'One minute from injection,' said Athena. 'Cutting main drive in ten seconds.'
Par away, the barely audible hissing of the jets died into silence. With their passing went also the last sensation of weight, except for occasional ghostly pats and nudges as the low-powered vernier jets made infinitesimal adjustments to the orbit. Soon even these were finished; and Athena announced: 'On course for Jupiter. Estimated transit time two hundred nineteen days five hours.'
THE LONG SLEEP
Every day the Sun was two million miles farther away, and the Earth was no more than the most brilliant of the stars. Discovery was hurtling effortlessly out into the night, her drive units quiescent, but all her other systems functioning at full efficiency.
This was the final shakedown period, when the crew would acquire the skills that could never be learned on Earth, or even in free orbit. One by one they crosschecked each other's performances, studied all that was known or suspected about their still-distant goal, and reacted to simulated disasters.
Of these, the most feared were fire and meteorites. Even more than a ship of the sea, a ship of space is vulnerable to fire. It contains great stores of concentrated energy-chemical, mechanical, electrical, nuclear-any of which may be accidentally unleashed. Every other day, at unexpected times, Bowman would hold a fire-control exercise, and all the heat-sensing alarms were tested with almost fanatical regularity.
As for meteorites, one could only hope for the best and put one's faith in statistics. Complete safety was impossible; every day, many thousands of dust particles would bombard the ship, but the vast majority would be so tiny that the mark they made on the outer skin could be seen only through a microscope. The few that did penetrate would be stopped by the inner hull.
If everything went completely according to plan, there would be no need for even a single member of the crew to stay out of hibernation until Jupiter was reached, Athena could attend to all the running of the ship. On a seven month voyage, however, the unexpected was bound to happen; hence it was wise to have a man available at a moment's notice.
And any man, no matter how stable and well balanced, needed a back-up at least as badly as did Athena. Otherwise, the sense of isolation might overpower him, and he would move into that realm of inhuman detachment that had in the early days of astronautics, caused so many accidents.
The psychologists disliked the term 'break-off,' because it gave the impression of abruptness; but the name had stuck. The first men to fly alone in high-altitude balloons, and the pioneer explorers of the underwater world, had experienced the phenomenon as long ago as the 1950's. It was a sense of remoteness, and of total separation from everyday life, which was not in the least unpleasant. Indeed, it could be positively exhilarating-and that was its greatest danger; for in extreme cases, it could lead to delusions of omnipotence. Divers had been known to swim from deep bases without their breathing gear; astronauts had ignored the plain warnings of their instruments. Some had escaped the consequences of their rashness; many had not.
The cause of break-off was usually sensory deprivation; robbed of the normal flow of messages from all its inputs the ever-active brain started to build its own world, which seldom coincided with reality. The cure was simple; if a man was kept busy on assigned tasks, and was in continual communication with his colleagues, he was in little danger.
So Bowman had to have a deputy, and the obvious choice was Peter.
Whitehead sometimes called himself 'Engineer in charge of everything else.' Another of Whitehead's favorite sayings was that every problem had a technical solution-it was just a matter of choosing the best. His genius for trouble-shooting was probably another aspect of his highpowered imagination, for he seemed able to identify himself with recalcitrant machinery. There were some who claimed that he had paranormal powers, for whereas most engineers had to kick their black boxes when they misbehaved, Whitehead merely had to glare at them.
On the tenth day, at last satisfied that the ship was running flawlessly, Bowman called a final crew conference. Anyone looking at the six men gathered on the control deck could have divided them at once into two categories. Bowman and Whitehead were in good physical shape, whereas the other four were sleek and plump. There had been many jokes about condemned men eating hearty breakfasts, and cattle being fattened for the slaughter. But the low-residue, high-calorie diet was an essential preparation for the long sleep; some fuel was necessary, even at the low metabolic level of hibernation. When they awoke in little over half a year, most of this fat would be gone.
And so would Earth, that brilliant star now dominating the sky. The next time the four sleepers opened their eyes, their home planet would be lost against the glare of the Sun; and Jupiter would be lord of the heavens.
It was a solemn moment, this parting of the ways; no one felt like making any of the usual wisecracks, for all knew that they might not meet again. And the men who were about to hibernate, though they had been through this before, and thoroughly understood its necessity, were reluctant to go. Any one of them would have changed places with Bowman or Whitehead.
'This is for the record,' said Bowman, a little self-consciously, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the TV camera which surveyed the Control Center , and which continually reported the situation to Earth. At this close range it was still operating in real time; out at Jupiter, it would be sending only one frame a second-but that was quite adequate for monitoring purposes.
'All the scheduled checkouts have been completed; there have been no unexpected problems. We are now at Day 10, which is the time planned for hibernation to commence. It is my opinion that we should continue according to program. If any of you disagree, please say so now.'
There was a rather restless silence. Everyone seemed waiting for someone else to speak, but no one did. And no one knew that Dr. Poole, who had secret orders of his own, was carefully watching both Bowman and Whitehead for any signs of disturbance. He was satisfied by what he saw.
'Very well,' continued Bowman. 'You all know what to do. As soon as you're ready, please call Doc.'
It was all very crisp and impersonal and businesslike, but the individual good-byes would not take place under the gaze of the TV camera. One by one, Kimball and Hunter and Kaminski and Poole drifted back to their cabins in the carousel, and put their few belongings in order. And presently each one spoke privately over a radio circuit to Earth, and for the only time on the voyage the ship's recorders were shut off, while verbal farewells were transmitted. To most of them this was an ordeal they would have preferred to avoid, and they were secretly glad that there could be no direct reply. By this time, the round-trip radio delay was over two minutes, and a conversation with Earth was impossible.
At the last moment, Poole made the final tests of the men he would soon be following into sleep. To each, Bowman delivered appropriate versions of the same rather forced jest: 'You lucky bastard! Pete and I will be working like dogs for seven months, while you take it easy.' Then the electronarcosis currents started to pulse, and Discovery's operational crew diminished to five, to four, to three….
'That's it,' said Dr. Poole. 'All sleeping like babies.' He looked at Bowman with a serious, thoughtful expression; they were alone together, while Whitehead stood watch on the control deck. 'How do you feel?' he asked.
'A little tired, but very glad it's gone so smoothly. Don't worry about us, Kel. The first time we cut our fingers, or feel colds coming on, we'll wake you up.'
Poole chuckled. 'You make me feel like an old-time country doctor, wondering whether the telephone will let him have an undisturbed night. O.K.-do your stuff.'
Bowman adjusted the biosensor straps around Poole 's chest and right arm, checked the head bands carefully, and triggered the high-pressure hypodermic. There was a brief hiss as the drugs were forced into Poole 's bloodstream.
'Happy dreams, Doc,' said Bowman.
'Be seeing you,' answered Poole . He started counting: 'One … Two … Three….' but got no further.
For a moment, Bowman stood looking at his sleeping friend, half envious of his freedom from responsibility. Then, with quite unnecessary quietness, he tiptoed away and went to join Whitehead at Control.
He found his shipmate staring, with undisguised fascination, at the four little panels on the situation display board marked KAMINSKI, KIMBALL, POOLE , HUNTER. Each showed a small constellation of green lights, indicating
