More Tales of Pirx the Pilot

that cushion the aggression potential.”

“In every case?”

“Impossible. Their brain, like ours, is a probability system. The probability of specific responses can be increased, but not raised to a certainty. Though here again they have the edge.”

“And if I went to crack the skull of one…?”

“He’d fight back.”

“To the point of killing me?”

“In self-defense only.”

“And if attack was the only defense?”

“He’d attack.”

“Hand me those contracts,” said Pirx.

The pen squeaked in the silence. The engineer folded the legal forms, then tucked them into his portfolio.

“Are you heading back to the States?” Pirx asked.

“First thing tomorrow.”

“You can tell your superiors I’ll try to bring out the worst in them.”

“That’s the spirit! We’re counting on it! Because even their worst is better than man’s. Only…”

“You were about to say?”

“You’re a brave man, Pirx. All the same, I’d recommend caution.”

“So they don’t gang up on me?” said Pirx, forcing a smile.

“So you’re not made the fall guy. You see, your humans will be the first to bail out. Your average, decent, good-boy types. Get it?”

“Get it,” answered Pirx. “I’ll be shoving off now. Time for me to take command of my ship.”

“My helicopter is on the roof,” said McGuirr, rising to his feet. “Can I give you a lift?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take the subway. Don’t like to take chances, you know. And you’ll tell them that I intend to play rough?”

“If you like.”

McGuirr was searching his pockets for a fresh cigar.

“Frankly, I find your attitude a bit strange. What do you expect? They’re not human; no one’s claiming they are. They’re highly trained professionals—and conscientious, too, ready to oblige. They’ll do anything for you.”

“I’ll make sure they do even more,” retorted Pirx.

Pirx, not about to let Brown off the hook in the God affair, made a point of phoning him the next day—the “nonlinear” pilot’s telephone number was made available courtesy of UNESCO. He dialed and recognized the voice.

“I was expecting your call.”

“Well, which is it to be?” asked Pirx. He felt strangely apathetic, not half so blithe as when he had signed McGuirr’s papers. At the time, he’d thought: No big deal. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“I wasn’t given much time,” said Brown in that flat, purling voice of his. “So all I can say is, I was taught the probability method. I calculate the odds and act accordingly. In this case, I’d say … ninety percent, or even ninety- nine-point-nine percent, it’s no, with less than one chance in a hundred it’s yes.”

“That there is a God?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. You can sign on with the others. See you aboard ship.”

“Good-bye,” answered the softspoken baritone, and the receiver clicked.

Pirx was reminded, out of the blue, of this conversation on his way to the spaceport. Somebody—UNESCO? his crew’s “manufacturers”?—had already got clearance from Port Control. No health inspection, no crew certification, with lift-off scheduled for 1445 hours during the afternoon lull. The three fair-sized satellite probes destined for Saturn were already in their bays. The Goliath—a ship of medium tonnage, in the six thousand range, highly computerized, only two years out of the shipyard—had an ultrasmooth, non- oscillating, fast-neutron pile, occupying a mere ten cubic meters in space, with a capacity of forty-five million horsepower, seventy million for quick acceleration.

Pirx knew nothing of his crew’s Paris accommodations—a hotel? a company-rented apartment? (a grotesque, macabre thought: maybe McGuirr had unplugged them and boxed them away for the past two days)—or even how they’d got to the port.

They were mustered in a separate room at Port Control, each with suitcase, duffel bag, and a lightweight tote bag with a name tag dangling from the straps. The sight of the duffel bags inspired comic visions of monkey wrenches, cosmetic oilcans, and the like. But he was in no laughing mood as, having said his hellos to everyone, he submitted the flight authorizations and ship’s articles needed for final clearance. Then, two hours ahead of launch time, they stepped onto a floodlit pad and filed out to the snow-white Goliath. It looked a bit like a giant, freshly uncrated wedding cake.

A routine blast-off. The Goliath needed almost no help in lifting off, thanks to a full array of automatic and semi-automatic sequencers. A half hour later, they were already far above Earth’s nocturnal hemisphere and its fluorescent rash of cities; and Pirx, although a veteran spaceborne observer of Earth’s atmosphere when it was brushed “against the grain” by the sunrise, was now, as always, a willing spectator to this giant sickle of burning rainbow. Minutes later, they passed the last navigational satellite—one of those “electronic bureaucrats of the cosmos,” as Pirx dubbed the diligent machines—in a hail of crackle and bleeps, and climbed above the ecliptic. After instructing the chief pilot to stay at the controls, Pirx retired to his cabin. Not ten minutes had passed when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

It was Brown. Gently closing the door behind him, he went up to Pirx, who was lounging on the edge of his bunk, and said in a subdued voice:

“I’d like a few words with you.”

“Take a seat.”

Brown lowered himself onto a chair, pulled it up closer to cut down the distance between them, kept demurely silent with eyes lowered for a moment, then suddenly looked straight into the CO’s eyes.

“I have something to tell you. In confidence. Promise you won’t repeat a word?”

Pirx cocked his eyebrows.

“A secret?” He deliberated for a few seconds. “OK, you have my word,” he said at last. “I’m all ears.”

“I’m human,” said Brown, and paused, staring at Pirx to gauge the effect of his words. But Pirx, his eyelids at half mast, his head leaning against the white polyfoam-padded wall, registered no emotion. “I’m coming clean because I want to help you,” the visitor resumed, in the tone of someone reciting a well-rehearsed speech. “When I first applied, I didn’t know what it was all about—they processed us separately, to keep us from getting acquainted. It wasn’t until after I was selected, until after all the flight tests and screenings, that I was briefed. Even then I had to swear absolute secrecy. Look, I have a girl, we want to get married, but financially… Well, here was our big break—a cash advance of eight thousand, with another eight thousand payable on signing off, win or lose. These are the facts; I’m clean, really. How was I supposed to know! Some kind of weirdo experiment, that’s what I thought at the beginning. Then the whole thing started to get to me. I mean, it’s a question of our common cause… Who am I to cover up? I have no right to do that. You agree?”

Pirx’s silence prompted the visitor to continue, his self-confidence now a trifle shaken.

“They kept us apart the whole time. Each had his own room, his own john, his own private gym. They even fed us separately, except during the last few days before our departure to Europe. So I can’t tell you which of them is human and which isn’t. I just don’t know. Though I have my suspicions.”

“Hold on a sec,” Pirx interrupted. “Why did you dodge my question by saying it wasn’t ‘your department’?”

Brown sat up in his chair, shifted one leg, and, eying his shoe tip, which was doodling something on the floor, said in a hushed voice:

“Because I’d already decided to clue you in, and, well… I was in the hot seat. I was afraid McGuirr might get wise. So I answered your question in a way that would make him believe I was—”

“So it was because of McGuirr?”