Charles Sheffield - Tomorrow and Tomorrow

He assumed that it would be equally true on Pluto, and it began that way. His ship landed without incident on the frozen surface. Machines attended his arrival. There were no humans, and he had expected none. The nearest people resided at the research station on Charon, seventeen thousand kilometers away. Pluto and Charon were more like a pair of little moons than a planet with a satellite — Pluto was smaller than Earth’s moon, while Charon was half the size of its primary. The pair were tidally locked, always showing the same face to each other. Drake, standing on the surface of Pluto and looking up, saw Charon hanging pendant in the sky above him, like a giant dull ruby. The research station was not visible. From this distance, there was no evidence to be seen on Charon of any human activities.

Even though Charon was so close, the machines on Pluto were designed to operate without advice or assistance from there or anywhere else. Drake’s command to be taken to the cryowombs was obeyed without question.

The surface of Pluto was one of the quietest places in the solar system. However, there would be occasional impacts from meteorites and cometary debris. The wombs, for additional safety, had been placed deep within the interior to protect against disturbance.

It had not occurred to Drake that he himself constituted such a disturbance, until he had been led at least a kilometer along a descending ramp. He and his attendant machine entered a large open chamber, where his suit was placed within another and larger one. The space between the suits was filled with liquid helium.

“Is this necessary?” He could imagine the second suit interfering with his mobility.

“It is necessary. There must be no energy release within the vaults to raise the ambient temperature. I myself cannot proceed beyond this point. I am too warm.” The machine raised a spidery articulated arm and pointed at a hovering blue pyramid, half a meter on a side. “This is now your guide.”

Ever since they left the surface it had become steadily darker. All light sources now disappeared as Drake followed the drifting blue pyramid out of the chamber and into the next level of the Pluto vault.

According to the first machine, the cryotanks were stored in regular rows within the main cryowomb. Drake strained his eyes into the darkness ahead. He could see nothing but the faint blue light in front of him. He was at the mercy of his robot guide, who must know the deep vault’s geometry and contents through programmed memory.

Encased within his double suit, Drake followed the blue glimmer, on and on. Finally it halted. Drake moved closer, and by its feeble illumination he saw the outline of a cryotank. It was like a great coffin, two meters long and a meter wide and deep. Although the cryowomb was kept at a controlled temperature, for double security each tank also contained its own temperature control and source of refrigeration.

“This is the one?” He crouched low, seeking the identification.

He was not sure that the blue pyramid could hear him, understand him, or talk to him, until he heard the sibilant whisper in his helmet. “It is the one.”

“I cannot see any identification. Are you sure it is the cryocorpse of Anastasia Werlich?”

“I am sure.”

“Then lift it carefully, and bring it with you. Lead us back to the surface and to my ship.”

He could see no way that the blue pyramid could exert force, but after a moment of hesitation the cryotank lifted in the low gravity. Two seconds more, and the blue gleam was moving again through the vault. It led the way steadily upward, to the first-level chamber where Drake’s outer suit was removed. Twenty minutes more, and he was supervising the careful placement of Ana’s cryotank in the aft storage compartment of his ship.

The machine attendants had gone and he was ready to tell the ship to lift from the surface of Pluto, when the communication panel lit with a busy constellation of red and yellow lights.

“The removal of a cryotank from the Pluto cryowomb, and its placement aboard this ship, is unauthorized,” said a quiet voice. “ The cryotank must be returned at once.”

Drake cursed his own stupidity. The actions of the machines must be reported automatically to some central data bank. It was only his good luck that screening -for anomalies apparently took a few minutes to perform.

Rather than replying, he locked the outside ports and gave the order for instant departure from the surface.

“The removal of any cryotank from the Pluto vaults is forbidden without proper authorization,” repeated the voice. “You do not have such authorization. Do not attempt to leave Pluto. It will not be permitted. ”

Drake ignored the warning. He dropped into the pilot’s seat. Why hadn’t the ship taken off? When he left Earth and Mars, his commands had been executed immediately.

He could guess the answer: the ship’s automatic piloting system was being overridden from outside. If he wanted to leave, he would have to assume manual control. He knew how to fly the ship in theory, from his crash courses in astronautics and space systems. In practice, he had never tried anything like it.

He hit the switches to turn off the ship’s computer control, cursing the messages that came back to him:

“The requested action will remove the vessel from automated path guidance. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Yes.”

“The requested action will inhibit the use of all trajectory planning functions. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Yes.”

“The requested action will also disconnect this vessel from the solar system protective navigation system. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

He was hitting the manual lift sequence, over and over, convinced that outside the ship more direct methods were being put in place to prevent takeoff.

Finally — at last — he saw that the ship was rising. Pluto’s surface of rock and ice receded below them.

He set a simple outward course, directly away from the Sun. He did not care where he went, provided it was away.

It should have been easy. The Pluto approach corridor had been completely deserted on his arrival. Now it was buzzing with ships. His control board showed scores of them in the space ahead. Where had they all come from? Was it like the automated service that had caught Melissa, a whole invisible safety net of ships that sprang into action exactly when it was needed?

No time to worry about what or why. The ships ahead were converging, moving to intersect the course that he had set for the solar system perimeter. Somehow they knew his flight plan. It must be transmitted automatically, even when he was flying manual.

“DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PROCEED. ” The command was louder and more peremptory. “ RETURN AT ONCE TO PLUTO.”

Drake set the ship to maximum acceleration and kept going, driving toward the heart of the converging cluster of ships.

“TURN OFF YOUR DRIVE. YOU ARE MOVING IN EXCESS OF FORTY KILOMETERS PER SECOND, AND

ACCELERATING. IMPACT AT SUCH SPEED CAN HAVE FATAL CONSEQUENCES.”

It was a great understatement. Impact with another ship at forty kilometers a second would leave random bits of melted metal and vaporized plastic.

“YOU ARE ON A COLLISION COURSE.”

A grating siren sounded in Drake’s ear. The ship’s own detection system was blaring its warning. Collision and destruction were no more than a split second away.

And then, at the last moment, the other ships sheered off. The center of the cluster became open. Drake flew on through.

He wondered what had saved him. Did the interceptors have their own prohibition against causing harm to a human? Or against permitting their own destruction?