Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

First came the “Liftoff” theme. Then Brandy’s voice.

“I hate birthdays. We all do, of course, after we pass twenty, but no one wants to admit it. Back on the day when I turned twenty-four I spent the afternoon at a ball game. There was no woman in my life. I didn’t have a job. My folks were throwing a party for me that evening, I didn’t have a date, and all I could think of was that the years were rolling past and I wasn’t getting anything done. My life was getting away from me.

“That same day I came across an ad for a supplement whose makers insisted it would keep me young. The price was a little out of reach, but if I cut some corners I’d be able to manage it. And I began thinking how life would be if we all started living forever. Bosses would never retire. Politicians would not go away. The funeral directors and pallbearers unions would go on strike. And people would be asked to do the patriotic thing, go down to the dock, and throw themselves into the river—”

Alex rarely skipped a meal. But on that evening, while they waited, he passed. Uncle Gabe tried to reassure him. “Sometimes you just have to be patient,” he said.

They sat in the cabin, trying to find things to say as the final hours wore away. Alex mostly spent his time staring out a portal at the distant stars or listening for the AI to say something. Gabe began telling stories about times when he’d thought he had nothing for his efforts and then it had all turned around. Like finding the secret diaries of Vernon Persechetti, the brilliant composer who’d had inside knowledge of all the scandals of the Leichmann Era. And the Maroni statue of The Last Virgin, which had vanished from its place in the offices of the Brocchian attorney general who’d been offended by its lack of clothing. “Sometimes,” he said, “the pleasure is just in the hunt. Even if you don’t find something, you’ve eliminated a possibility.”

“Okay,” said Alex, who didn’t buy it.

“Just hang on,” Gabe said.

By eleven o’clock, Alex was sure they would not pick up the signal. Maybe Horace hadn’t sat down at the mike after all. Or maybe the distance was just too much and the transmission had dissipated. Or—Or what?

Midnight came and went. Thankfully, it was over.

Tori suggested they give it a few more hours. “Getting precision with these kinds of calculations is tricky,” she said. “If we’re even a little bit off, it can make a big difference.”

Gabe agreed. Alex, frustrated, went back to his cabin. He did not understand. He felt that he knew Brandy quite well. There’s no way he would have signed off quietly.

Maybe, Alex thought, he had the wrong target.

There was a comment of Brandy’s that had stayed with him since the first time he’d heard it: “I’d like to live long enough to share a few beers with whoever lives in Andromeda.”

He asked Roger if Andromeda was visible from Zeta Laporis.

“Yes,” he said.

Alex took a deep breath and joined Tori and Gabe in the passenger cabin. “There’s another possibility,” he said.

Roger worked out the vector of a transmission from Zeta Laporis to Andromeda, and a week later the Tracker arrived. “You owe me,” Gabe said.

And Tori seemed slightly annoyed. But she’d gone along with it. And six hours after they arrived on their target location two light-years from Arkagus, they picked up a transmission.

It opened with the familiar musical theme, Shefski’s “Liftoff,” and soared into space. Then Brandy was laughing and talking about how sometimes things don’t go the way you’d like them too.

“Blew out my engines,” he said. “You do something over and over and after a while you get used to the way things are supposed to go. And then you get a surprise.”

Alex raised a fist. “Yay,” he said. “He’s okay.”

Brandy continued in his usual self-mocking tone, describing his situation, air running out, not long to go. “Sometimes stuff happens. You’re listening to this, and I’m a long time gone. I’d like to say thanks to the people who’ve supported me all these years. But most of them, like me, have probably moved on. And it’s not likely anybody out there will ever have heard of me, unless someone didn’t have much to do and decided to chase down the signal. But what I want to say is that, if you can manage it, I hope you find a way to get out here. Even if you only do it once. There’s too much to see and you don’t want to miss it. And believe me, the virtual stuff doesn’t hold a candle to sailing through a set of planetary rings. Or tracking a comet. I’ll tell you something else, if I’d had the opportunity to pick my location when it was time to check out, this would have been the kind of place I’d have chosen. This is where I’d have wanted to make my exit.

“And I’d like also to say hello to, possibly, the only ones who will hear this message. And who will have to take time to manage a translation. Anyhow, hello to the Andromedans. I’d love to have met you guys. And I hope we connect. Sorry if it creates an inconvenience, but it’s my only shot.” And he laughed.

“I just don’t know how he does it,” said Alex. “He’s incredible.”

Tori embraced him. “You did a good job, Alex.”

Gabe smiled. “I think we have a budding archeologist here.”

“I really like him,” Alex said. “He talked for, what, an hour? And I didn’t hear a word that suggested he was feeling sorry for himself. Hard to believe, considering what was happening.”

“I agree,” said Gabe.

“I was afraid he might have broken down.”

“Apparently not that guy.”

“He was just doing what he always did, I guess,” said Tori. “A last show, and good-bye.”

Subterranean Press creates readable art, publishing luxurious specialty, limited editions and groundbreaking original works in the science fiction, fantasy, and horror genre. Subterranean works with a wide range of authors, from cult favorites to some of the bestselling and most acclaimed authors in the world.

Based in Burton, Michigan, Subterranean issues approximately 45 titles each year. Since it began in 1995, both the publisher and numerous works it has produced have been honored with accolades including the World Fantasy, Locus, Horror Writers Association, and Hugo awards.

Make sure you don’t miss interesting happenings by joining our newsletter at our homepage!

“Searching for Oz” Originally published in Impossible Futures , Pink Narcissus Press, 2013.

“The Law of Gravity Isn’t Working on Rainbow Bridge” Originally published by W. Paul Ganley, 2003.

“The Adventure of the Southsea Trunk” Originally published in Sidewise in Crime , Solaris, 2008.