Heknew--intellectually--that his ship was traveling out of the SolarSystem at a tremendous rate of speed. But in appearance they werestationary, hung in the abyss, three men trapped in a small, hot room,breathing the smell of hot metal and perspiration.
"What shall we do, Captain?" Watkins asked.
* * * * *
Somers frowned at the engineer. Did the man expect him to pull asolution out of the air? How was he even supposed to concentrate on theproblem? He had to slow the ship, turn it. But his senses told him thatthe ship was not moving. How, then, could speed constitute a problem?
He couldn't help but feel that the real problem was to get away fromthese high-strung, squabbling men, to escape from this hot, smellylittle room.
"Captain! You must have some idea!"
Somers tried to shake his feeling of unreality. The problem, the realproblem, he told himself, was how to stop the ship.
He looked around the fixed cabin and out the porthole at the unmovingstars. _We are moving very rapidly_, he thought, unconvinced.
Rajcik said disgustedly, "Our noble captain can't face the situation."
"Of course I can," Somers objected, feeling very light-headed andunreal. "I can pilot any course you lay down. That's my only realresponsibility. Plot us a course to Mars!"
"Sure!" Rajcik said, laughing. "I can! I will! Engineer, I'm going toneed plenty of fuel for this course--about ten tons! See that I get it!"
"Right you are," said Watkins. "Captain, I'd like to put in arequisition for ten tons of fuel."
"Requisition granted," Somers said. "All right, gentlemen,responsibility is inevitably circular. Let's get a grip on ourselves.Mr. Rajcik, suppose you radio Mars."
When contact had been established, Somers took the microphone and statedtheir situation. The company official at the other end seemed to havetrouble grasping it.
"But can't you turn the ship?" he asked bewilderedly. "Any kind of anorbit--"
"No. I've just explained that."
"Then what do you propose to do, Captain?"
"That's exactly what I'm asking you."
There was a babble of voices from the loudspeaker, punctuated by burstsof static. The lights flickered and reception began to fade. Rajcik,working frantically, managed to re-establish the contact.
"Captain," the official on Mars said, "we can't think of a thing. If youcould swing into any sort of an orbit--"
"I can't!"
"Under the circumstances, you have the right to try anything at all.Anything, Captain!"
Somers groaned. "Listen, I can think of just one thing. We could bailout in spacesuits as near Mars as possible. Link ourselves together,take the portable transmitter. It wouldn't give much of a signal, butyou'd know our approximate position. Everything would have to be figuredpretty closely--those suits just carry twelve hours' air--but it's achance."
* * * * *
There was a confusion of voices from the other end. Then the officialsaid, "I'm sorry, Captain."
"What? I'm telling you it's our one chance!"
"Captain, the only ship on Mars now is the _Diana_. Her engines arebeing overhauled."
"How long before she can be spaceborne?"
"Three weeks, at least. And a ship from Earth would take too long.Captain, I wish we could think of something. About the only thing we cansuggest--"
The reception suddenly failed again.
Rajcik cursed frustratedly as he worked over the radio. Watkins gnawedat his mustache. Somers glanced out a porthole and looked hurriedlyaway, for the stars, their destination, were impossibly distant.
They heard static again, faintly now.
"I can't get much more," Rajcik said. "This damned reception.... Whatcould they have been suggesting?"
"Whatever it was," said Watkins, "they didn't think it would work."
"What the hell does that matter?" Rajcik asked, annoyed. "It'd give ussomething to do."
They heard the official's voice, a whisper across space.
"Can you hear ... Suggest ..."
At full amplification, the voice faded, then returned. "Can only suggest... most unlikely ... but try ... calculator ... try ..."
The voice was gone. And then even the static was gone.
"That does it," Rajcik said. "The calculator? Did he mean the FahrensenComputer in our hold?"
"I see what he meant," said Captain Somers. "The Fahrensen is a veryadvanced job. No one knows the limits of its potential. He suggests wepresent our problem to it."
"That's ridiculous," Watkins snorted. "This problem has no solution."
"It doesn't seem to," Somers agreed. "But the big computers have solvedother apparently impossible problems. We can't lose anything by trying."
"No," said Rajcik, "as long as we don't pin any hopes on it."
"That's right. We don't dare hope. Mr. Watkins, I believe this is yourdepartment."
"Oh, what's the use?" Watkins asked. "You say don't hope--but both ofyou are hoping anyhow! You think the big electronic god is going to saveyour lives. Well, it's not!"
"We have to try," Somers told him.
"We don't! I wouldn't give it the satisfaction of turning us down!"
* * * * *
They stared at him in vacant astonishment.
"Now you're implying that machines think," said Rajcik.
"Of course I am," Watkins said. "Because they do! No, I'm not out of myhead. Any engineer will tell you that a complex machine has apersonality all its own. Do you know what that personality is like?Cold, withdrawn, uncaring, unfeeling. A machine's only purpose is tofrustrate desire and produce two problems for every one it solves. Anddo you know why a machine feels this way?"
"You're hysterical," Somers told him.
"I am not. A machine feels this way because it _knows_ it is anunnatural creation in nature's domain. Therefore it wishes to reachentropy and cease--a mechanical death wish."
"I've never heard such gibberish in my life," Somers said. "Are yougoing to hook up that computer?"
"Of course. I'm a human. I keep trying. I just wanted you to understand_fully_ that there is no hope." He went to the cargo hold.
After he had gone, Rajcik grinned and shook his head. "We'd better watchhim."
"He'll be all right," Somers said.
"Maybe, maybe not." Rajcik pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He's blamingthe situation on a machine personality now, trying to absolve himself ofguilt. And it _is_ his fault that we're in this spot. An engineer isresponsible for all equipment."
"I don't believe you can put the blame on him so dogmatically," Somersreplied.
"Sure I can," Rajcik said. "I personally don't care, though. This is asgood a way to die as any other and better than most."
Captain Somers wiped perspiration from his face. Again the notion cameto him that the problem--the _real_ problem--was to find a way out ofthis hot, smelly, motionless little box.
Rajcik said, "Death in space is an appealing idea, in certain ways.Imagine an entire spaceship for your tomb! And you have a variety ofways of actually dying. Thirst and starvation I rule out asunimaginative. But there are possibilities in heat, cold, implosion,explosion--"
"This is pretty morbid," Somers said.
* * * * *
"I'm a pretty morbid fellow," Rajcik said carelessly. "But at least I'mnot blaming inanimate objects, the way Watkins is. Or permitting myselfthe luxury of shock, like you." He studied Somers' face. "This is yourfirst real emergency, isn't it, Captain?"
"I suppose so," Somers answered vaguely.
"And you're responding to it like a stunned ox," Rajcik said. "Wake up,Captain! If you can't live with joy, at least try to extract somepleasure from your dying."
"Shut up," Somers said, with no heat. "Why don't you read a book orsomething?"
"I've read all the books on board. I have nothing to distract me exceptan analysis of your character."
W
atkins returned to the cabin. "Well, I've activated your big electronicgod. Would anyone care to make a burned offering in front of it?"
"Have you given it the problem?"
"Not yet. I decided to confer with the high priest. What shall I requestof the demon, sir?"
"Give it all the data you can,"
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