2010: Odyssey Two Page 4

  Max took two of the bags, glided gently through the triangle formed by three intersecting girders, and dived into a small hatchway, apparently defying Newton's First Law in the process. Floyd acquired a few extra bruises while following him; after a considerable time - Leonov seemed much bigger inside than out- they arrived at a door labelled CAPTAIN, in both Cyrillic and Roman. Although he could read Russian much better than he could speak it, Floyd appreciated the gesture; he had already noticed that all ship's notices were bilingual.

  At Max's knock, a green light flashed on, and Floyd drifted inside as gracefully as he could. Though he had spoken to Captain Orlova many times, they had never before met. So he had two surprises.

  It was impossible to judge a person's real size over the viewphone; the camera somehow converted everyone to the same scale. Captain Orlova, standing - as well as one could stand in zero gravity - barely reached to Floyd's shoulders. The viewphone had also completely failed to convey the penetrating quality of those dazzling blue eyes, much the most striking feature of a face that, at the moment, could not be fairly judged for beauty.

  "Hello, Tanya," said Floyd. "How nice to meet at last. But what a pity about your hair."

  They grasped both hands, like old friends.

  "And nice to have you aboard, Heywood!" answered the captain. Her English, unlike Brailovsky's, was quite fluent, though heavily accented. "Yes, I was sorry to lose it - but hair's a nuisance on long missions, and I like to keep the local barbers away as long as possible. And my apologies about your cabin; as Max will have explained, we suddenly found we needed another ten cubic metres of storage space. Vasili and I won't be spending much time here for the next few hours - please feel free to use our quarters."

  "Thank you. What about Curnow and Chandra?"

  "I've made similar arrangements with the crew. It may seem as if we're treating you like cargo–"

  "Not wanted on voyage."

  "Pardon?"

  "That's a label they used to put on the baggage, in the old days of ocean travel."

  Tanya smiled. "It does look rather that way. But you'll be wanted all right, at the end of the trip. We're already planning your revival party."

  "That sounds too religious. Make it - no, resurrection would be even worse! - waking-up party. But I can see how busy you are - let me dump my things and continue my grand tour."

  "Max will show you around - take Dr Floyd to Vasili, will you? He's down in the drive unit."

  As they drifted out of the captain's quarters, Floyd gave mental good marks to the crew-selection committee. Tanya Orlova was impressive enough on paper; in the flesh she was almost intimidating, despite her charm. I wonder what she's like, Floyd asked himself, when she loses her temper. Would it be fire or ice? On the whole, I'd prefer not to find out.

  Floyd was rapidly acquiring his space legs; by the time they reached Vasili Orlov, he was manoeuvring almost as confidently as his guide. The chief scientist greeted Floyd as warmly as his wife had.

  "Welcome aboard, Heywood. How do you feel?"

  "Fine, apart from slowly starving to death."

  For a moment Orlov looked puzzled; then his face split into a broad smile,

  "Oh, I'd forgotten. Well, it won't be for long. In ten months' time, you can eat as much as you like."

  Hibernators went on a low-residue diet a week in advance; for the last twenty-four hours, they took nothing but liquid. Floyd was beginning to wonder how much of his increasing light-headedness was due to starvation, how much to Curnow's champagne, and how much to zero gravity.

  To concentrate his mind, he scanned the multicoloured mass of plumbing that surrounded them.

  "So this is the famous Sakharov Drive. It's the first time I've seen a full-scale unit."

  "It's only the fourth one ever built."

  "I hope it works."

  "It had better. Otherwise, the Gorky City Council will be renaming Sakharov Square again."

  It was a sign of the times that a Russian could joke, however wryly, about his country's treatment of its greatest scientist. Floyd was again reminded of Sakharov's eloquent speech to the Academy, when he was belatedly made Hero of the Soviet Union. Prison and banishment, he had told his listeners, were splendid aids to creativity; not a few masterpieces had been born within the walls of cells, beyond the reach of the world's distractions. For that matter, the greatest single achievement of the human intellect, the Principia itself, was a product of Newton's self-imposed exile from plague-ridden London.

  The comparison was not immodest; from those years in Gorky had come not only new insights into the structure of matter and the origin of the Universe, but the plasma-controlling concepts that had led to practical thermonuclear power. The drive itself, though the best-known and most publicized outcome of that work, was merely one byproduct of that astonishing intellectual outburst. The tragedy was that such advances had been triggered by injustice; one day, perhaps, humanity would find more civilized ways of managing its affairs.

  By the time they had left the chamber, Floyd had learned more about the Sakharov Drive than he really wished to know, or expected to remember. He was well acquainted with its basic principles - the use of a pulsed thermonuclear reaction to heat and expel virtually any propellant material. The best results were obtained with pure hydrogen as a working fluid, but that was excessively bulky and difficult to store over long periods of time. Methane and ammonia were acceptable alternatives; even water could be used, though with considerably poorer efficiency.

  Leonov would compromise; the enormous liquid hydrogen tanks that provided the initial impetus would be discarded when the ship had attained the necessary speed to carry it to Jupiter. At the destination, ammonia would be used for the braking and rendezvous manoeuvres, and the eventual return to Earth.

  That was the theory, checked and rechecked in endless tests and computer simulations. But as the ill-fated Discovery had shown so well, all human plans were subject to ruthless revision by Nature, or Fate, or whatever one preferred to call the powers behind the Universe.

  "So there you are, Dr Floyd," said an authoritative female voice, interrupting Vasili's enthusiastic explanation of magnetohydrodynamic feedback, 'Why didn't you report to me?"

  Floyd rotated slowly on his axis by gently torquing himself with one hand. He saw a massive, maternal figure wearing a curious uniform adorned with dozens of pockets and pouches; the effect was not unlike that of a Cossack trooper draped with cartridge belts.

  "Nice to meet you again, Doctor. I'm still exploring - I hope you've received my medical report from Houston."

  "Those vets at Teague! I wouldn't trust them to recognize foot-and-mouth disease!"

  Floyd knew perfectly well the mutual respect felt between Katerina Rudenko and the Olin Teague Medical Center, even if the doctor's broad grin had not discounted her words. She saw his look of frank curiosity, and proudly fingered the webbing around her ample waist.

  "The conventional little black bag isn't very practical in zero gravity - things float out of it and aren't there when you need them. I designed this myself, it's a complete minisurgery. With this, I could remove an appendix - or deliver a baby."

  "I trust that particular problem won't arise here."

  "Ha! A good doctor has to be ready for everything."

  What a contrast, thought Floyd, between Captain Orlova and Dr - or should he call her by her correct rank of Surgeon-Commander? - Rudenko. The captain had the grace and intensity of a prima ballerina; the doctor might have been the prototype of Mother Russia - stocky build, flat peasant face, needing only a shawl to complete the picture. Don't let that fool you, Floyd told himself. This is the woman who saved at least a dozen lives during the Komarov docking accident - and, in her spare time, manages to edit the Annals of Space Medicine. Consider yourself very lucky to have her aboard.

  "Now, Dr Floyd, you're going to have plenty of time later to explore our little ship. My colleagues are too polite to say this, but they've work to do and you'
re in the way. I'd like to get you - all three of you - nice and peaceful as quickly as we can. Then we'll have less to worry about."

  "I was afraid of that, but I quite see your point of view. I'm ready as soon as you are."

  "I'm always ready. Come along - please."

  The ship's hospital was just large enough to hold an operating table, two exercise bicycles, a few cabinets of equipment, and an X-ray machine. While Dr Rudenko was giving Floyd a quick but thorough examination, she asked unexpectedly: 'What's that little gold cylinder Dr Chandra carries on the chain around his neck - some kind of communications device? He wouldn't take it off - in fact, he was almost too shy to take anything off."

  Floyd could not help smiling; it was easy to imagine the modest Indian's reactions to this rather overwhelming lady.

  "It's a lingam."

  "A what?"

  "You're the doctor - you ought to recognize it. The symbol of male fertility."

  "Of course - stupid of me. Is he a practising Hindu? It's a little late to ask us to arrange a strict vegetarian diet."

  "Don't worry - we wouldn't have done that to you without fair warning. Though he won't touch alcohol, Chandra's not fanatical about anything except computers. He once told me that his grandfather was a priest in Benares, and gave him that lingam - it's been in the family for generations."

  Rather to Floyd's surprise, Dr Rudenko did not show the negative reaction he had expected; indeed, her expression became uncharacteristically wistful.

  "I understand his feeling. My grandmother gave me a beautiful icon - sixteenth century. I wanted to bring it - but it weighs five kilos."

  The doctor became abruptly businesslike again, gave Floyd a painless injection with a gas-gun hypodermic, and told him to come back as soon as he was sleepy. That, she assured him, would be in less than two hours.

  "Meanwhile, relax completely," she ordered. "There's an observation port on this level - Station D.6. Why don't you go there?"

  It seemed a good idea, and Floyd drifted away with a docility that would have surprised his friends. Dr Rudenko glanced at her watch, dictated a brief entry into her autosec, and set its alarm thirty minutes ahead.

  When he reached the D.6 viewport, Floyd found Chandra and Curnow already there. They looked at him with a total lack of recognition, then turned once more toward the awesome spectacle outside. It occurred to Floyd - and he congratulated himself on such a brilliant observation - that Chandra could not really be enjoying the view. His eyes were tightly closed,

  A totally unfamiliar planet hung there, gleaming with glorious blues and dazzling whites. How strange, Floyd told himself. What has happened to the Earth? Why, of course - no wonder he didn't recognize it! It was upside down! What a disaster - he wept briefly for all those poor people, falling off into space..

  He barely noticed when two crew members removed Chandra's unresisting form. When they came back for Curnow, Floyd's own eyes were shut, but he was still breathing. When they returned for him, even his breathing had ceased.

  II: TSIEN

  6

  Awakening

  And they told us we wouldn't dream, thought Heywood Floyd, more with surprise than annoyance. The glorious pink glow that surrounded him was very soothing; it reminded him of barbecues and the crackling logs of Christmas fire. But there was no warmth; indeed, he felt a distinct though not uncomfortable coldness.

  Voices were murmuring, just too softly for him to understand the words. They became louder - but still he could not understand.

  "Surely," he said in sudden amazement, "I can't be dreaming in Russian!"

  "No, Heywood," answered a woman's voice. "You're not dreaming. It's time to get out of bed."

  The lovely glow faded; he opened his eyes, and had a blurred glimpse of a flashlight being withdrawn from his face. He was lying on a couch, held against it by elastic webbing; figures were standing around him, but they were too out of focus to identify.

  Gentle fingers closed his eyelids and massaged his forehead.

  "Don't exert yourself. Breathe deeply... again... that's right... now how do you feel?"

  "I don't know... strange... light-headed... and hungry."

  "That's a good sign. Do you know where you are? You can open your eyes now."

  The figures came into focus - first Dr Rudenko, then Captain Orlova. But something had happened to Tanya since he had seen her, only an hour ago. When Floyd identified the cause, it was almost a physical shock.

  "You've grown your hair back!"

  "I hope you think it's an improvement. I can't say the same about your beard."

  Floyd lifted his hand to his face, finding that he had to make a conscious effort to plan every stage of the movement. His chin was covered with short stubble - a two or three days' growth. In hibernation, hair grew at only a hundredth of its normal rate.

  "So I made it," he said. "We've arrived at Jupiter."

  Tanya looked at him sombrely, then glanced at the doctor, who gave a barely perceptible nod.

  "No, Heywood," she said. "We're still a month away. Don't be alarmed - the ship's fine, and everything's running normally. But your friends in Washington have asked us to wake you up ahead of time. Something very unexpected has happened. We're in a race to reach Discovery - and I'm afraid we're going to lose."

  7

  Tsien

  When Heywood Floyd's voice came from the comset speaker, the two dolphins suddenly stopped circling around the pool and swam over to its edge. They placed their heads on the rim and stared intently at the source of the sound.

  So they recognize Heywood, thought Caroline, with a twinge of bitterness: Yet Christopher, crawling around his playpen, did not even stop playing with the colour controls of his picture book as his father's voice came loud and clear across half a billion kilometres of space.

  "...My dear, you won't be surprised to hear from me, a month ahead of schedule; you'll have known for weeks that we have company out here.

  "I still find it hard to believe; in some ways, it doesn't even make sense. They can't possibly have enough fuel for a safe return to Earth; we don't even see how they can make the rendezvous.

  "We never saw them, of course. Even at its closest, Tsien was more than fifty million kilometres away. They had plenty of time to answer our signals if they wanted to, but they ignored us completely. Now they'll be much too busy for friendly chat. In a few hours they'll hit Jupiter's atmosphere - and then we'll see how well their aerobraking system works. If it does its job, that will be good for our morale. But if it fails, well, let's not talk about that.

  "The Russians are taking it remarkably well, all things considered. They're angry and disappointed, of course - but I've heard many expressions of frank admiration. It was certainly a brilliant trick, building that ship in full view and making everyone think it was a spacestation until they hitched on those boosters.

  "Well, there's nothing we can do, except watch. And at our distance, we won't have a much better view than your best telescopes. I can't help wishing them luck, though of course I hope they leave Discovery alone. That's our property, and I bet the State Department's reminding them of it, every hour on the hour.

  "It's an ill wind - if our Chinese friends hadn't jumped the gun on us, you wouldn't have heard from me for another month. But now that Dr Rudenko's woken me up, I'll be speaking to you every couple of days.

  "After the initial shock, I'm settling down nicely - getting to know the ship and its crew, finding my space legs. And polishing up my lousy Russian, though I don't have much chance of using it - everyone insists on speaking English.

  ""What shocking linguists we Americans are! I sometimes feel ashamed of our chauvinism - or our laziness.

  "The standard of on-board English ranges from absolutely perfect - Chief Engineer Sasha Kovalev could earn a living as a BBC announcer - down to the if-you-talk-fast-enough-it-doesn't-matter-how-many-mistakes-you-make variety. The only one who isn't fluent is Zenia Marchenko, who replaced Irma Yakunina at
the last moment. Incidentally, I'm glad to hear that Irma made a good recovery - what a disappointment that must have been! I wonder if she's started hang-gliding again.

  "And speaking of accidents, it's obvious that Zenia must also have had a very bad one. Though the plastic surgeons have done a remarkable job, you can tell that she must have been severely burned at some time. She's the baby of the crew and the others treat her with - I was going to say pity, but that's too condescending. Let's say with special kindness.

  "Maybe you're wondering how I get on with Captain Tanya. Well, I like her very much - but I'd hate to make her angry. There's no doubt exactly who runs this ship.

  "And Surgeon-Commander Rudenko - you met her at the Honolulu Aerospace Convention two years ago, and I'm sure you won't have forgotten that last party. You'll understand why we all call her Catherine the Great - behind her broad back, of course.

  "But that's enough gossip. If I run overtime, I hate to think of the surcharge. And by the way, these personal calls are supposed to be completely private. But there are a lot of links in the communications chain, so don't be surprised if you occasionally get messages by - well, another route.

  "I'll be waiting to hear from you - tell the girls I'll be speaking to them later. My love to you all - I miss you and Chris very badly. And when I get back, I promise I'll never leave again."

  There was a brief hissing pause, then an obviously synthetic voice said: "This terminates Transmission Four Hundred Thirty-two Stroke Seven from Spacecraft Leonov." As Caroline Floyd switched off the speaker, the two dolphins slid beneath the surface of the pool and glided out into the Pacific, leaving scarcely a ripple in the water.

  When he realized that his friends were gone, Christopher began to cry. His mother picked him up in her arms and tried to comfort him, but it was a long time before she succeeded.