More Tales of Pirx the Pilot

‘Keep buckled up!’ the CO barked at me; and to Calder, ‘Hands off the fuse!’ Calder ignored him; he was already on his feet. ‘Full blast ahead!’ the CO yelled, and I obeyed orders. I revved to five—I didn’t want to kill him, just make him back-pedal—but he stayed on his feet. It was a gruesome sight, gentlemen—no human can keep upright at five g’s! But he did. When he grabbed hold of the dash, he ripped the skin from both palms; he held on, though, because his hands were now bared to the metal. Then I juiced her to full. At fourteen, a metal hulk blitzed between our couches and slammed so hard against the rear wall it shattered. I heard some ungodly voice; I could hear him writhing around back there, flattening bulkheads, mangling everything he grabbed, but then I lost track; we were careening into the Division. I dropped her down to four g’s and trusted to old lady luck. The CO yelled, ‘Shoot!’ and I began firing the meteorite deflectors, one after another, to keep the bow space clear of any small debris: not much protection, but better than nothing. The Cassini was pitch- black, a gaping gullet; I saw a fire up ahead, off the bow; the shields deployed and ignited on impact; silver clouds rose and—poof!—it was too beautiful for words. The ship shook, the starboard thermocouples registered the shock, we sideswiped something, no telling what, and then we were in the clear again…”

“Commander Pirx?”

“Pirx reporting. You wanted to see me?”

“Thank you for coming. Have a seat.”

The man behind the desk touched a button on a black intercom and said, “I’ll be tied up for the next twenty minutes. I’m not here—for anyone.”

He switched off the intercom and stared at the man seated opposite him.

“Commander, I have a—hm—special proposition for you. A sort of”—he was again searching for the right word—“experiment. But you’re to keep it strictly confidential. Even if you turn it down. Agreed?”

A silence lasting several seconds.

“Nothing doing,” said Pirx, and then added: “Not unless you give me more details.”

“Nothing sight unseen, is that it? That figures. I should have known from what I’ve heard about you. Cigarette?”

“No, thanks.”

“It’s a test flight.”

“New model?”

“New type of crew.”

“Crew? And my job?”

“The usual—a fitness test. That’s all I can tell you. It’s up to you.”

“When I think an answer is possible, I’ll answer.”

“Possible?”

“Advisable.”

“By what criteria?”

“By what is known as a conscience, sir.”

Another pause. The spacious office, glass-walled on one side, was so hushed it seemed isolated from the two thousand others packed into this high-rise, which was sprawling enough to accommodate three helicopter pads. Silhouetted against the blinding cloud vapor that shrouded the upper sixteen stories, the man interviewing Pirx was featureless. From time to time the vapor behind the transparent wall swelled into milk-white billows, making the whole room seem mysteriously afloat, cloud-borne.

“As you see, I’m an accommodating man. It’s a Terra-Terra run.”

“A loop?”

“With a circum-Saturn pass, and from there an injection of some brand-new, fully automated satellites into stationary.”

“The Jupiter project?”

“The satellite end of it. The ship is one of COMSEC’s, so the whole thing has UNESCO sponsorship. Why you and not one of our own pilots or navigators? We picked you because of the crew angle I mentioned.”

The UNESCO space director fell silent again. Pirx waited, strained his ears; but not a sound was to be heard, not for kilometers around, it seemed, even though they were in the heart of a great city.

“Surely you’re aware of the advances made in the manufacture of automata, in robotics. The most sophisticated androids, because of their weight and size, have been stationary until now. But solid-state physics, in both the U.S. and the U.S.S.R., has opened a new chapter in micro-miniaturization—the molecular. Prototypical brain systems, crystal-based, are now in the experimental stage. Their size—they’re still about one and a half times the size of our brain—is unimportant. Many American firms have already patented the molecular design and are ready to go into production. The new androids—or ‘finite nonlinears,’ as they’re called—are primarily designed for unmanned space exploration.”

“I’ve heard reports. But I thought the unions had come out against them. It would mean, I take it, overhauling the existing legislation.”

“Reports, you say? Rumors, yes, but otherwise the media—”

“Among the rank and file there were leaks of some hush-hush negotiations, of high-level talks. You can understand our concern,” Pirx said.

“Very much so. All to the good, actually… Although… What’s your own opinion?”

“On this subject? Negative. Damned negative, in fact. But opinions don’t count here, I’m afraid. Scientific breakthroughs will have their way, no matter what. At best, one can play a stalling game.”

“In short, you regard it as a necessary evil.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I just don’t think mankind is ready for an invasion of androids. But the real question is: are they human equivalents? If so, then I’ve never met any. I’m no expert, but the experts I know think full equivalence, real interchangeability, is wishful thinking.”

“You wouldn’t be biased, would you?” the space director asked. “True, a lot of trained experts share your opinion, or at least they used to. But, well, these companies are in it for economic reasons, as a business venture…”

“For the money, you mean.”

“You see, the design specifications were developed by government-financed institutes—U.S. mainly, but also British and French—and not all the specs have been released to the commercial market. Still, the private firms have their own research labs and—”

“Cybertronics?”

“Cybertronics, Machintrex, Inteltron, to name just a few. The point is, the governments of these countries are worried about the fallout—jobwise. The private sector couldn’t care less about the financing of government retraining programs for those who’ll be phased out by the nonlinears.”

“Nonlinears, eh? Quaint.”

“Shorthand slang; it’s ‘in’ now. Anyhow, it’s better than ‘homunculus’ or ‘android.’ I mean, they aren’t human, after all.”

“Not fully interchangeable, you mean?”

“You know, Commander, I’m not an expert in such matters, either… Anyway, what I think is quite immaterial. The main thing is, one of the first comers would be COSNAV.”

“That privately owned Anglo-American company?”

“That’s the one. Cosmic Navigation has been floundering for years. The Communist bloc’s astronautical systems, being noncommercial, make for stiff competition, so stiff they’ve cornered the bulk of the cargo traffic. Especially on the extraterrestrial runs. You must know that.”

“Who doesn’t? Personally, I wouldn’t be a bit sorry if COSNAV went bust. If space exploration could be internationalized under the UN, why not the shipping trade? That’s my opinion, anyway.”

“Mine, too. Believe me, I’m all for it, if only because I’m sitting at this desk. But these are castles in the air. Meanwhile, COSNAV wants to corner the nonlinears for their own lines—at the moment, only for their cargo fleet; they’re afraid of a public boycott if they install them on their passenger lines. Preliminary negotiations are already under way, in fact.”

“And the media are keeping it under wraps?”