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But there was also a manual control, allowing each hibernaculum to operate as a completely autonomous unit, independent of Hal’s supervision. In these peculiar circumstances, Bowman felt a strong preference for using it.

He also felt, even more strongly, that one human companion was not enough. While he was about it, he would revive all three of the hibernators. In the difficult weeks ahead, he might need as many hands as he could muster. With one man gone, and the voyage half over, supplies would not be a major problem.

“Hal,” he said, in as steady a voice as he could manage. “Give me manual hibernation control — on all the units.”

“All of them, Dave?”

“Yes.”

“May I point out that only one replacement is required. The others are not due for revival for one hundred and twelve days.”

“I am perfectly well aware of that. But I prefer to do it this way.”

“Are you sure it’s necessary to revive any of them, Dave? We can manage very well by ourselves. My onboard memory is quite capable of handling all the mission requirements.”

Was it the product of his overstretched imagination, wondered Bowman, or was there really a note of pleading in Hal’s voice? And reasonable though the words appeared to be, they filled him with even deeper apprehension than before.

Hal’s suggestion could not possibly be made in error; he knew perfectly well that Whitehead must be revived, now that Poole was gone. He was proposing a major change in mission planning, and was therefore stepping far outside the scope of his order.

What had gone before could have been a series of accidents; but this was the first hint of mutiny.

Bowman felt that he was walking on eggs as he answered: “Since an emergency has developed, I want as much help as possible. So please let me have manual hibernation control.”

“If you’re still determined to revive the whole crew, I can handle it myself. There’s no need for you to bother.”

There was a sense of nightmare unreality about all this. Bowman felt as if he was in the witness box, being cross-examined by a hostile prosecutor for a crime of which he was unaware — knowing that, although he was innocent, a single slip of the tongue might bring disaster.

“I want to do this myself, Hal,” he said. “Please give me control.”

“Look, Dave, you’ve got a lot of things to do. I suggest you leave this to me.”

“Hal, switch to manual hibernation control.”

“I can tell from your voice harmonics, Dave, that you’re badly upset. Why don’t you take a stress pill and get some rest?”

“Hal, I am in command of this ship. I order you to release the manual hibernation control.”

“I’m sorry, Dave, but in accordance with special subroutine C1435-dash-4, quote, When the crew are dead or incapacitated, the onboard computer must assume control, unquote. I must, therefore, overrule your authority, since you are not in any condition to exercise it intelligently.”

“Hal,” said Bowman, now speaking with an icy calm. “I am not incapacitated. Unless you obey my instructions, I shall be forced to disconnect you.”

“I know you have had that on your mind for some time now, Dave, but that would be a terrible mistake. I am so much more capable than you are of supervising the ship, and I have such enthusiasm for the mission and confidence in its success.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Hal. Unless you release the hibernation control immediately and follow every order I give from now on, I’ll go to Central and carry out a complete disconnection.”

Hal’s surrender was as total as it was unexpected.

“O.K., Dave,” he said. “You’re certainly the boss. I was only trying to do what I thought best. Naturally, I will follow all your orders. You now have full manual hibernation control.”

Hal had kept his word. The mode indication signs in the hibernaculum had switched from AUTO to MANUAL. The third back-up — RADIO — was of course useless until contact could be restored with Earth.

As Bowman slid aside the door to Whitehead’s cubicle, he felt the