A Voice in the Night

by Jack McDevitt

  “Oh, yes. Once we get the readouts from the L2 Platform and the Cernan, especially the Cernan, we should be able to put it right together. But I don’t think it’s very likely there’s anything to worry about.”

  “How long will it take to reach its closest approach to us?”

  “Clive, it’s been picking up speed on its approach to the Moon. It’ll add some more velocity when it gets inside the Earth’s gravity field. We estimate when it passes us it’ll be moving at about twenty-three kilometers per second.”

  “So how many hours?”

  “Four and a half. More or less.”

  Matt’s assignment was to handle the telescope, to keep it trained on the asteroid. He’d also oversee data collection and relay to the Cernan. Judy would try to interpret what they were getting, deliver a verdict, and send the results to Houston.

  They were watching the asteroid through the Cernan’s aft telescope. It was battered and scarred, a gray cold object, now more club than chicken-leg, tumbling end over end, slowly closing on the Moon.

  Laura’s voice came over the speaker: “Adjusting orbit. Have to pick up some velocity.”

  “You’re going to make the rendezvous okay, right?” asked Judy. “Before it gets past?”

  Matt had seen Laura once with a guy he didn’t know. He’d been on the beach when they’d come out of the surf. And he’d overheard a nearby male say Hell, look at that. How’d you like to do that one, Walt?

  He replayed the scene in his mind, as vivid now as it had been when it happened. He had no recollection what the guy she was with had looked like. But he took some satisfaction in the knowledge he hadn’t been able to hold onto her either.

  Then Laura’s voice: “Looks good, guys.”

  It was coming right up her tailpipe. “Laura,” said Matt, “aren’t you out of position?”

  “Negative. I’m right where I should be.”

  “You’re too low.”

  “I’ll be at two thousand meters during passage.”

  “For God’s sake, Laura, that’s lower than the rock. You’re supposed to stay above it.”

  “How about you let me steer this thing, Matt? I can get a better look at it from where I am.”

  Judy shook her head. Mouthed her next words: “Let it be.”

  “Roger that,” he said.

  Judy was studying her display. “It’s coming in lower than they predicted.”

  He knew that the higher it was as it crossed the lunar surface, the less likely it would impact Earth. “That’s not good news. How low?”

  “Looks like about forty-five hundred meters.”

  “You hear that, Laura?” he said.

  “I heard it.”

  “Okay. Stay out of its way.”

  Silence poured out of the mike.

  He took a deep breath. “Laura, are you in direct contact with Houston?”

  “Negative.”

  “Okay. Pass everything to us. When we have a result we’ll send it to them.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  The asteroid was growing larger, still tumbling slowly, a lopsided dancer coming out of the stars. Matt could pick out a couple of craters and a broken ridge line.

  “Leaving orbit,” said Laura. “Moving onto parallel course.”

  Below, the moonscape rippled past.

  Matt couldn’t help holding his breath.

  Laura was accelerating, but the target was still coming up fast. In a minute or two it would sail past, above and off to her port side.

  Judy stared at the monitors. “I don’t like the altitude numbers. I think they’re still within a safe range, but she’s too close.”

  Laura again: “What do you think? Is it going to clear?”

  “Hold on, Laura,” said Matt. “We’re working on it. Stay out of the way.”

  “Where’s my laser cannon?”

  “Laura,” he said, “would you please—?”

  “I’m not kidding, Matt. The numbers don’t look so good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean?”

  “Laura—”

  “There’s a decent chance that thing’s going to impact.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Judy broke in: “Laura, we can be pretty sure it will make a clean pass.”

  “Pretty sure isn’t good enough. If this thing goes down, it’ll be a killer.”

  “Laura—”

  “We’re running out of time to make a call, Matt—”

  “Don’t do anything—”

  “—If it gets past me—”

  A chill ran through him. “Damn it, there’s no way we can be certain, but it is very unlikely there will be a problem.”

  The lunar surface began to drop away and the asteroid filled the screen. “Back off,” said Judy. “Laura, you’re only 500 meters away from the damned thing.”

  “I can’t be sure, guys—”

  “What are you doing, Laura?” demanded Judy. “Back off, damn it.”

  Everything froze. Matt stared at the asteroid, at the crevices and craters and ridge lines and the bleak cold rock. All slowly turning. And growing. “Laura,” he said. “Get the hell away from it. What are you doing?”

  “No choice,” Laura said. “I just don’t know—”

  “Laura.” Judy all but strangled the mike. “It’s still too high. It’s not going to hit anything. Get away from it.”

  “Laura,” he said, “answer up. Do you hear us?”

  “Damn the torpedoes,” Laura said. “Oh, I forgot. I don’t have any torpedoes.”

  They were both screaming at her when the display went blank. “What happened?” said Matt. “What the hell did she do?”

  Judy was staring at the screen. “I think she crashed the goddamn thing.”

  Matt went to full mag, seized the monitor, and shook it. “Come on, damn you.”

  It stayed blank.

  “She’s gone,” said Judy.

  “No no no.” Matt banged his fist on the chair arm. “No! Please, God, no.”

  For a long time no one spoke. Matt trained the telescope on the asteroid and they watched as it continued on its vector. And there was the Cernan, crumpled, falling away.

  Air moved through the vents. Judy was silent for a long time. Then: “It’s changed course. Not much. But a little.”

  “Laura.” Matt called out her name. “Laura, are you there? Please—”

  Judy put her hand on his arm. “Matt.”

  He was having a hard time breathing. “Is it going to miss?”

  She extended the asteroid vector line toward the blue globe representing Earth. It came close but passed well outside the atmosphere. “Yes. Not by much. But it will miss.”

  “Judy, did she do that? Push it aside?”

  A second vector line appeared, paralleling the first. It was slightly closer to the globe, but still a miss. “No,” she said. “This is where it would have gone. Whatever she did, it made no significant difference.”

  The radio beeped. Transmission from Houston. They ignored it. “She had no way to know whether it would hit or not,” said Matt.

  “That’s not true.” Judy took a deep breath. “She had the same information we did. Except she had it a few seconds earlier. She had to know it would miss. She panicked. Or she just got too close—”

  Matt shook his head, fighting back tears. “I can’t see her panicking. She said something about once it got past—”

  Judy’s eyes darkened. “She intended all along to ram the thing if she had to.”

  “Not if she had to,” said Matt. “I think she made up her mind to do it no matter what.”

  “That can’t be right. Remember? She said how we were running out of time to make a call.”

  “Judy, that was for the media. She knew everything she said would show up on Clive Thomas. That comment was for the voters.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Judy.

&nb
sp; Matt stared at the asteroid. He hated the thing with a venom unlike any emotion he’d felt in his life. “Have we relayed any of this to Houston yet?”

  “No. Why?”

  “We might have to make some adjustments.” He took a deep breath. “Nobody except us knows the rock would have missed regardless of what she did.”

  “What are you saying?” demanded Judy.

  He closed his eyes and watched Laura charging across the outfield. “Judy, she’s handed us a cathedral.”

  THE LAST DANCE

  “Olivia,” I said, “are you really there?” It had been a year and a half since that terrible evening when she’d started home from the hospital where she served as a nurse. She’d gone just two blocks when the tractor-trailer rear-ended her. Left her dead on the scene.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m back. Modern technology is something else, isn’t it, Ethan? It’s good to see you again.”

  We were in the den, both on our feet. She was standing in front of her favorite armchair, the electric one that allowed her to lower the back and sleep in it. A photograph from our wedding was mounted on the wall directly behind it, and pictures of our daughter Sarah, my mom, and her parents stood atop a bookcase. Outside, a soft rain fell into the trees. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I knew exactly what was happening, but nevertheless it came as a shock. Behind me, the guy from Celestial Communications asked if she was okay?

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s incredible.”

  He was short and overweight. I forget his name. He handed me a copy of the contract. “The system will do an ongoing analysis of conditions in the household and will respond accordingly.” He smiled. “You might even come down some morning and find yourself waiting to give you some advice.”

  “Myself? You can really do that?”

  “Well, it doesn’t happen often. But yes, sometimes it’s necessary. Some people need to hear truth from themselves.” He produced the bill. It was higher than I could really afford, but I’d manage. Having Olivia back was priceless. I looked back at her. She was still watching me. Smiling in that warm, inviting way that I had thought I’d lost forever. “Give me a second, love. I’ll just be a minute.” I sat down at the coffee table and wrote a check.

  When I returned to the den, she’d settled into the chair and was sitting with her eyes closed. “I could almost believe you’re her,” I said.

  The eyes opened, blue and soft in the light of the single lamp. “I am her, Ethan. I’m Olivia in every way that matters.”

  “Except physical.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I really am. Not much we can do about it. Not yet anyway. I understand the technology is coming.” It was her voice. And the tenderness it conveyed was all too familiar. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  “He was too close behind me. I should have realized. Shouldn’t have tried to stop at the light.”

  I wanted to go to her, embrace her, hold onto her. In another time she’d have thrown herself into my arms. Instead we reached out cautiously to each other, until our fingertips would have touched. But they couldn’t. Her physical self was no longer there. Nevertheless, according to Celestial, it was Olivia who sat smiling at me. She had her memories and her personality, her habits and her passions, to the extent they’d been able to extract them from MyPage. And from me. And from whatever other sources had been available. However they’d done it, they’d constructed a perfect replica.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It isn’t easy for either of us.”

  “Olivia, I’ve never been able to accept that you’re gone.”

  “I’m not gone, Ethan. I’m here. If you can hold onto that reality, life will become much easier for you.”

  “What about Sarah?” The sales people had assured me that accepting the avatar wouldn’t be a problem for our eight-year-old daughter. That she would adjust. It will take some time, they’d said, but she’ll be okay.

  “She’ll be fine. You and she are the only things in my life that matter.”

  I tried to tell her that I was grateful she was there, but I couldn’t help recalling that final goodbye at the cemetery. I wanted to say something, God knows what, but my voice broke.

  She waited while I pulled myself together. Then: “I understand, Ethan. Be aware that I’m an almost perfect match. And if it helps, I love you. As she did.”

  “I love you too, Olivia.” I meant it. Somehow. I understood the reality, that I was talking to software. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. We were together again, at home, after nineteen painful months.

  “I can feel it,” she said. “I’m anxious to see Sarah again.”

  “She’ll be home from school in about a half hour.”

  “I know. Ethan, I can’t tell you how it feels to be back with you.”

  “Is that really true? Do you actually have feelings?”

  “Of course I do.”

  I lowered myself onto the sofa and just stared at her. That soft chestnut hair falling to her shoulders, the alluring lips framing her unforgettable smile. My God, I wanted to take her in my arms. And never let go. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea, though. For Sarah. Seeing you again after everything that happened is going to come as a shock.”

  “Just leave it to me, Ethan. I’ll handle it. You’ve told her about this, so she knows what’s coming. She’ll be fine.” When family issues got serious, Olivia’s eyes inevitably grew intense. The laser vision that I’d seen before at critical moments showed up again. It had been there the night we’d taken Sarah to the hospital with a hundred and five temperature. And when she decided I was taking the job at the gym primarily so I could ogle some of the clients. And when we got the news that my mother had died. She also had gone too soon, like Olivia the victim of an automobile accident. “That’s the real problem, Ethan, isn’t it? You aren’t buying that I’m actually here, that I love you as she did, that I’m ecstatic to have you and Sarah in my life. You probably don’t even believe I have a life. But I do. And no, we can’t bring the original Olivia back, but if she had known about this technology, she’d have wanted you to do exactly what you’ve done.”

  She was wearing the golden slacks she’d had since our earliest days together, and a white cotton blouse that I’d given her at Christmas a few weeks before everything had gone wrong. “So you have no problem with Sarah?” I said.

  “None. The research indicates that the vast majority of people who accept the program, especially children, are much better off in the long run.”

  “Okay. Let’s hope they’ve got it right.”

  “There’s something else I should tell you. It probably hasn’t occurred to you, but I need to see her.” Her voice trembled. “I miss Sarah.”

  “How is that possible, Olivia? I mean, you’ve never really seen her.”

  A tear ran down her cheek. “I’ve seen her. And I have all the emotions and memories of your wife.”

  “Incredible. I almost think you are Olivia.”

  “I am.”

  “She’ll be so happy to see you again. I’m just worried that—.”

  “Leave it in my hands.” She bit her lower lip as she always did when life became difficult. “How are you doing, Ethan?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “Stay clear of tractor-trailers.” It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t work and she must have known it before she’d finished. I sat down beside her and waved it away. We talked about old times, about the night I’d called her shortly after we’d met and we’d gone for a walk through Arcadia Park. And about the bikini I’d given her for her birthday that she’d refused to wear. And our first date and how we wished we could return to it and do it again. On that magnificent evening we’d gone downtown to listen to Benjamin Grosvenor play Mozart and Rachmaninoff. “After that night,” she said, “I knew I wouldn’t let you get away.”

  I don’t know how she was aware of that. Olivia
told me that story at our wedding, and I can’t imagine her having told it to anyone else.

  The school bus pulled up. “That’s her now,” I said.

  I was waiting at the front door when Sarah came in. She was in third grade, and clearly her mom’s daughter. She had Olivia’s eyes, her soft brown hair, and her relentless energy. She said hello to me, dropped her schoolbag by a footrest where she usually left it, and fell into a chair. “Long day?” I asked.

  “Boring.” Sarah was of course accustomed to talking with AI’s. She loved carrying a conversation with Jerry, the house. And she was always telling our car to look out. So I started by explaining that we had another one inside that she could talk with.

  Her face brightened. “The one that impersonates Mommy?” She gave me a weak smile, suggesting that she wasn’t buying it.

  But when she entered the den and saw Olivia, she screamed and charged across the room into her mother’s arms. “Look out,” said the avatar as her image collapsed.

  I got Sarah off the floor and Olivia was back again, bending over the child. “You’re still too quick for me,” she said. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I knew that was coming. You just move too fast.”

  “Mommy, is that really you?”

  “I’ve taken her place, Sarah. And yes, I’ll be with you the same as she would.”

  “Oh, Mom, it’s so good to see you again.” She’d begun to cry and laugh simultaneously.

  “I feel the same way, Sarah. I wish I could hug you, but it’s the one area where I’m afraid I can’t make it happen.”

  “I understand, Mom.”

  “And I want you to know I’ll be here whenever you need me. Whenever you want to talk.”

  “But you’re not real, are you? You’re not much different from Jerry, right? Except that I can see you.”

  Olivia hesitated. “I love you, Sarah. And I’m real.”

  Tears were running down Sarah’s cheeks. She wiped them away, said something I couldn’t make out, turned and left the den. I followed and asked if she was okay.

  “Daddy, when you first told me about her, I didn’t think it could actually happen.” She waved me to leave her alone and retreated into her bedroom. Moments later, I heard her TV come on.