“I doubt that very much,” said Scanyon, frowning.
“Well, she knows what trouble she’ll be in. But I don’t want to take that chance, I want him to move.”
“You mean take him down to Merritt Island?”
“No. I want to put him on hold.”
Brad spilled coffee from the cup he had been raising to his lips. “No way, sweetie!” he cried, genuinely shocked. “I have seventy-two more hours testing on his systems! If you slow him down I can’t get readings—”
“Testing for what, Dr. Bradley? For his operating efficiency, or for the sake of the papers you’re going to write on him?”
“Well — Christ, certainly I’m going to write him up. But I want to check him as thoroughly as possible, every minute I can, for his sake. And for the mission’s.”
She shrugged. “That’s still my recommendation. There’s nothing for him to do here but wait. He’s had enough of that.”
“What if something goes wrong on Mars?” Brad demanded.
She said, “You wanted my recommendation. That’s it.”
Scanyon put in, “Please make sure we all know what you’re talking about. Especially me.”
Sulie looked toward Brad, who said, “We’ve planned to do that for the voyage, General, as you know. We have the capacity to override his internal clocks by external computer mediation. There are — let’s see — five days and some hours to launch; we can slow him down so that his subjective time is maybe thirty minutes over that period. It makes sense — but what I said makes sense, too, and I can’t take the responsibility for letting him out of my hands until I’ve made every test I want to make.”
Scanyon scowled. “I understand what you’re saying; it’s a good point, and I’ve got a point of my own, too. What happened to what you were saying last night, Major Carpenter? About not cutting off his behavior modification too abruptly.”
Sulie said, “He’s at a plateau stage, General. If I could have another six months with him I’d take it. Five days, no; there’s more risk than there is benefit. He’s found a real interest in his guitar — you should hear him. He’s built up really structurally good defenses in regard to his lack of sexual organs. He has even taken things into his own hands by running out last night — that’s a major step, General; his profile was much too passive to be good, when you consider the demands of this mission. I say put him on hold now.”
“And I say I need more time with him,” flared Brad. “Maybe Sulie’s right. But I’m right too, and I’ll take it to the President if I have to!”
Scanyon looked thoughtfully at Brad, then around the room. “Any other comments?”
Don Kayman put in, “For what it’s worth, I agree with Sulie. He’s not happy about his wife, but he’s not shaken up either. This is as good a place as any for him to go.”
“Yeah,” said Scanyon, gently patting the desk top again. He looked into space, and then said, “There’s something none of you know. Your simulation isn’t the only one of Roger that has been done lately.” He looked at each face and emphasized, “This is not to be discussed with anyone outside this room. The Asians are doing one of their own. They’ve tapped into our 3070 circuits somewhere between here and the two other computers and stolen all the data, and they’ve used it to make their own simulation.”
“Why?” Don Kayman demanded, only a beat before the others at the table.
“That’s what I wish I knew,” said Scanyon heavily. “They’re not interfering. We wouldn’t have known about it if it wasn’t for a routine line check that uncovered their tap — and then some cloak and dagger stuff in Peking that I don’t know about and don’t want to. All they did was read everything out and make their own program. We don’t know what use they are going to make out of it, but there’s a surprise in it. Right after that they dropped their protest against the launch. In fact, they offered the use of their Mars orbiter to expedite telemetry for the mission.”
“I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them!” Brad flared.
“Well, we’re not going to put much reliance on their bird, you can bet on that. But there it is: they say they want the mission to work. Well,” he said, “that’s just one more complication, but it all comes down to a single decision right now, correct? I have to make up my mind whether or not to put Roger on hold. Okay. I’ll do it. I accept your recommendation, Major Carpenter. Tell Roger what we’re going to do, and tell him whatever you and Dr. Ramez think you should about why. As for you, Brad” — he raised his hand to ward off Brad’s protests — “I know what you’re going to say. I agree. Roger needs more time with you. Well, he’ll get it. I’m ordering you along on the mission.” He slid a sheet of paper closer to him on his desk, crossed out one name on a list, wrote in another. “I’m going to drop one of the pilots to make room for you. I already checked. There’s plenty of back-up, with the machine guidance systems and the fact that you all have had some pilot training anyhow. That’s the final crew roster for the Mars launch: Torraway, Kayman, General Hesburgh as pilot — and you.”
Brad protested. It was only a reflex. Once the idea had settled in he accepted it. What Scanyon had said was true enough, and besides, Brad perceived instantly that the career he had programmed for himself could not help but be enhanced by actual physical participation in the mission itself. It would be a pity to leave Dorrie, and all the Dorries, but there would be so many Dorries when he got back…
And everything else followed as the night the day. That was the last decision. Everything else was only implementation. On Merritt Island the crews began fueling the launch vehicle. The rescue ships were deployed across the Atlantic in case of failure. Brad was flown to the island for his fitting, with six ex-astronauts detailed to cram in all the touch-up teaching he needed and could get in the time available. Hesburgh was one of them, short, sure and smiling, his demeanor a constant reassurance. Don Kayman took a precious twelve-hour relief to say good-by to his nun.
With all of this we were quite content. We were content with the decision to send Brad along. We were content with the trendline extrapolations that every day showed more positive results from the effect of the launch on world opinion and events. We were content with Roger’s state of mind. And with the NPA simulation of Roger we were most content of all; in fact, that was an essential to our plans for the salvation of the race.
Thirteen
When We Pass the Point of No Return
The long Hohmann-orbit trip to Mars takes seven months. All previous astronauts, cosmonauts and sinonauts had found them very wearing months indeed. Each day had 86,400 seconds to fill, and there was very little to fill them with.
Roger was different from all the others in two ways. First, he was the most precious passenger any spaceship had yet carried. In and around his body were the fruits of seven billion Man Plus dollars. To the maximum extent possible, he had to be spared.
The other way was that, uniquely, he could be spared.
His body clocks had been disconnected. His perception of time was what the computer told him it should be.
They slowed him down gradually, at first. People began to seem to move a little more briskly. Mealtime came sooner than he was ready for it. Voices grew shriller.
When that phased in nicely, they increased the retardation in his systems. Voices passed into high-pitched gibberish, and then out of his perception entirely. He hardly saw people at all, except as flickers of motion. They sealed off his room from the day — it was not to keep him from escaping, it was to protect him from the quick transition from day to night. Platters of room-temperature, picnic-style food appeared before him. When he had begun to push them away to signal he was done or didn’t want them, they whisked out of sight.