Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
MEETING AT THE FOCUS
Even in this metric age, it was still the thousand-foot telescope, not the three-hundred-meter one. The great saucer set among the mountains was already half full of shadow, as the tropical sun dropped swiftly to rest, but the triangular raft of the antenna complex suspended high above its center still blazed with light. From the ground far below, it would have taken keen eyes to notice the two human figures in the aerial maze of girders, support cables, and wave-guides.
"The time has come," said Dr. Dimitri Moisevitch to his old friend Heywood Floyd, "to talk of many things. Of shoes and spaceships and sealing wax, but mostly of monoliths and malfunctioning computers."
"So that's why you got me away from the conference. Not that I really mind — I've heard Carl give that SETI speech so many times that I can recite it myself. And the view certainly is fantastic — you know, all the times I've been to Arecibo, I've never made it up here to the antenna feed."
"Shame on you. I've been here three times. Imagine — we're listening to the whole universe — but no one can overhear us. So let's talk about your problem."
"What problem?"
"To start with, why you had to resign as Chairman of the National Council on Astronautics."
"I didn't resign. The University of Hawaii pays a lot better."
"Okay — you didn't resign — you were one jump ahead of them. After all these years, Woody, you can't fool me, and you should give up trying. If they offered the NCA back to you right now, would you hesitate?"
"All right, you old Cossack. What do you want to know?"
"First of all, there are lots of loose ends in the report you finally issued after so much prodding. We'll overlook the ridiculous and frankly illegal secrecy with which your people dug up the Tycho monolith —"
"That wasn't my idea."
"Glad to hear it: I even believe you. And we appreciate the fact that you're now letting everyone examine the thing — which of course is what you should have done in the first place. Not that it's done much good ..."
There was a gloomy silence while the two men contemplated the black enigma up there on the Moon, still contemptuously defying all the weapons that human ingenuity could bring to bear upon it. Then the Russian scientist continued.
"Anyway, whatever the Tycho monolith may be, there's something more important out at Jupiter. That's where it sent its signal, after all. And that's where your people ran into trouble. Sorry about that, by the way — though Frank Poole was the only one I knew personally. Met him at the '98 IAF Congress — he seemed a good man."
"Thank you; they were all good men. I wish we knew what happened to them."
"Whatever it was, surely you'll admit that it now concerns the whole human race — not merely the United States. You can no longer try to use your knowledge for purely national advantage."
"Dimitri — you know perfectly well that your side would have done exactly the same thing. And you'd have helped."
"You're absolutely right. But that's ancient history — like the just-departed administration of yours that was responsible for the whole mess. With a new President, perhaps wiser counsels will prevail."
"Possibly. Do you have any suggestions, and are they official or just personal hopes?"
"Entirely unofficial at the moment. What the bloody politicians call exploratory talks. Which I shall flatly deny ever occurred."
"Fair enough. Go on."
"Okay — here's the situation. You're assembling Discovery II in parking orbit as quickly as you can, but you can't hope to have it ready in less than three years, which means you'll miss the next launch window —"
"I neither confirm nor deny. Remember I'm merely a humble university chancellor, the other side of the world from the Astronautics Council."
"And your last trip to Washington was just a holiday to see old friends, I suppose. To continue: our own Alexei Leonov —"
"I thought you were calling it Gherman Titov."
"Wrong, Chancellor. The dear old CIA's let you down again. Leonov it is, as of last January. And don't let anyone know I told you it will reach Jupiter at least a year ahead of Discovery."
"Don't let anyone know I told you we were afraid of that. But do go on."
"Because my bosses are just as stupid and shortsighted as yours, they want to go it alone. Which means that whatever went wrong with you may happen to us, and we'll all be back to square one — or worse."
"What do you think went wrong? We're just as baffled as you are. And don't tell me you haven't got all of Dave Bowman's transmissions."
"Of course we have. Right up to that last 'My God, it's full of stars!' We've even done a stress analysis on his voice patterns. We don't think he was hallucinating; he was trying to describe what he actually saw."
"And what do you make of his Doppler shift?"
"Completely impossible, of course. When we lost his signal, he was receding at a tenth of the speed of light. And he'd reached that in less than two minutes. A quarter of a million gravities!"
"So he must have been killed instantly."
"Don't pretend to be naive, Woody. Your space-pod radios aren't built to withstand even a hundredth of that acceleration. If they could survive, so could Bowman — at least, until we lost contact."
"Just doing an independent check on your deductions. From there on, we're as much in the dark as you are. If you are."
"Merely playing with lots of crazy guesses I'd be ashamed to tell you. Yet none of them, I suspect, will be half as crazy as the truth."
In small crimson explosions the navigation warning lights winked on all around them, and the three slim towers supporting the antenna complex began to blaze like beacons against the darkling sky. The last red sliver of the sun vanished below the surrounding hills; Heywood Floyd waited for the Green Flash, which he had never seen. Once again, he was disappointed.
"So, Dimitri," he said, "let's get to the point. Just what are you driving at?"
"There must be a vast amount of priceless information stored in Discovery's data banks; presumably it's still being gathered, even though the ship's stopped transmitting. We'd like to have that."
"Fair enough. But when you get out there, and Leonov makes a rendezvous, what's to prevent you from boarding Discovery and copying everything you want?"
"I never thought I'd have to remind you that Discovery is United States territory, and an unauthorized entry would be piracy."
"Except in the event of a life-or-death emergency, which wouldn't be difficult to arrange. After all, it would be hard for us to check what your boys were up to, from a billion kilometers away."
"Thanks for the most interesting suggestion; I'll pass it on. But even if we went aboard, it would take us weeks to learn all your systems, and read out all your memory banks. What I propose is cooperation. I'm convinced that's the best idea — but we may both have a job selling it to our respective bosses."
"You want one of our astronauts to fly with Leonov?"
"Yes — preferably an engineer who's specialized in Discovery's systems. Like the ones you're training at Houston to bring the ship home."
"How did you know that?"
"For heaven's sake, Woody — it was on Aviation Week's videotext at least a month ago."
"I am out of touch; nobody tells me what's been declassified."
"All the more reason to spend time in Washington. Will you back me up?"
"Absolutely. I agree with you one hundred percent. But —"
"But what?"
"We both have to deal with dinosaurs with brains in their tails. Some of mine will argue: Let the Russians risk their necks, hurrying out to Jupiter. We'll be there anyway a couple of years later — and what's the hurry?"
For a moment there was silence on the antenna raft, except for a faint creak from the immense supporting cables that held it suspended a hundred meters in the sky. Then Moisevitch continued, so quietly that Floyd had to strain to hear him: "Has anyone checked Discovery's orbit lately?"
"I really don't know — but I suppose so. Anyway, why bother? It's a perfectly stable one."
"Indeed. Let me tactlessly remind you of an embarrassing incident from the old NASA days. Your first space station — Skylab. It was supposed to stay up at least a decade, but you didn't do your calculations right. The air drag in the ionosphere was badly underestimated, and it came down years ahead of schedule. I'm sure you remember that little cliffhanger, even though you were a boy at the time."
"It was the year I graduated, and you know it. But Discovery doesn't go anywhere near Jupiter. Even at perigee — er, perijove — it's much too high to be affected by atmospheric drag."
"I've already said enough to get me exiled to my dacha again — and you might not be allowed to visit me next time. So just ask your tracking people to do their job more carefully, will you? And remind them that Jupiter has the biggest magnetosphere in the Solar System."
"I understand what you're driving at — many thanks. Anything else before we go down? I'm starting to freeze."
"Don't worry, old friend. As soon as you let all this filter through to Washington — wait a week or so until I'm clear — things are going to get very, very hot."
CHAPTER 2
THE HOUSE OF THE DOLPHINS
The dolphins swam into the dining room every evening, just before sunset. Only once since Floyd had occupied the Chancellor's residence had they broken their routine. That was the day of the '05 tsunami — which, fortunately, had lost most of its power before it reached Hilo. The next time his friends failed to turn up on schedule, Floyd would throw the family into the car and head for high ground, in the general direction of Mauna Kea.
Charming though they were, he had to admit that their playfulness was sometimes a nuisance. The wealthy marine geologist who had designed the house had never minded getting wet because he usually wore bathing trunks — or less. But there had been one unforgettable occasion when the entire Board of Regents, in full evening attire, had been sipping cocktails around the pool while awaiting the arrival of a distinguished guest from the mainland. The dolphins had deduced, correctly, that they would get second billing. So the visitor was quite surprised to be greeted by a bedraggled reception committee in ill-fitting bathrobes — and the buffet had been very salty.
Floyd often wondered what Marion would have thought of his strange and beautiful home on the edge of the Pacific. She had never liked the sea, but the sea had won in the end. Though the image was slowly fading, he could still recall the flashing screen on which he had first read the words: DR. FLOYD — URGENT AND PERSONAL. And then the scrolling lines of fluorescent print that had swiftly burned their message into his mind: REGRET TO INFORM YOU LONDON — WASHINGTON FLIGHT 452 REPORTED DOWN OFF NEWFOUNDLAND. RESCUE CRAFT PROCEEDING TO LOCATION BUT FEAR NO SURVIVORS.
Apart from an accident of fate, he would have been on that flight. For a few days, he had almost regretted the European Space Administration business that had delayed him in Paris; that haggle over the Solaris payload had saved his life.
And now, he had a new job, a new home — and a new wife. Fate had also played an ironic role here. The recriminations and inquiries over the Jupiter mission had destroyed his Washington career, but a man of his ability was never unemployed for long. The more leisurely tempo of university life had always appealed to him, and when combined with one of the world's most beautiful locations it had proved irresistible. He had met the woman who was to be his second wife only a month after he had been appointed, while watching the fire fountains of Kilauea with a crowd of tourists.
With Caroline he had found the contentment that is just as important as happiness, and longer lasting. She had been a good stepmother to Marion's two daughters, and had given him Christopher. Despite the twenty-year age difference between them, she understood his moods and could wean him out of his occasional depressions. Thanks to her, he could now contemplate the memory of Marion without grief, though not without a wistful sadness that would remain with him for the rest of his life.
Caroline was throwing fish to the largest dolphin — the big male they called Scarback — when a gentle tickling on Floyd's wrist announced an incoming call. He tapped the slim metal band to quench the silent alarm and forestall the audible one, then walked to the nearest of the comsets scattered around the room.
"Chancellor here. Who's calling?"
"Heywood? This is Victor. How are you?"
In a fraction of a second, a whole kaleidoscope of emotions flashed through Floyd's mind. First there was annoyance: his successor — and, he was sure, principal contriver of his down-fall — had never once attempted to contact him since his departure from Washington. Then came curiosity: what did they have to talk about? Next was a stubborn determination to be as unhelpful as possible, then shame at his own childishness, and, finally, a surge of excitement. Victor Millson could be calling for only one reason.
In as neutral a voice as he could muster, Floyd answered: "I can't complain, Victor. What's the problem?"
"Is this a secure circuit?"
"No, thank God. I don't need them anymore."
"Um. Well, I'll put it this way. You recall the last project you administered?"
"I'm not likely to forget, especially as the Subcommittee on Astronautics called me back to give more evidence only a month ago."
"Of course, of course. I really must get around to reading your statement, when I have a moment. But I've been so busy with the follow-up, and that's the problem."
"I thought that everything was right on schedule."
"It is — unfortunately. There's nothing we can do to advance it; even the highest priority would make only a few weeks' difference. And that means we'll be too late."
"I don't understand," said Floyd innocently. "Though we don't want to waste time, of course, there's no real deadline."
"Now there is — are. Two of them."
"You amaze me."
If Victor noticed any irony, he ignored it. "Yes, there are two deadlines — one man-made, one not. It now turns out that we won't be the first to get back to the — er, scene of the action. Our old rivals will beat us by at least a year."
"Too bad."
"That's not the worst. Even if there were no competition, we'd be too late. There wouldn't be anything there when we arrive."
"That's ridiculous. I'm sure I'd have heard if Congress had repealed the law of gravitation."
"I'm serious. The situation isn't stable — I can't give details now. Will you be in for the rest of the evening?"
"Yes," Floyd answered, realizing with some pleasure that it must now be well after midnight in Washington.
"Good. You'll have a package delivered within the hour. Call me back as soon as you've had the time to study it."
"Won't it be rather late by then?"
"Yes, it will be. But we've wasted too much time already. I don't want to lose any more."
Millson was true to his word. Exactly an hour later a large sealed envelope was delivered by an Air Force colonel, no less, who sat patiently chatting with Caroline while Floyd read its contents. "I'm afraid I'll have to take it away when you've finished," the high-ranking messenger boy said apologetically.
"I'm glad to hear it," Floyd answered, as he settled down in his favorite reading hammock.
There were two documents, the first very short. It was stamped TOP SECRET, though the TOP had been crossed out and the modification endorsed by three signatures, all completely illegible. Obviously an extract from some much longer report, it had been heavily censored and was full of blanks, which made it most annoying to read. Fortunately, its conclusions could be summed up in one sentence: The Russians would reach Discovery long before its rightful owners could do so. As Floyd already knew this, he turned quickly to the second document — though not before noticing with satisfaction that this time they'd managed to get the name right. As usual, Dimitri had been perfectly accurate. The next manned expedition to Jupiter would travel aboard spacecraft Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov.
The second document was much longer and was merely confidential; indeed, it was in the form of a draft letter to Science, awaiting final approval before publication. Its snappy title was "Space Vehicle Discovery: Anomalous Orbital Behavior."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "2010: Odyssey Two"
by .
Copyright © 2012 RosettaBooks, LLC..
Excerpted by permission of RosettaBooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.