He had almost reached the centre of the planet, but Jupiter had one more surprise in store. The thick shell of metallic yet still fluid hydrogen ended abruptly. At last, there was a solid surface, sixty thousand kilometres down.
For ages, the carbon baked out of the chemical reactions far above had been drifting down toward the centre of the planet. There it had gathered, crystallizing at a pressure of millions of atmospheres. And there, by one of Nature's supreme jests, was something very precious to mankind.
The core of Jupiter, forever beyond human reach, was a diamond as big as the Earth.
39 – In the Pod Bay
'Walter – I'm worried about Heywood.'
'I know, Tanya – but what can we do?'
Curnow had never seen Commander Orlova in so indecisive a mood; it made her seem much more appealing, despite his prejudice against small women.
'I'm very fond of him, but that's not the reason. His – I suppose gloom is the best word for it – is making everyone miserable. Leonov has been a happy ship. I want to keep it that way.'
'Why don't you talk to him? He respects you, and I'm sure he'll do his best to snap out of it.'
'I intend to do just that. And if it doesn't work -' 'Well?'
'There's one simple solution. What more can he do on this trip? When we start back for home, he'll be in hibernation anyway. We could always – what do you say, jump the gun on him.'
'Phew – the same dirty trick that Katerina played on me. He'd be mad when he woke up.'
'But also safely back on Earth, and very busy. I'm sure he'd forgive us.'
'I don't think you're serious. Even if I backed you up, Washington would raise hell. Besides, suppose something happened, and we really need him badly? Isn't there a two-week buffer period, before you can revive anyone safely?'
'At Heywood's age, more like a month. Yes, we'd be committed. But what do you think could happen now? He's done the job he was sent for – apart from keeping an eye on us. And I'm sure you've been well briefed about that in some obscure suburb of Virginia or Maryland.'
'I neither confirm nor deny. And frankly, I'm a lousy undercover agent. I talk too much, and I hate Security. I've fought all my life to keep my rating below Restricted. Every time there was danger of being reclassified Confidential or, worse still, Secret, I'd go and create a scandal. Though that's getting very difficult nowadays.'
'Walter, you're incorrupt -'
'Incorrigible?'
'Yes, that's the word I meant. But back to Heywood, please. Would you like to talk to him first?'
'You mean – give him a pep talk? I'd rather help Katerina drive in the needle. Our psychologies are too different. He thinks I'm a loudmouthed clown.'
'Which you often are. But that's only to hide your real feelings. Some of us have evolved the theory that deep down inside you is a really nice person, struggling to get out.'
For once, Curnow was at a loss for words. Finally he mumbled: 'Oh, very well – I'll do my best. But don't expect miracles; my profile gave me Z for tact. Where's he hiding at the moment?'
'In the Pod Bay. He claims he's working on his final report, but I don't believe it. He just wants to get away from us all, and that's the quietest place.'
That was not the reason, though it was indeed an important one. Unlike the carousel, where most of the action aboard Discovery was then taking place, the Pod Bay was a zero-gee environment.
Right at the beginning of the Space Age, men had discovered the euphoria of weightlessness and remembered the freedom they had lost when they left the ancient womb of the sea. Beyond gravity, some of that freedom was regained; with the loss of weight went many of the cares and worries of Earth.
Heywood Floyd had not forgotten his sorrow, but it was more bearable there. When he was able to look at the matter dispassionately, he was surprised at the strength of his reaction to an event not wholly unexpected. More than loss of love was involved, though that was the worst part. The blow had come when he was particularly vulnerable, at the very moment when he was feeling a sense of anticlimax, even futility.
And he knew precisely why. He had achieved all that he had been expected to do, thanks to the skill and cooperation of his colleagues (he was letting them down, he knew, by his present selfishness). If all went well – that litany of the Space Age! – they would return to Earth with a cargo of knowledge that no expedition had ever gathered before, and a few years later even the once-lost Discovery would be restored to her builders.
It was not enough. The overpowering enigma of Big Brother remained out there, only a few kilometres away, mocking all human aspirations and achievements. Just as its analogue on the Moon had done, a decade ago, it had come to life for a moment, then relapsed into stubborn inertness. It was a closed door upon which they had hammered in vain. Only David Bowman, it seemed, had ever found the key.
Perhaps that explained the attraction he felt for the quiet and sometimes even mysterious place. From there – from that now empty launch cradle – Bowman had left on his last mission, through the circular hatchway that led to infinity.
He found the thought exhilarating rather than depressing; certainly it helped to distract him from his personal problems. Nina's vanished twin was part of the history of space exploration; it had travelled, in the words of the hoary old cliché that always evoked a smile yet an acknowledgement of its fundamental truth, 'where no man had gone before...' Where was it now? Would he ever know?
He would sometimes sit for hours in the crowded but not cramped little capsule, trying to collect his thoughts and occasionally dictating notes; the other crew members respected his privacy, and understood the reason for it. They never came near the Pod Bay, and had no need to do so. Its refurbishment was a job for the future, and some other team.
Once or twice, when he had felt really depressed, he found himself thinking: Suppose I ordered Hal to open the Pod Bay doors, and set out along Dave Bowman's trail? Would I be greeted by the miracle he saw and which Vasili glimpsed a few weeks ago? It would solve all my problems...
Even if the thought of Chris did not deter him, there was an excellent reason why so suicidal a move was out of the question. Nina was a very complex piece of equipment; he could no more operate her than fly a fighter aircraft.
He was not meant to be an intrepid explorer: that particular fantasy would remain unrealized.
Walter Curnow had seldom undertaken a mission with more reluctance. He felt genuinely sorry for Floyd, but at the same time a little impatient with the other's distress. His own emotional life was broad but shallow; he had never put all his eggs in one basket. More than once he had been told that he spread himself too thin, and though he had never regretted it, he was beginning to think it was time to settle down.
He took the shortcut through the carousel control centre, noting that the Maximum Speed Reset Indicator was still flashing idiotically. A major part of his job was deciding when warnings could be ignored, when they could be dealt with at leisure – and when they had to be treated as real emergencies. If he paid equal attention to all the ship's cries for help, he would never get anything done.
He drifted along the narrow corridor that led to the Pod Bay, propelling himself by occasional flicks against the rungs on the tubular wall. The pressure gauge claimed that there was vacuum on the other side of the airlock door, but he knew better. It was a fail-safe situation; he could not have opened the lock if the gauge were telling the truth.
The bay looked empty, now that two of the three pods had long since gone. Only a few emergency lights were operating, and on the far wall one of Hal's fish-eye lenses was regarding him steadily. Curnow waved to it, but did not speak. At Chandra's orders, all audio inputs were still disconnected except for the one that only he used.
Floyd was sitting in the pod with his back to the open hatch, dictating some notes, and he swung slowly around at Curnow's deliberately noisy approach. For a moment the two men regarded each other in silence, then Curnow announced portento
usly, 'Dr H. Floyd, I bear greetings from our beloved captain. She considers it high time you rejoined the civilized world.'
Floyd gave a wan smile, then a little laugh.
'Please return my compliments. I'm sorry I've been – unsociable. I'll see you all at the next Six O'Clock Soviet.'
Curnow relaxed; his approach had worked. Privately, he considered Floyd something of a stuffed shirt, and had the practical engineer's tolerant contempt for theoretical scientists and bureaucrats. Since Floyd ranked high in both categories, he was an almost irresistible target for Curnow's sometimes peculiar sense of humour. Nevertheless, the two men had grown to respect and even admire each other.
Thankfully changing the subject, Curnow rapped on Nina's brand-new hatch cover, straight from the spares store and contrasting vividly with the rest of the space pod's shabby exterior.
'I wonder when we'll send her out again,' he said. 'And who's going to ride in her this time. Any decisions?'
'No. Washington's got cold feet. Moscow says let's take a chance. And Tanya wants to wait.'
'What do you think?'
'I agree with Tanya. We shouldn't interfere with Zagadka until we're ready to leave. If anything goes wrong then, that should improve the odds slightly.'
Curnow looked thoughtful, and unusually hesitant,
'What is it?' asked Floyd, sensing his change of mood.
'Don't ever give me away, but Max was thinking of a little one-man expedition.'
'I can't believe he was serious. He wouldn't dare – Tanya would have him clapped in irons.'
'That's what I told him, more or less.'
'I'm disappointed: I thought he was a little more mature. After all, he is thirty-two!'
'Thirty-one. Anyway, I talked him out of it. I reminded him that this was real life, not some stupid videodrama where the hero sneaks out into space without telling his companions and makes the Big Discovery.'
Now it was Floyd's turn to feel a little uncomfortable. After all, he had been thinking on similar lines.
'Are you sure he won't try anything?'
'Two-hundred-per-cent sure. Remember your precautions with Hal? I've already taken steps with Nina. Nobody flies her without my permission.'
'I still can't believe it. Are you sure Max wasn't pulling your leg?'
'His sense of humour isn't that subtle. Besides, be was pretty miserable at the time.'
'Oh – now I understand. It must have been when he had that row with Zenia. I suppose he wanted to impress her. Anyway, they seem to have got over it.'
'I'm afraid so,' Curnow answered wryly. Floyd could not help smiling; Curnow noticed it, and started to chuckle, which made Floyd laugh, which...
It was a splendid example of positive feedback in a high-gain loop. Within seconds, they were both laughing uncontrollably.
The crisis was over. What was more, they had taken the first step toward genuine friendship.
They had exchanged vulnerabilities.
40 – 'Daisy, Daisy...'
The sphere of consciousness in which he was embedded enclosed the whole of Jupiter's diamond core. He was dimly aware, at the limits of his new comprehension, that every aspect of the environment around him was being probed and analysed. Immense quantities of data were being gathered, not merely for storage and contemplation, but for action. Complex plans were being considered and evaluated; decisions were being made that might affect the destiny of worlds. He was not yet part of the process; but he would be.
NOW YOU ARE BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND.
It was the first direct message. Though it was remote and distant, like a voice through a cloud, it was unmistakably intended for him. Before he could ask any of the myriad questions that raced through his mind, there was a sense of withdrawal, and once more he was alone.
But only for a moment. Closer and clearer came another thought, and for the first time he realized that more than one entity was controlling and manipulating him. He was involved in a hierarchy of intelligences, some close enough to his own primitive level to act as interpreters. Or perhaps they were all aspects of a single being.
Or perhaps the distinction was totally meaningless.
Of one thing, however, he was now sure. He was being used as a tool, and a good tool had to be sharpened, modified – adapted. And the very best tools were those that understood what they were doing.
He was learning that now. It was a vast and awesome concept, and he was privileged to be a part of it – even though he was aware of only the merest outlines. He had no choice but to obey, yet that did not mean that he must acquiesce to every detail, at least without a protest.
He had not yet lost all his human feeling; that would have made him valueless. The soul of David Bowman had passed beyond love, but it could still know compassion for those who had once been his colleagues.
VERY WELL came the answer to his plea. He could not tell whether the thought conveyed an amused condescension, or total indifference. But there was no doubt of its majestic authority as it continued: THEY MUST NEVER KNOW THAT THEY ARE BEING MANIPULATED. THAT WOULD RUIN THE PURPOSE OF THE EXPERIMENT.
Then there was a silence that he did not wish to breach again. He was still awed and shaken – as if, for a moment, he had heard the clear voice of God.
Now he was moving purely under his own volition, toward a destination he had chosen himself. The crystal heart of Jupiter fell below; the layers upon layers of helium and hydrogen and carbonaceous compounds flickered past. He had a glimpse of a great battle between something like a jellyfish, fifty kilometres across, and a swarm of spinning disks that moved more swiftly than anything he had yet seen in the Jovian skies. The jellyfish appeared to be defending itself with chemical weapons; from time to time it would emit jets of coloured gas and the disks touched by the vapour would start to wobble drunkenly, then slip downward like falling leaves until they had disappeared from sight. He did not stop to watch the outcome; he knew that it did not matter who were the victors and who the vanquished.
As a salmon leaps a waterfall, he flashed in seconds from Jupiter to Io, against the descending electric currents of the flux-tube. It was quiescent that day; only the power of a few terrestrial thunderstorms was flowing between planet and satellite. The gateway through which he had returned still floated in that current, shouldering it aside as it had done since the dawn of man.
And there, utterly dwarfed by the monument of a greater technology, was the vessel that had brought him from the little world of his birth.
How simple – how crude! – it now appeared. With a single scan, he could see innumerable flaws and absurdities in its design, as well as that of the slightly less primitive ship to which it was now coupled by a flexible, airtight tube.
It was hard to focus upon the handful of entities inhabiting the two ships; he could barely interact with the soft creatures of flesh and blood who drifted like ghosts through the metal corridors and cabins. For their part, they were totally unaware of his presence, and he knew better than to reveal himself too abruptly.
But there was someone with whom he could communicate in a mutual language of electric field and currents, millions of times more swiftly than with sluggish organic brains.
Even if he had been capable of resentment, he would have felt none toward Hal; he understood, then, that the computer had only chosen what seemed to be the most logical course of behaviour.
It was time to resume a conversation that had been interrupted, it seemed, only moments ago.
'Open the Pod Bay door, Hal.'
'I'm sorry, Dave – I can't do that.'
'What's the problem, Hal?'
'I think you know that as well as I do, Dave. This mission is much too important for you to jeopardize it.'
'I don't know what you are talking about. Open the Pod Bay door.'
'This conversation can serve no further useful purpose. Goodbye, Dave.'
He saw Frank Poole's body go drifting off toward Jupiter, as he abandoned his pointless mission of ret
rieval. Still remembering his anger at himself for having forgotten his helmet, he watched the emergency hatch open, felt the tingling of vacuum on the skin he no longer possessed, heard his ears pop – then knew, as few men had ever known, 'the utter silence of space. For an eternal fifteen seconds he fought to close the hatch and start the repressurization sequence, while trying to ignore the warning symptoms pouring into his brain. Once, in the school lab, he had spilled some ether on his hand and felt the touch of icy cold as the liquid swiftly evaporated. Now his eyes and lips remembered that sensation as their moisture boiled off into vacuum; his vision was blurred and he had to keep blinking lest his eyeballs freeze solid.
Then – what blessed relief! – he heard the roar of air, felt the restoration of pressure, was able to breathe again in great, hungry gasps.
'Just what do you think you are doing, Dave?'
He had not answered, as he drove with grim determination along the tunnel leading to the sealed vault that housed the brain of the computer. Hal had spoken truly: 'This conversation can no longer serve any useful purpose...'
'Dave – I really think I'm entitled to an answer to that question.'
'Dave – I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over.'
'I know I've made some very poor decisions recently, but I can give my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal, I've still got the greatest confidence in the mission... and I want to help you.'
Now he was in the little red-lit chamber, with its neatly ranged rows and columns of solid-state units, looking rather like a bank's safe-deposit vault. He released the locking bar on the section labelled COGNITIVE FEEDBACK and pulled out the first memory block. The marvellously complex three-dimensional network, which could lie comfortably in a man's hand yet contained millions of elements, floated away across the vault.
'Stop, will you – stop, Dave...'
2010: Odyssey Two o-2 Page 17
