2001_ A Space Odyssey - Arthur C. Clarke [51]
“There is a third possibility, which may be more serious. Your computer may have made an error in predicting the fault. Both our own nine-triple-zeros agree in suggesting this, on the basis of their information. This is not necessarily cause for alarm, in view of the back-up systems we have, but we would like you to watch out for any further deviations from nominal performance. We have suspected several minor irregularities in the past few days, but none have been important enough for remedial action, and they have shown no obvious pattern from which we can draw any conclusions. We are running further tests with both our computers and will report as soon as the results are available. We repeat that there is no need for alarm; the worst that can happen is that we may have to disconnect your nine-triple-zero temporarily for program analysis, and hand over control to one of our computers. The time lag will introduce problems, but our feasibility studies indicate that Earth control is perfectly satisfactory at this stage of the mission.
“X-ray-Delta-One, this is Mission Control, two-one-five-six, transmission concluded.”
Frank Poole, who was on watch when the message came in, thought this over in silence. He waited to see if there was any comment from Hal, but the computer did not attempt to challenge the implied accusation. Well, if Hal would not raise the subject, he did not propose to do so either.
It was almost time for the morning changeover, and normally he would wait until Bowman joined him on the control deck. But today he broke this routine, and made his way back to the carrousel.
Bowman was already up, pouring himself some coffee from the dispenser, when Poole greeted him with a rather worried “good morning.” After all these months in space, they still thought in terms of the normal twenty-four-hour cycle — though they had long since forgotten the days of the week.
“Good morning,” replied Bowman. “How’s it going?”
Poole helped himself to coffee. “Pretty well. Are you reasonably awake?”
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
By this time, each knew at once when anything was amiss. The slightest interruption of the normal routine was a sign that had to be watched.
“Well,” Poole answered slowly. “Mission Control has just dropped a small bomb on us.” He lowered his voice, like a doctor discussing an illness in front of the patient. “We may have a slight case of hypochondria aboard.”
Perhaps Bowman was not fully awake, after all; it took him several seconds to get the point. Then he said “Oh — I see. What else did they tell you?”
“That there was no cause for alarm. They said that twice, which rather spoiled the effect as far as I was concerned. And that they were considering a temporary switchover to Earth control while they ran a program analysis.”
They both knew, of course, that Hal was hearing every word, but they could not help these polite circumlocutions. Hal was their colleague, and they did not wish to embarrass him. Yet at this stage it did not seem necessary to discuss the matter in private.
Bowman finished his breakfast in silence, while Poole toyed with the empty coffee container. They were both thinking furiously, but there was nothing more to say.
They could only wait for the next report from Mission Control — and wonder if Hal would bring up the subject himself. Whatever happened, the atmosphere aboard the ship had subtly altered. There was a sense of strain in the air — a feeling that, for the first time, something might be going wrong.
Discovery was no longer a happy ship.
Chapter 24
Broken Circuit
Nowadays, one could always tell when Hal was about to make an unscheduled announcement. Routine, automatic reports, or replies to questions that had been put to him, had no preliminaries; but when he was initiating his own outputs there would be a brief electronic throat-clearing. It was an idiosyncrasy that