Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

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.”

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.”

“About what?” asked Maureen.

Sam frowned. “I think it was during the discussion over what we would do this year. I think he was the one who suggested the archeology on Mars scenario.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “He suggested it, and he pushed hard for it. Got his way, as it turned out.”

Something nagged me about that. Quiet stranger shows up, takes little part in the current game but campaigns hard for a specific scenario for next time. Gets his wish—and ends up in a funk when it doesn’t reach the resolution he’d hoped for.

What resolution had he wanted?

“Should we try to find him?” I asked Sam. “See if there’s anything we can do?”

Sam thought awhile before he answered. “No. No, I don’t think so. He’s a big boy, Jake.” He smiled at the joke.

But he didn’t sound very sure.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even though the seminar had gone well and I should have felt proud and contented.

Next morning everyone said their goodbyes at breakfast. Sam handed out a list of attendees’ names and addresses. And we agreed to stay in touch.

Bryan was the only one missing. Nobody, including the desk clerk, had seen him leave. But his account was paid. I asked to see his room and found it made up, even though the maids hadn’t started their morning rounds. Had he done it himself?

Questions unanswered, I tossed two small bags into the back of my Honda, checked out, and started the long lonely drive home to Indianapolis. It was a good day for it, a huge dome of high pressure keeping the scenery crisp and the driving easy most of the way, though I did run into a couple of late afternoon thunderstorms.