Work is the best therapy for any shock, and Dhala now had work enough for all his lost shipmates. As quickly as possible, starting with the vital systems without which he and the ship would die, he had to get Pesquisador fully operational again.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPYnbLIdXsg
Life support was the first priority. Much oxygen had been lost, but the reserves were still ample to sustain one man. The pressure and temperature regulation was largely automatic, and there had rarely been any need for H.A.L. to tamper with it. The monitors on Earth could now carry out many of the higher duties of the slain computer, despite the long time lag before they could react to changing situations. For example: any trouble in the life-support system---short of a serious hull-breach--would take hours to make itself apparent; there would be plenty of warning.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ22qssyiKj9
The ship's power, navigation, and propulsion systems were unaffected--but the last two, in any event, Dhala would not need for months, until it was time to rendezvous with Saturn. Even at long range, without the help of an onboard computer, Earth could still oversee this operation. The final orbit adjustments would be somewhat tedious, because of the constant need for checking, but this was no serious problem.
By far the worst job had been emptying the spinning coffins in the centrifuge. It was just as well, Dhala thought thankfully, that the members of his survey team had been colleagues, but not intimate friends. They had trained together for only a few weeks; looking back on it, he now realized that even this had been largely a test for compatibility.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzsNvXt2wRO
When he had finally sealed the empty hibernacula, he felt rather like an Egyptian tomb robber. Now Kongju, Castilho, and Hunter would all reach Saturn before him---but not before Antonio Quarlos. Somehow, he derived a strange and wry satisfaction from this thought.
He made no attempt to find out if the rest of the hibernation system was still in working order. Though his life might ultimately depend on it, this was a problem that could wait until the ship had entered its last orbit. Many things might happen before then. It was even possible (though he had not yet looked into the supply position carefully) that by vigorous rationing he might stay alive, without the need for hibernation, until rescue came. But whether he could survive psychologically as well as physically was another matter entirely.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDhpnpnwZIl
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He did his best to avoid thinking about such long-range troubles, and to focus on immediate essentials. Slowly, he cleaned up the ship, checked that its systems were still running smoothly, discussed technical problems with Earth, and operated on a minimum of sleep. Only at intervals, during the first weeks, was he able to give much thought to the great mystery toward which he was now inexorably racing--though it was never far from his mind.
Finally, as the ship settled down slowly once more into an automatic routine--though one that still demanded his constant supervision--Dhala had time to study the reports and briefings sent to him from Earth. Again and again he played back the recording made when AMT-1 greeted the dawn for the first time in three million years. He watched the spacesuited figures moving around it, and almost smiled at their ridiculous panic when it blasted its signal at the stars, paralyzing their radios with the sheer force of its electronic wail.
Since that time, the golden pylon had done nothing. It had been covered up, then cautiously exposed to the Sun again--without any reaction. No attempt had been made to cut into it, partly through scientific discretion, but equally through fear about possible negative consequences.
The magnetic field that led to its discovery had vanished at the moment of that radio shriek. Maybe, some experts theorized, it'd been generated by a tremendous circulating current, flowing in a superconductor and therefore carrying energy down the ages until it was needed. That the pylon had some internal power source seemed certain; the solar energy it'd absorbed during its brief exposure could not account for the signal's strength.
Dhala also listened, with a curiously detached interest, to Central Mission's belated apologia for its programming. The voices from Earth seemed to have a defensive note; he could imagine the recriminations that must now be in progress among the expedition's (so-called) planners.
They had some good arguments, of course---including the results of a secret Ministry of Defense study, Projeto Marte, which had been carried out by UNINORTE (União Educacional do Norte) in 2090. In this experiment in controlled sociology, various sample populations had been assured that the human race had made contact with extraterrestrials. Many of the subjects tested were--with the help of drugs, hypnosis and special effects---under the impression that they had actually met intelligent beings from other planets, so their reactions were regarded as authentic.
Some of the reactions had been quite violent; there was, it appeared, a deep vein of xenophobia in many otherwise normal human beings. In view of South America's record of riots, wars, coups, assassinations, and similar pleasantries this came as a surprise to no one; nevertheless, the organizers of the study had been deeply disturbed, and the results had never been released. The five separate panics caused in the 20th century by radio broadcasts of H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds also supported the study's conclusions.
Despite these arguments, Dhala sometimes wondered if the cultural shock danger was the only explanation for the mission's extreme secrecy. Some hints had been dropped during briefings suggested that the Brazil-China bloc hoped to derive advantage by being the first to contact intelligent extraterrestrials.
From his present viewpoint, looking back on Earth as a dim star almost lost in the Sun, such consideration now seemed ridicoulsly parochial.
He was rather more interested (even though this was now very much water under the bridge) in the theory put forth to account for H.A.L.'s erratic behavior. No one would ever be sure of the truth, but the fact that one of the Central Mission's 9000s had been driven into an identical psychosis, and was now under deep therapy, suggested that the explanation was the right one. The same mistake would not be made again, and the fact that H.A.L.'s builders had failed to fully understand the psychology of their own creation showed how hard it might be to establish communication with truly alien beings.
Dhala could easily believe Dr. Simardo's theory that unconscious feelings of guilt, caused by his program conflicts, had made H.A.L. attempt to break the circuit with Earth. And he liked to think (though this again was something that could never be proven) that H.A.L. had no intention of killing Quarlos. He had merely tried to destroy the evidence, for once the FB-46 unit reported as burned out was proven to be operational, his lie would be exposed. After that, like any clumsy criminal caught in a thickening web of deception, he had panicked.
And panic was something that Dhala understood better than he had any right to, for he had known it twice during his life. The first time was as a boy, when he had been caught in a line of surf and nearly drowned; the second was as an astronauta under training, when a faulty gauge had convinced them that his oxygen would be exhausted before he could reach safety.
On both occasions, he had almost lost control of his higher logical processes; he had been within seconds of becoming a frenzied bundle of random impulses. Both times he had won through, but he knew well enough that any man, in the right circumstances, could be dehumanized by panic.
If it could happen to a man, then it could happen to H.A.L.; and with that knowledge the bitterness and the sense of betrayal he felt toward the computer started fading away. Now, in any case, it belonged to a past that was wholly overshadowed by the threat, and the promise, of the unknown future.457Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ45Z65jXX3B
