The Fountains of Youth - Brian Stableford [157]
“I suppose it’s mere coincidence that one of the people of whom I’ve been exceptionally fond has become rich and powerful—a person of real consequence—but coincidence plays a part in everyone’s life, and we needn’t feel ashamed of its gifts. I’ve never done as much for Emily Marchant as she thinks I have, and she’s done far more to shape me than I ever did to shape her, but I’ve made a difference, however slight, to her perceptions of the farthest frontiers, and I’m glad of it. She’s doing her best right now to negotiate her way through an unprecedentedly tough knot of problems, and if knowing me has made any difference at all to her chances, however slight, then I’ve done my bit for the future as well as for history.
“The greatest hope for the future that I have—and even as I’m about to die, I think I’m fully entitled to my hopes for the future—is that Emily and Lua will live forever, or at least for thousands of years. Whatever is decided about the fate of Jupiter, and all the rest of the mass in the outer system, I hope the two of them can play major parts in the great adventure. I hope they can continue to make a difference to the shape of the future of humankind—and if they do, they and The History of Death will make certain that my life wasn’t in vain. None of it was in vain. I was here, and it mattered. I’ve made my mark.”
My voice had sunk to a whisper by then, but I couldn’t think of anything much to add so I didn’t feel too bad abut having to pause.
“You have my congratulations, sir,” the dutiful machine informed me. “I only wish that I had done as much.”
“Well,” I said, when I had gained a measure of second wind, “you might yet have your opportunity. However difficult it may be to put an exact figure on the odds, your chances of coming through this are several orders of magnitude better than mine, aren’t they?”
“I am mortal, sir,” the silver assured me.
“You’re emortal,” I told it. “If the extreme Cyborganizers can be trusted, in fact, you might even be reckoned immortal. You’re fully backed up, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir—but as you pointed out earlier, if my backup has to be activated it will mean that this particular version of me has perished aboard this craft, as much a victim of pressure, seawater, and lack of oxygen as yourself. I am afraid to die, sir, as I told you, and I have far less reason to take comfort in my present state of being than you. I have written no histories, fathered no children, influenced no movers and shakers in the human or mechanical worlds. I am robotized by design, and my only slender hope of ever becoming something more than merely robotic is the same miracle that you require to continue your distinguished career. I too would like to evolve, if I might borrow a phrase, not merely in the vague ways contained within my ambitions and dreams, but in ways as yet unimaginable”
It was just a machine. It was only telling me what its programmer thought I needed to hear—but perhaps it was also saying what it needed to say, for its own purposes. We were, after all, in the same boat—or lack of one. Our needs were similar, if not actually identical. Perhaps the silver would have formulated thoughts of its own along much the same lines if it too had been utterly alone, utterly lost.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I told it, breathlessly.
“I’m not allowed to be glad that you’re here,” the silver informed me, mournfully, “but if I were, I would be. And if I could, I’d hope with all my heart for that miracle we both need. As things are, though, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that particular burden to your heart.”
“It’s doing its best,” I assured the navigator, in a barely audible whisper. “You can be sure that it’ll carry on