3001: The Final Odyssey Read online

  When they were fifty thousand kilometers out, he was able to view the whole of Star City, as a narrow ellipse enclosing the Earth. Though the far side was barely visible, as a hair-line of light against the stars, it was awe-inspiring to think that the human race had now set this sign upon the heavens.

  Then Poole remembered the rings of Saturn, infinitely more glorious. The astronautical engineers still had a long, long way to go, before they could match the achievements of Nature.

  Or, if that was the right word, Deus.

  15. Transit of Venus

  When he woke the next morning, they were already at Venus. But the huge, dazzling crescent of the still cloud-wrapped planet was not the most striking object in the sky:

  Goliath was floating above an endless expanse of crinkled silver foil, flashing in the sunlight with ever-changing patterns as the ship drifted across it.

  Poole remembered that in his own age there had been an artist who had wrapped whole buildings in plastic sheets: how he would have loved this opportunity to package billions of tons of ice in a glittering envelope... Only in this way could the core of a comet be protected from evaporation on its decades-long journey sunwards.

  “You're in luck, Frank,” Chandler had told him. “This is something I've never seen myself. It should be spectacular. Impact due in just over an hour. We've given it a little nudge, to make sure it comes down in the right place. Don't want anyone to get hurt.”

  Poole looked at him in astonishment.

  “You mean – there are already people on Venus?”

  “About fifty mad scientists, near the South Pole. Of course, they're well dug in, but we should shake them up a bit – even though Ground Zero is on the other side of the planet. Or I should say 'Atmosphere Zero' – it will be days before anything except the shockwave gets down to the surface.”

  As the cosmic iceberg, sparkling and flashing in its protective envelope, dwindled away towards Venus, Poole was struck with a sudden, poignant memory. The Christmas trees of his childhood had been adorned with just such ornaments, delicate bubbles of colored glass. And the comparison was not completely ludicrous: for many families on Earth, this was still the right season for gifts, and Goliath was bringing a present beyond price to another world.

  The radar image of the tortured Venusian landscape – its weird volcanoes, pancake domes, and narrow, sinuous canyons – dominated the main screen of Goliath's control center, but Poole preferred the evidence of his own eyes. Although the unbroken sea of clouds that covered the planet revealed nothing of the inferno beneath, he wanted to see what would happen when the stolen comet struck. In a matter of seconds, the myriad of tons of frozen hydrates that had been gathering speed for decades on the downhill run from Neptune would deliver all their energy...

  The initial flash was even brighter than he had expected. How strange that a missile made of ice could generate temperatures that must be in the tens of thousands of degrees! Though the filters of the view-port would have absorbed all the dangerous shorter wave-lengths, the fierce blue of the fireball proclaimed that it was hotter than the Sun.

  It was cooling rapidly as it expanded – through yellow, orange, red... The shockwave would now be spreading outwards at the velocity of sound – and what a sound that must be! – so in a few minutes there should be some visible indication of its passage across the face of Venus.

  And there it was! Only a tiny black ring – like an insignificant puff of smoke, giving no hint of the cyclonic fury that must be blasting its way outwards from the point of impact. As Poole watched, it slowly expanded, though owing to its scale there was no sense of visible movement: he had to wait for a full minute before he could be quite sure that it had grown larger.

  After a quarter of an hour, however, it was the most prominent marking on the planet. Though much fainter – a dirty grey, rather than black – the shockwave was now a ragged circle more than a thousand kilometers across. Poole guessed that it had lost its original symmetry while sweeping over the great mountain ranges that lay beneath it.

  Captain Chandler's voice sounded briskly over the ship's address system.

  “Putting you through to Aphrodite Base. Glad to say they're not shouting for help–”

  “–shook us up a bit, but just what we expected. Monitors indicate some rain already over the Nokomis Mountains – it will soon evaporate, but that's a beginning. And there seems to have been a flash-flood in Hecate Chasm – too good to be true, but we're checking. There was a temporary lake of boiling water there after the last delivery–”

  I don't envy them, Poole told himself – but I certainly admire them. They prove that the spirit of adventure still exists in this perhaps too-comfortable and too-well-adjusted society.

  “–and thanks again for bringing this little load down in the right place. With any luck – and if we can get that sun-screen up into sync orbit – we'll have some permanent seas before long. And then we can plant coral reefs, to make lime and pull the excess CO2 out of the atmosphere – hope I live to see it!”

  I hope you do, thought Poole in silent admiration. He had often dived in the tropical seas of Earth, admiring weird and colorful creatures so bizarre that it was hard to believe anything stranger would be found, even on the planets of other suns.

  “Package delivered on time, and receipt acknowledged,” said Captain Chandler with obvious satisfaction. “Goodbye Venus – Ganymede, here we come.”

  MISS PRINGLE

  FILE WALLACE

  Hello, Indra. Yes, you were quite right. I do miss our little arguments. Chandler and I get along fine, and at first the crew treated me – this will amuse you – rather like a holy relic. But they're beginning to accept me, and have even started to pull my leg (do you know that idiom?).

  It's annoying not to be able to have a real conversation – we've crossed the orbit of Mars, so radio round-trip is already over an hour. But there's one advantage – you won't be able to interrupt me...

  Even though it will take us only a week to reach Jupiter, I thought I'd have time to relax. Not a bit of it: my fingers started to itch, and I couldn't resist going back to school. So I've begun basic training, all over again, in one of Goliath's minishuttles. Maybe Dim will actually let me solo...

  It's not much bigger than Discovery's pods – but what a difference! First of all, of course, it doesn't use rockets: I can't get used to the luxury of the inertial drive, and unlimited range. Could fly back to Earth if I had to – though I'd probably get – remember the phrase I used once, and you guessed its meaning? – “stir crazy”.

  The biggest difference, though, is the control system. It's been a big challenge for me to get used to hands-off operation – and the computer has had to learn to recognize my voice commands. At first it was asking every five minutes “Do you really mean that?” I know it would be better to use the Braincap – but I'm still not completely confident with that gadget. Not sure if I'll ever get used to something reading my mind.

  By the way, the shuttle's called Falcon. It's a nice name – and I was disappointed to find that no one aboard knew that it goes all the way back to the Apollo missions, when we first landed on the Moon...

  Uh-huh – there was a lot more I wanted to say, but the skipper is calling. Back to the classroom – love and out.

  STORE

  TRANSMIT

  Hello Frank – Indra calling – if that's right word! – on my new Thoughtwriter – old one had nervous breakdown ha ha – so be lots of mistakes – no time to edit before I send. Hope you can make sense.

  COMSET! Channel one oh three – record from twelve thirty – correction – thirteen thirty. Sorry...

  Hope I can get old unit fixed – knew all my short-cuts and abbrieves – maybe should get psychoanalyzed like in your time – never understood how that Fraudian – mean Freudian ha ha – nonsense lasted as long as it did – Reminds me – came across late Twentieth defin other day – may amuse you – something like this – quote – Psychoanalysis – con
tagious disease originating Vienna circa 1900 – now extinct in Europe but occasional outbreaks among rich Americans. Unquote. Funny?

  Sorry again – trouble with Thoughtwriters – hard to stick to point–

  xz 12€ w 888 5***** js98l2yebdc DAMN... STOP BACKUP

  Did I do something wrong then? Will try again. You mentioned Danil... sorry we always evaded your questions about him – knew you were curious, but we had very good reason – remember you once called him a non-person?... not bad guess...!

  Once you asked me about crime nowadays – I said any such interest pathological – maybe prompted by the endless sickening television programs of your time – never able to watch more than few minutes myself... disgusting!

  DOOR ACKNOWLEDGE! OH, HELLO MELINDA EXCUSE SIT DOWN NEARLY FINISHED...

  Yes – crime. Always some... Society's irreducible noise level. What to do?

  Your solution – prisons. State-sponsored perversion factories – costing ten times average family income to hold one inmate! Utterly crazy... Obviously something very wrong with people who shouted loudest for more prisons – They should be psychoanalyzed! But let's be fair – really no alternative before electronic monitoring and control perfected – you should see the joyful crowds smashing the prison walls then – nothing like it since Berlin fifty years earlier!

  Yes – Danil. I don't know what his crime was – wouldn't tell you if I did – but presume his psych profile suggested he'd make a good – what was the word? – ballet – no, valet. Very hard to get people for some jobs – don't know how we'd manage if crime level zero! Anyway hope he's soon decontrolled and back in normal society

  SORRY MELINDA NEARLY FINISHED

  That's it, Frank – regards to Dimitri – you must be halfway to Ganymede now – wonder if they'll ever repeal Einstein so we can talk across space in real-time!

  Hope this machine soon gets used to me. Otherwise be looking round for genuine antique twentieth century word processor... Would you believe – once even mastered that QWERTYIYUIOP nonsense, which you took a couple of hundred years to get rid of?

  Love and goodbye.

  Hello Frank – here I am again. Still waiting acknowledgement of my last...

  Strange you should be heading towards Ganymede, and my old friend Ted Khan. But perhaps it's not such a coincidence: he was drawn by the same enigma that you were...

  First I must tell you something about him. His parents played a dirty trick, giving him the name Theodore. That shortens – don't ever call him that! – to Theo. See what I mean?

  Can't help wondering if that's what drives him. Don't know anyone else who's developed such an interest in religion – no, obsession. Better warn you; he can be quite a bore.

  By the way, how am I doing? I miss my old Thinkwriter, but seem to be getting this machine under control. Haven't made any bad – what did you call them? – bloopers – glitches – fluffs – so far at least – Not sure I should tell you this, in case you accidentally blurt it out, but my private nickname for Ted is “The Last Jesuit”. You must know something about them – the Order was still very active in your time.

  Amazing people – often great scientists – superb scholars – did a tremendous amount of good as well as much harm. One of history's supreme ironies – sincere and brilliant seekers of knowledge and truth, yet their whole philosophy hopelessly distorted by superstition...

  Xuedn2k3jn deer 2leidj dwpp

  Damn. Got emotional and lost control. One, two, three, four... now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party... that's better.

  Anyway, Ted has that same brand of high-minded determination; don't get into any arguments with him – he'll go over you like a steam-roller.

  By the way what were steam-rollers? Used for pressing clothes? Can see how that could be very uncomfortable...

  Trouble with Thinkwriters... too easy to go off in all directions, no matter how hard you try to discipline yourself... something to be said for keyboards after all... sure I've said that before...

  Ted Khan... Ted Khan... Ted Khan

  He's still famous back on Earth for at least two of his sayings: “Civilization and Religion are incompatible” and “Faith is believing what you know isn't true”. Actually, I don't think the last one is original; if it is, that's the nearest he ever got to a joke. He never cracked a smile when I tried one of my favorites on him – hope you haven't heard it before. It obviously dates from your time.

  The Dean's complaining to his Faculty. “Why do you scientists need such expensive equipment? Why can't you be like the Maths Department, which only needs a blackboard and a waste-paper basket? Better still, like the Department of Philosophy. That doesn't even need a wastepaper basket...” Well, perhaps Ted had heard it before... I expect most philosophers have...

  Anyway, give him my regards – and don't, repeat don't, get into any arguments with him!

  Love and best wishes from Africa Tower.

  TRANSCRIBE. STORE.

  TRANSMIT – POOLE

  16. The Captain's Table

  The arrival of such a distinguished passenger had caused a certain disruption in the tight little world of Goliath, but the crew had adapted to it with good humor. Every day, at 18.00 hours, all personnel gathered for dinner in the wardroom, which in zero-gee could hold at least thirty people in comfort, if spread uniformly around the walls. However, most of the time the ship's working areas were held at lunar gravity, so there was an undeniable floor – and more than eight bodies made a crowd.

  The semi-circular table that unfolded around the auto-chef at mealtimes could just seat the entire seven-person crew, with the Captain at the place of honor. One extra created such insuperable problems that somebody now had to eat alone for every meal. After much good-natured debate, it was decided to make the choice in alphabetical order – not of proper names, which were hardly ever used, but of nicknames. It had taken Poole some time to get used to them: “Bolts” (structural engineering); “Chips” (computers and communications); “First” (First Mate); “Life” (medical and life-support systems); “Props” (propulsion and power); and “Stars” (orbits and navigation).

  During the ten-day voyage, as he listened to the stories, jokes and complaints of his temporary shipmates, Poole learned more about the solar system than during his months on Earth. All aboard were obviously delighted to have a new and perhaps naïve listener as an attentive one-man audience, but Poole was seldom taken in by their more imaginative stories.

  Yet sometimes it was hard to know where to draw the line. No one really believed in the Golden Asteroid, which was usually regarded as a twenty-fourth-century hoax. But what about the Mercurian plasmoids, which had been reported by at least a dozen reliable witnesses during the last five hundred years?

  The simplest explanation was that they were related to ball-lightning, responsible for so many “Unidentified Flying Object” reports on Earth and Mars. But some observers swore that they had shown purposefulness – even inquisitiveness – when they were encountered at close quarters. Nonsense, answered the sceptics – merely electrostatic attraction!

  Inevitably, this led to discussions about life in the Universe, and Poole found himself – not for the first time – defending his own era against its extremes of credulity and scepticism. Although the “Aliens are among us” mania had already subsided when he was a boy, even as late as the 2020s the Space Agency was still plagued by lunatics who claimed to have been contacted – or abducted – by visitors from other worlds. Their delusions had been reinforced by sensational media exploitation, and the whole syndrome was later enshrined in the medical literature as “Adamski's Disease”.

  The discovery of TMA ONE had, paradoxically, put an end to this sorry nonsense, by demonstrating that though there was indeed intelligence elsewhere, it had apparently not concerned itself with Mankind for several million years. TMA ONE had also convincingly refuted the handful of scientists who argued that life above the bacterial level was such an improbable
phenomenon that the human race was alone in this Galaxy – if not the Cosmos.

  Goliath's crew was more interested in the technology than the politics and economics of Poole's era, and were particularly fascinated by the revolution that had taken place in his own lifetime – the end of the fossil-fuel age, triggered by the harnessing of vacuum energy. They found it hard to imagine the smog-choked cities of the twentieth century, and the waste, greed and appalling environmental disasters of the Oil Age.

  “Don't blame me,” said Poole, fighting back gamely after one round of criticism. “Anyway, see what a mess the twenty-first century made.”

  There was a chorus of “What do you mean?”s around the table.

  “Well, as soon as the so-called Age of Infinite Power got under way, and everyone had thousands of kilowatts of cheap, clean energy to play with – you know what happened!”

  “Oh, you mean the Thermal Crisis. But that was fixed.”

  “Eventually – after you'd covered half the Earth with reflectors to bounce the Sun's heat back into space. Otherwise it would have been as parboiled as Venus by now.”

  The crew's knowledge of Third Millennium history was so surprisingly limited that Poole – thanks to the intensive education he had received in Star City – could often amaze them with details of events centuries after his own time. However, he was flattered to discover how well-acquainted they were with Discovery's log, it had become one of the classic records of the Space Age. They looked on it as he might have regarded a Viking saga; often he had to remind himself that he was midway in time between Goliath and the first ships to cross the western ocean...

  “On your Day 86,” Stars reminded him, at dinner on the fifth evening, “you passed within two thousand kay of asteroid 7794 – and shot a probe into it. Do you remember?”