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发信人: by (春天的小懒虫), 信区: SFworld
标  题: 2010  (5)
发信站: 哈工大紫丁香 (Wed Oct  6 14:28:27 1999), 转信

                    5
                Leonov

The months contracted to weeks, the weeks dwindled to
days, the days shriveled to hours; and suddenly Heywood
Floyd was once more at the Cape -- spaceward-bound for
the first time since that trip to Clavius Base and the Tycho
monolith, so many years ago.
  But this time he was not alone, and there was no secrecy
about the mission. A few seats ahead of him rode Dr
Chandra, already engaged in a dialogue with his briefcase
computer, and quite oblivious to his surroundings.
  One of Floyd's secret amusements, which he had never
confided to anyone, was spotting similarities between hu-
man beings and animals. The resemblances were more often
flattering than insulting, and his little hobby was also a very
useful aid to memory.
  Dr Chandra was easy -- the adjective birdlike sprang
instantly to mind. He was tiny, delicate, and all his move-
ments were swift and precise. But which bird? Obviously a
very intelligent one. Magpie? Too perky and acquisitive.
Owl? No-- too slow-moving. Perhaps sparrow would do
nicely.
  Walter Curnow, the systems specialist who would have
the formidable job of getting Discovery operational again,
was a more difficult matter. He was a large, husky man,
certainly not at all birdlike. One could usually find a match
somewhere in the vast spectrum of dogs, but no canine
seemed to fit. Of course -- Curnow was a bear. Not the
sulky, dangerous kind, but the friendly good-natured type.
And perhaps this was appropriate; it reminded Floyd of the
Russian colleagues he would soon be joining. They had
been up in orbit for days, engaged in their final checks.
  This is the great moment of my life, Floyd told himself.
Now I am leaving on a mission that may determine the
future of the human race. But he did not feel any sense of
exultation; all he could think of, during the last minutes of
the countdown, were the words he had whispered just
before he had left home: 'Goodbye, my dear little son; will
you remember me when I return?' And he still felt resent-
ment toward Caroline because she would not awaken the
sleeping child for one final embrace; yet he knew that she
had been wise, and it was better that way.
  His mood was shattered by a sudden explosive laugh; Dr
Curnow was sharing a joke with his companions -- as well as
a large bottle that he handled as delicately as a barely sub-
critical mass of plutonium.
  'Hey, Heywood,' he called, 'they tell me Captain
Orlova's locked up all the drinks, so this is your last chance.
Chateau Thierry '95. Sorry about the plastic cups.'
  As Floyd sipped at the really superb champagne, he found
himself cringing mentally at the thought of Curnow's guf-
faw reverberating all the way across the Solar System,
Much as he admired the engineer's ability, as a travelling
companion Curnow might prove something of a strain. At
least Dr Chandra would not present such problems; Floyd
could hardly imagine him smiling, let alone laughing. And,
of course, he turned down the champagne with a barely
perceptible shudder. Curnow was polite enough, or glad
enough, not to insist.
  The engineer was, it seemed, determined to be the life and
soul of the party. A few minutes later he produced a two-
octave electronic keyboard, and gave rapid renderings of
'D'ye ken John Peel' as performed successively by piano,
trombone, violin, flute, and full organ, with vocal accom-
paniment. He was really very good, and Floyd soon found
himself singing along with the others. But it was just as
well, he thought, that Curnow would spend most of the
voyage in silent hibernation.
  The music died with a sudden despairing discord as the
engines ignited and the shuttle launched itself into the sky.
Floyd was gripped by a familiar but always new exhilara-
tion -- the sense of boundless power, carrying him up and
away from the cares and duties of Earth. Men knew better
than they realized, when they placed the abode of the gods
beyond the reach of gravity. He was flying toward that
realm of weightlessness; for the moment, he would ignore
the fact that out there lay not freedom, but the greatest
responsibility of his career.
  As the thrust increased, he felt the weight of worlds upon
his shoulders -- but he welcomed it, like an Atlas who had
not yet tired of his burden. He did not attempt to think, but
was content to savour the experience. Even if he was leaving
Earth for the last time, and saying farewell to all that he had
ever loved, he felt no sadness. The roar that surrounded him
was a paean of triumph, sweeping away all minor emotions.
  He was almost sorry when it ceased, though he wel-
comed the easier breathing and the sudden sense of free-
dom. Most of the other passengers started to unbuckle their
safety straps, preparing to enjoy the thirty minutes of zero
gravity during the transfer orbit, but a few who were
obviously making the trip for the first time remained in
their seats, looking around anxiously for the cabin attend-
ants.
  'Captain speaking. We're now at an altitude of three
hundred kilometres, coming up over the west coast of
Africa. You won't see much as it's night down there -- that
glow ahead is Sierra Leone -- and there's a big tropical storm
over the Gulf of Guinea. Look at those flashes!
  'We'll have sunrise in fifteen minutes. Meanwhile I'm
rolling the ship so you can get a good view of the equatorial
satellite belt. The brightest one -- almost straight overhead-
is Intelsat's Atlantic-1 Antenna Farm. Then Intercosmos 2
to the west -- that fainter star is Jupiter. And if you look just
below that, you'll see a flashing light, moving against the
star background -- that's the new Chinese space-station. We
pass within a hundred kilometres, not close enough to see
anything with the naked eye -'
  What were they up to? Floyd thought idly. He had ex-
amined the close-ups of the squat cylindrical structure with
its curious bulges, and saw no reason to believe the alarmist
rumours that it was a laser-equipped fortress. But while the
Beijing Academy of Science ignored the UN Space Com-
mittee's repeated requests for a tour of inspection, the
Chinese only had themselves to blame for such hostile
propaganda.

The Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov was not a thing of beauty; but
few spacecraft ever were. One day, perhaps, the human race
would develop a new aesthetic; generations of artists might
arise whose ideals were not based upon the natural forms of
Earth moulded by wind and water. Space itself was a realm
of often overpowering beauty; unfortunately, Man's hard-
ware did not yet live up to it.
  Apart from the four huge propellant tanks, which would
be dropped off as soon as the transfer orbit was achieved,
Leonov was surprisingly small. From heat shield to drive
units was less than fifty metres; it was hard to believe that so
modest a vehicle, smaller than many commercial aircraft,
could carry ten men and women halfway across the Solar
System.
  But zero gravity, which made walls and roof and floor
interchangeable, rewrote all the rules of living. There was
plenty of room aboard Leonov even when everyone was
awake at the same time, as was certainly the case at the
moment. Indeed, her normal complement was at least
doubled by assorted newsmen, engineers making final
adjustments, and anxious officials.
  As soon as the shuttle had docked, Floyd tried to find the
cabin he would share -- a year hence, when he awoke -- with
Curnow and Chandra. When he did locate it, he discovered
that it was packed so tightly with neatly labelled boxes of
equipment and provisions that entry was almost impos-
sible. He was wondering glumly how to get a foot in the
door when one of the crew, launching himself skillfully
from handhold to handhold, noticed Floyd's dilemma and
braked to a halt.
  'Dr Floyd -- welcome aboard. I'm Max Brailovsky --
assistant engineer.'
  The young Russian spoke the slow, careful English of a
student who had had more lessons with an electronic tutor
than a human teacher. As they shook hands, Floyd matched
the face and name to the set of crew biographies he had
already studied: Maxim Andreievitch Brailovsky, age
thirty-one, born Leningrad, specializing in structure;
hobbies: fencing, skycycling, chess.
  'Glad to meet you,' said Floyd. 'But how do I get in-
side?'
  'Not to worry,' said Max cheerfully. 'All that will be
one when you wake up. It's -- what do you say? -- expend-
ables. We'll eat your room empty by the time you need it. I
promise.' He patted his stomach.
  'Fine -- but meanwhile where do I put my things?' Floyd
pointed to the three small cases, total mass fifty kilograms,
which contained -- he hoped -- everything he needed for the
next couple of billion kilometres. It had been no easy task,
shepherding their weightless, but not inertialess, bulk
through the ship's corridors with only a few collisions.
  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 shoul-
ders. 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 plan-
ning 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 master-
pieces 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 Prin-
cipia 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 by-
product of that astonishing intellectual outburst. The
tragedy was that such advances had been triggered by in-
justice; 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 hy-
drogen 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 Discov-
ery 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 him-
self 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 commu-
nications 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 sym-
bol 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.

--
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:-) Helix@163.NET                                                    85958F57
:-( Helix@KALI.COM.CN                                                208CE12C
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