Isso é "Psyclops" , um conto de Brian W. Aldiss ; publicado pela primeira vez em New Worlds Science Fiction # 49, julho de 1956 , disponível no Arquivo da Internet (clique aqui para opções de download); qualquer uma das essas capas parecem familiares?
O personagem do ponto de vista é um bebê telepático não nascido em uma nave espacial. Não há mais ninguém a bordo, exceto sua irmã gêmea e sua mãe. Ninguém está no cryosleep, mas a mãe não é telepata. O bebê está recebendo mensagens de seu pai, também telepata:
Where are you?
I am on a world like Earth which is ninety light-years from Earth and getting farther from you even as we communicate together.
Why? How? Don't understand. So much is now beyond my understanding; before you came everything was peaceful and dim.
Lie quiet and don't fret, son. You're doing well; you take the points quickly, you'll reach Earth yet. You are traveling toward Earth in a spaceship which left Mirone, planet where I am, sixteen days ago.
O pai está morrendo no mundo alienígena que eles deixaram:
We had wandered some way out from the ship when a group of natives burst out upon us.
Natives?
People who live here. They are sub-human, blue-skinned and hairless—not pretty to look at.
Picture!
I think you'd be better without one. Judy and I ran for the ship. We were nearly up to it when a rock caught me behind the knee—they were pitching rocks at us—and I went down. Judy never noticed until she was in the air-lock, and then the savages were on me. My leg was hurt; I couldn't even put up a fight.
O navio vai perder a Terra porque o robô piloto não possui os dados corretos. O homem instrui seu filho não nascido sobre como pedir ajuda:
Unfortunately, whereas spaceships get anywhere in time, thought has a definite limited range. Its span is as strictly governed as—well, as the size of a plant, for instance. When you are fifty light-years from Mirone, contact between us will abruptly cease.
Don't leave me. I shall be lonely!
I'll be lonely too—but not for long. But you, son, you are already halfway to Earth, or as near as I can estimate it, you are. As soon as contact between us ceases, you must call TRE.
Which means?
Telepath Radial Earth. It's a general control and information center, permanently beamed for any sort of emergency. You can raise them. I can't.
They won't know me.
I'll give you their call pattern. They'll soon know you when you telemit. You can give them my pattern for identification if you like. You must explain what is happening.
Will they believe?
Of course.
Are they real?
Of course. Tell TRE what the trouble is; they'll send out a fast ship to pick Judy and you up before you are out of range.
ATUALIZADO em resposta a um comentário do OP.
No que eu me lembro, todo o problema está em comunicar com um feto
You are in danger and I must help you.
Mmmmm. Must be mmmm. . . .
. . . If only there were a psychofetalist within light-years of here. . . . Well, keep trying. Wake up! You must wake up to survive!
quem está em um ventre experimentando um estado de bem-aventurança 'Mmmm'.
O começo:
Mmmm I.
First statement: I am I. I am everything. Everything, everywhere.
[. . . .]
Why am I having thoughts? Why am I not, as I was before, just mmmm?
Wake up! It's urgent!
No! Deny it! I am the universe. If you can speak to me you must be me, so I command you to be still. There must be only the soothing mmmm.
Quando a 'voz' telepática se intromete, há uma breve conversa, mas depois de um tempo o bebê cansa dela e volta para 'mmm',
You will—if nothing is done about it. But landfall will be delayed by thousands of years.
You are growing fainter. Strain too much. Must mmmm.
e aí a história termina.
Esse foi o fim da conversa telepática, mas não da história. O final da história:
Father! Wait, wait, look, see, I can move. I've just discovered I can turn, Father!
No answer now. Just a stream of silence. I have got to call TRE.
Plenty of time. Perhaps, if I turn first. . . . Easy. I'm only six months, he said. Maybe I could call more easily if I was outside, in the real universe. If I turn again,.
Now if I kick. . . .
Ah, easy now. Kick again. Good. Wonder if my legs are blue.
Kick.
Something yielding.
Kick. . . .