be prudent to assume the worst.”
Al Finley, a newspaper editor from Toronto, suggested they divide into two teams to address each of the issues they now faced: Do they terminate the Administrator? Do they accept the advanced technology, knowing it will end up in the hands of the government?
But everyone had things to say on both topics, so they stayed together. And it became apparent that no one had settled anything the previous evening. On the issue of euthanasia, several had gone through personal experiences with dying relatives that they had no intention of repeating. Honor its wishes, they said.
Others maintained they were being asked to participate in the moral equivalent of murder. “Maybe worse,” said Patti Kubik. “If this thing really is a higher life form than we are, as it would like us to believe, then killing it is that much more reprehensible. I won’t have anything to do with it. And I’m not sure I’ll allow anyone else to shut it down.”
They ended in deadlock. The debate over accepting high-tech capabilities went easier. All had reservations, but almost everyone thought the risk was worth it. “We get starships,” said Judy Conroy. “How can we walk away from that?”
Only Al Finley held out. “You get starships. You also get 1984. It’s the prime directive in reverse. Technology without a corresponding social maturity is potentially deadly. I don’t think we should touch it. Tell the Administrator to get on the radio, if it can, and send the ships to Alpha Centauri. Maybe by the time we follow them we’ll be able to handle the stuff.”
But no one supported him.
They voted on the euthanasia issue, and decided by a majority of one to comply with the Administrator’s wishes. The losing side wanted to reopen the discussion, but Jake Cobblemere intervened. “It’s over,” he said. “We terminate.”
That produced some grumbling and three people walked out in protest, announcing their intention to return to Central rather than participate in murder. Warren was tempted to join them, but he’d listened to the arguments and was no longer sure in his own mind what was right.
The pyramid rested serenely on the worktable.
“Administrator,” said Judy.
“I’ve been listening.”
“Then you know what we’ve decided.”
“I know.”
“You will have to explain what we need to do to shut off your power.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“I am no longer able to maintain my own systems. The darkness is very close. I would, in fact, have allowed myself to pass out of existence almost a century ago, your time. Except that I detected radio signals. I knew you were coming.”
“And you held on?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you lie? About wanting us to terminate you?”
“The technology of the People lies waiting to be claimed. But it is hard to judge the morality of a species by its radio broadcasts. I know you share their unfortunate tendencies toward political disunion. But I needed a better method to grasp your moral inclinations before I turned this over to you. I wanted to look you in the eye, so to speak.”
“And you will give us the ships?” asked Judy. They held their breath.
“Yes,” he said. “I will give you the ships.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Patti. “We vote to commit murder, and you give us credit for a moral code. Don’t take this the wrong way but I have some doubts about yours.”
“Patti,” it said, “I did not mean to imply that your course of action was the correct one. I was only concerned that you not find the decision an easy one to make.”
“It’s a copout,” said Bryan. “These plots that build up to a conclusion in which we discover it’s a test of some sort are really weak. But that’s not the point.”
We were in the dining hall. I’d finished off a pretty good meatloaf with mashed potatoes, corn, and muffins, and I’d gone heavy on the butter, which is a delicacy I seldom allow myself anymore. But I was feeling good because the program had gone well, or at least I’d thought it had until Bryan came after me.
“What is the point?” I asked him. We’d filled three tables, as we did every evening, and the entire twenty-odd Baranovians, who a moment before had been planning the festivities for this final evening, gave us their undivided attention.
“The AI says that the conclusion isn’t important. That the only thing that matters is that we had to struggle to come to it. But what kind of response is that? We still don’t know what, given the circumstances, the appropriate course of action is. And neither do you, Jake, or you’d have had an answer.”
I’d played the AI, of course. And Bryan was right: I had no more clue about the eternal verities than anybody else did. How was I supposed to say what was right and what wrong? “It might be,” I said, “that some situations are so morally hazy that no clearcut course of action can be found. This situation, for example, seems to be a case of choosing the lesser evil.”
“But which is the lesser evil?” He sounded almost desperate.
“Bryan, I’m not able to answer that for other people. I think we need to keep a little perspective about all this. Maybe even indulge our sense of humor. You do have one, right? I mean, this thing does have its comic aspect.”
&
nbsp; Tears stood in his eyes. “Damn you, Jake,” he said. He said it low, but he’d already drawn the attention of everybody at all three tables. He looked around at the others, heaved a loud discouraged sigh, and walked out into the failing sunlight. I watched him stride down the concrete walkway and turn left toward the bungalows. The path curved into the trees and disappeared behind a conference hall. He never looked back.
“What was that all about?” asked Sam.
“I don’t know,” said Maureen. She looked puzzled.
“You okay?” I said.
“You notice his eyes?”
“Yes. Teary.”
“More than that.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Different.”
“How do you mean?”
“The man has secrets,” she said.
The Baranovians did reconvene later that evening, but somehow their festivities weren’t as festive as I’d expected. Bryan wasn’t there, in body, but I felt his presence just over my shoulder. Though nobody said a word, I think everyone else felt it, too, mentally replaying his last scene and trying to figure out what to make of it.
So we went through the motions, voting on a topic for next year’s seminar and then adjourning to the lake shore for a spirited enactment of the Martian ceremonies depicted on our tablets. The centerpiece was a roaring bonfire around which bizarrely costumed Baranovians feasted on “sacred marshmallows” and sacrificed a stuffed Barney. The script was even sillier than it sounds, and it could have made for a great party, but our hearts weren’t in it. At least mine wasn’t.
I found myself drifting off to where Maureen stood in the shadows, staring pensively into the flames. “You thinking about him, too?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Looking back, there were a lot of little things—.” She turned toward Sam, who was just a few feet away. “Sam, how long has Bryan been coming to the seminars?”
“I think this was his second,” he said. “Yes. You’ve noticed how quiet he is—.”
“Except when he’s coming after me,” I said.
“Well, yes. I guess so. But on the whole he doesn’t say much. He was so quiet last year I remember wondering why he’d bothered to come. Then the last day—at this point in the proceedings—he finally started talking.”
A Voice in the Night Page 28
