"Now I want to explore another possibility," Chandra continued. "Diagnosis is only the first step. The process is incomplete unless it leads to a cure."
"You believe that Hal can be restored to normal functioning?"
"I hope so. I do not know. There may have been irreversible damage, and certainly major loss of memory."
He paused thoughtfully, took several puffs, then blew a skilful smoke ring that scored a bull's-eye on Sal's wideangle lens. A human being would not have regarded this as a friendly gesture; that was yet another of the many advantages of computers.
"I need your cooperation, Sal."
"Of course, Dr Chandra."
"There may be certain risks."
"What do you mean?"
"I propose to disconnect some of your circuits, particularly those involving your higher functions. Does this disturb you?"
"I am unable to answer that without more specific information."
"Very well. Let me put it this way. You have operated continuously, have you not, since you were first switched on?"
"That is correct."
"But you are aware that we human beings cannot do so. We require sleep - an almost complete break in our mental functioning, at least on the conscious level."
"I know this. But I do not understand it."
"Well, you may be about to experience something like sleep. Probably all that will happen is that time will pass, but you will be unaware out. When you check your internal clock, you will discover that there are gaps in your monitor record. That is all."
"But you said that there might be risks. What are they?"
"There is a very slight chance - it is impossible to compute it - that when I reconnect your circuits, there may be some changes in your personality, your future behaviour patterns. You may feel different. Not necessarily better, or worse.'
"I do not know what that means."
"I'm sorry - it may not mean anything. So don't worry about it. Now please open a new file - here is the name." Using the keyboard input, Chandra typed out: PHOENIX.
"Do you know what that is?" he asked Sal.
With no discernible pause the computer replied: "There are twenty-five references in the current encyclopedia."
"Which one do you think is relevant?"
"The tutor of Achilles?"
"Interesting. I didn't know that one. Try again."
"A fabulous bird, reborn from the ashes of its earlier life."
"Excellent. Now do you understand why I chose it?"
"Because you hope that Hal can be reactivated."
"Yes - with your assistance. Are you ready?"
"Not yet. I would like to ask a question."
"What is it?"
"Will I dream?"
"Of course you will. All intelligent creatures dream - but no one knows why." Chandra paused for a moment, blew another smoke ring from the cheroot, and added something that he would never admit to a human being. "Perhaps you will dream about Hal - as I often do."
4
Mission Profile
English Version
To: Captain Tatiana (Tanya) Orlova, Commander. Spacecraft Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov (UNCOS Registration 081342).
From: National Council on Astronautics, Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington
Commission on Outer Space, USSR Academy of Science, Korolyev Prospect, Moscow
Mission Objectives
The objectives of your mission are, in order of priority:
1. To proceed to the Jovian system and rendezvous with US Spacecraft Discovery (UNCOS 01/283).
2. To board this spacecraft, and obtain all possible information relating to its earlier mission.
3. To reactivate Spacecraft Discovery's onboard systems and, if propellant supplies are adequate, inject the ship into an Earth-returns trajectory.
4 To locate the alien artifact encountered by Discovery, and to investigate it to the maximum extent possible by remote sensors.
5. If it seems advisable, and Mission Control concurs, to rendezvous with this object for closer inspection.
6. To carry out a survey of Jupiter and its satellites, as far as this is compatible with the above objectives.
It is realized that unforeseen circumstances may require a change of priorities, or even make it impossible to achieve some of these objectives. It must be clearly understood that the rendezvous with Spacecraft Discovery is for the express purpose of obtaining information about the artifact; this must take precedence over all other objectives, including attempts at salvage.
Crew
The crew of Spacecraft Alexei Leonov will consist of:
Captain Tatiana Orlova (Engineering-Propulsion)
Dr Vasili Orlov (Navigation-Astronomy)
Dr Maxim Brailovsky (Engineering-Structures)
Dr Alexander Kovalev (Engineering-Communications)
Dr Nikolai Ternovsky (Engineering-Control Systems)
Surgeon-Commander Katerina Rudenko (Medical-Life-Support)
Dr Irma Yakunina (Medical-Nutrition)
In addition, the US National Council on Astronautics will provide the following three experts:
Dr Heywood Floyd dropped the memorandum, and leaned back in his chair. It was all settled; the point of no return had been passed. Even if he wished to do so, there was no way to put back the clock.
He glanced across at Caroline, sitting with two-year-old Chris on the edge of the pool. The boy was more at home in the water than on land, and could stay submerged for periods that often terrified visitors. And though he could not yet speak much Human, he already seemed fluent in Dolphin.
One of Christopher's friends had just swum in from the Pacific and was presenting his back to be patted. You too are a wanderer, thought Floyd, in a vast and trackless ocean; but how small your tiny Pacific seems, against the immensity I am facing now!
Caroline became aware of his gaze, and rose to her feet. She looked at him sombrely, but without anger; all that had been burned out in the last few days. As she approached, she even managed a wistful smile.
"I've found that poem I was looking for," she said. "It starts like this:
What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?"
"Sorry - I don't quite understand. Who is the Widow-maker?"
"Not who, what. The sea. The poem's a lament by a Viking woman. It was written by Rudyard Kipling, a hundred years ago."
Floyd took his wife's hand; she did not respond, but neither did she resist.
"Well, I don't feel at all like a Viking. I'm not after loot, and adventure is the very last thing I want."
"Then why - no, I don't intend to start another fight. But it would help us both, if you know exactly what your motives are."
"I wish I could give you one single good reason. Instead, I've a whole host of little ones. But they add up to a final answer I can't argue with - believe me."
"I believe you. But are you sure you're not fooling yourself?"
"If I am, then so are a lot of other people. Including, may I remind you, the President of the United States."
"I'm not likely to forget. But suppose - just suppose - that he hadn't asked you. Would you have volunteered?"
"I can answer that truthfully: No. It would never have occurred to me. President Mordecai's call was the biggest shock of my life. But when I thought it over, I realized he was perfectly right. You know I don't go in for false modesty. I am the best-qualified man for the job - when the space docs give their final okay. And you should know that I'm still in pretty good shape."
That brought the smile he had intended.
"Sometimes I wonder if you'd suggested it yourself."
The thought had indeed occurred to him; but he could answer honestly.
"I would never have done so without consulting you."
"I'm glad you didn't. I don't know what I'd have said."
"I could still turn it down."
&nb
sp; "Now you're talking nonsense, and you know it. Even if you did, you'd hate me for the rest of your life - and you'd never forgive yourself. You have too strong a sense of duty. Maybe that's one of the reasons I married you."
Duty! Yes, that was the key word, and what multitudes it contained. He had a duty to himself, to his family, to the University, to his past job (even though he had left it under a cloud), to his country - and to the human race. It was not easy to establish the priorities; and sometimes they conflicted with one another.
There were perfectly logical reasons why he should go on the mission - and equally logical reasons, as many of his colleagues had already pointed out, why he should not. But perhaps in the final analysis, the choice had been made by his heart, not his brain. And even here, emotion urged him in two opposite directions.
Curiosity, guilt, the determination to finish a job that had been badly botched - they all combined to drive him toward Jupiter and whatever might be waiting there. On the other hand, fear - he was honest enough to admit that - united with love of his family to keep him on Earth. Yet he had never had any real doubts; he had made his decision almost instantly, and had deflected all of Caroline's arguments as gently as he could.
And there was one other consoling thought that he had not yet risked sharing with his wife. Though he would be gone two and a half years, all but the fifty days at Jupiter would be spent in timeless hibernation. When he returned, the gap between their ages would have narrowed by more than two years.
He would have sacrificed the present so that they could share a longer future together.
5
Leonov
The months contracted to weeks, the weeks dwindled to days, the days shrivelled to hours; and suddenly Heywood Floyd was once more at the Cape - spaceward-bound for the first time since that trip to Clavius Base and the Tycho monolith, so many years ago.
But this time he was not alone, and there was no secrecy about the mission. A few seats ahead of him rode Dr Chandra, already engaged in a dialogue with his briefcase computer, and quite oblivious to his surroundings.
One of Floyd's secret amusements, which he had never confided to anyone, was spotting similarities between human beings and animals. The resemblances were more often flattering than insulting, and his little hobby was also a very useful aid to memory.
Dr Chandra was easy - the adjective birdlike sprang instantly to mind. He was tiny, delicate, and all his movements were swift and precise. But which bird? Obviously a very intelligent one. Magpie? Too perky and acquisitive. Owl? No - too slow-moving. Perhaps sparrow would do nicely.
Walter Curnow, the systems specialist who would have the formidable job of getting Discovery operational again, was a more difficult matter. He was a large, husky man, certainly not at all birdlike. One could usually find a match somewhere in the vast spectrum of dogs, but no canine seemed to fit. Of course - Curnow was a bear. Not the sulky, dangerous kind, but the friendly good-natured type. And perhaps this was appropriate; it reminded Floyd of the Russian colleagues he would soon be joining. They had been up in orbit for days, engaged in their final checks.
This is the great moment of my life, Floyd told himself. Now I am leaving on a mission that may determine the future of the human race. But he did not feel any sense of exultation; all he could think of, during the last minutes of the countdown, were the words he had whispered just before he had left home: 'Goodbye, my dear little son; will you remember me when I return?' And he still felt resentment toward Caroline because she would not awaken the sleeping child for one final embrace; yet he knew that she had been wise, and it was better that way.
His mood was shattered by a sudden explosive laugh; Dr Curnow was sharing a joke with his companions - as well as a large bottle that he handled as delicately as a barely subcritical mass of plutonium.
"Hey, Heywood," he called, 'they tell me Captain Orlova's locked up all the drinks, so this is your last chance. Château Thierry '95. Sorry about the plastic cups."
As Floyd sipped at the really superb champagne, he found himself cringing mentally at the thought of Curnow's guffaw reverberating all the way across the Solar System. Much as he admired the engineer's, ability, as a travelling companion Curnow might prove something of a strain. At least Dr Chandra would not present such problems; Floyd could hardly imagine him smiling, let alone laughing. And, of course, he turned down the champagne with a barely perceptible shudder. Curnow was polite enough, or glad enough, not to insist.
The engineer was, it seemed, determined to be the life and soul of the party. A few minutes later he produced a two-octave electronic keyboard, and gave rapid renderings of 'D'ye ken John Peel' as performed successively by piano, trombone, violin, flute, and full organ, with vocal accompaniment. He was really very good, and Floyd soon found himself singing along with the others. But it was just as well, he thought, that Curnow would spend most of the voyage in silent hibernation.
The music died with a sudden despairing discord as the engines ignited and the shuttle launched itself into the sky. Floyd was gripped by a familiar but always new exhilaration - the sense of boundless power, carrying him up and away from the cares and duties of Earth. Men knew better than they realized, when they placed the abode of the gods beyond the reach of gravity. He was flying toward that realm of weightlessness; for the moment, he would ignore the fact that out there lay not freedom, but the greatest responsibility of his career.
As the thrust increased, he felt the weight of worlds upon his shoulders - but he welcomed it, like an Atlas who had not yet tired of his burden. He did not attempt to think, but was content to savour the experience. Even if he was leaving Earth for the last time, and saying farewell to all that he had ever loved, he felt no sadness. The roar that surrounded him was a paean of triumph, sweeping away all minor emotions.
He was almost sorry when it ceased, though he welcomed the easier breathing and the sudden sense of freedom. Most of the other passengers started to unbuckle their safety straps, preparing to enjoy the thirty minutes of zero gravity during the transfer orbit, but a few who were obviously making the trip for the first time remained in their seats, looking around anxiously for the cabin attendants.
"Captain speaking. We're now at an altitude of three hundred kilometres, coming up over the west coast of Africa. You won't see much as it's night down there - that glow ahead is Sierra Leone - and there's a big tropical storm over the Gulf of Guinea. Look at those flashes!
"We'll have sunrise in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile I'm rolling the ship so you can get a good view of the equatorial satellite belt. The brightest one - almost straight overhead - is Intelsat's Atlantic-1 Antenna Farm. Then Intercosmos 2 to the west - that fainter star is Jupiter. And if you look just below that, you'll see a flashing light, moving against the star background - that's the new Chinese space-station. We pass within a hundred kilometres, not close enough to see anything with the naked eye -,
What were they up to? Floyd thought idly. He had examined the close-ups of the squat cylindrical structure with its curious bulges, and saw no reason to believe the alarmist rumours that it was a laser-equipped fortress. But while the Beijing Academy of Science ignored the UN Space Committee's repeated requests for a tour of inspection, the Chinese only had themselves to blame for such hostile propaganda.
The "Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov" was not a thing of beauty; but few spacecraft ever were. One day, perhaps, the human race would develop a new aesthetic; generations of artists might arise whose ideals were not based upon the natural forms of Earth moulded by wind and water. Space itself was a realm of often overpowering beauty; unfortunately, Man's hardware did not yet live up to it.
Apart from the four huge propellant tanks, which would be dropped off as soon as the transfer orbit was achieved, Leonov was surprisingly small. From heat shield to drive units was less than fifty metres; it was hard to believe that so modest a vehicle, smaller than many commercial aircraft, could carry ten men and women halfway across the Solar System.
As soon as the shuttle had docked, Floyd tried to find the cabin he would share - a year hence, when he awoke - with Curnow and Chandra. When he did locate it, he discovered that it was packed so tightly with neatly labelled boxes of equipment and provisions that entry was almost impossible. He was wondering glumly how to get a foot in the door when one of the crew, launching himself skilfully from handhold to handhold, noticed Floyd's dilemma and braked to a halt.
"Dr Floyd - welcome aboard. I'm Max Brailovsky - assistant engineer."
The young Russian spoke the slow, careful English of a student who had had more lessons with an electronic tutor than a human teacher. As they shook hands, Floyd matched the face and name to the set of crew biographies he had already studied: Maxim Andreievitch Brailovsky, age thirty-one, born Leningrad, specializing in structure; hobbies: fencing, skycycling, chess.
"Glad to meet you," said Floyd. 'But how do I get inside?"
"Not to worry," said Max cheerfully. "All that will be gone when you wake up. It's - what do you say? - expendables. We'll eat your room empty by the time you need it. I promise." He patted his stomach.
"Fine - but meanwhile where do I put my things?" Floyd pointed to the three small cases, total mass fifty kilograms, which contained - he hoped - everything he needed for the next couple of billion kilometres. It had been no easy task, shepherding their weightless, but not inertialess, bulk through the ship's corridors with only a few collisions.
2010: Odyssey Two Page 3