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3001 The final Odissey Печать
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3001 The final Odissey
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temperatures not far above absolute zero. Thawing them out could produce
unpleasant surprises: as one astrochemist had famously remarked, `Comets
have bad breath`.
`Skipper to all personnel,` Chandler announced. `There`s been a slight
change of programme. We`ve been asked to delay operations, to investigate a
target that Spaceguard radar has picked up.`
`Any details?` somebody asked, when the chorus of groans over the
ship`s intercom had died away.
`Not many, but I gather it`s another Millennium Committee project
they`ve forgotten to cancel.`
More groans: everyone had become heartily sick of all the events
planned to celebrate the end of the 2000s. There had been a general sigh of
relief when 1 January 3001 had passed uneventfully, and the human race could
resume its normal activities.
`Anyway, it will probably be another false alarm, like the last one.
We`ll get back to work just as quickly as we can. Skipper out.`
This was the third wild-goose-chase, Chandler thought morosely, he`d
been involved with during his career. Despite centuries of exploration, the
Solar System could still produce surprises, and presumably Spaceguard had a
good reason for its request. He only hoped that some imaginative idiot
hadn`t once again sighted the fabled Golden Asteroid. If it did exist --
which Chandler did not for a moment believe -- it would be no more than a
mineralogical curiosity: it would be of far less real value than the ice he
was nudging sunwards, to bring life to barren worlds.
There was one possibility, however, which he did take quite seriously.
Already, the human race had scattered its robot probes through a volume of
space a hundred light-years across -- and the Tycho Monolith was sufficient
reminder that much older civilizations had engaged in similar activities.
There might well be other alien artefacts in the Solar System, or in transit
through it. Captain Chandler suspected that Spaceguard had something like
this in mind: otherwise it would hardly have diverted a Class I space-tug to
go chasing after an unidentified radar blip.
Five hours later, the questing Goliath detected the echo at extreme
range; even allowing for the distance, it seemed disappointingly small.
However, as it grew clearer and stronger, it began to give the signature of
a metallic object, perhaps a couple of metres long. It was travelling on an
orbit heading out of the Solar System, so was almost certainly, Chandler
decided, one of the myriad pieces of space-junk that Mankind had tossed
towards the stars during the last millennium and which might one day provide
the only evidence that the human race had ever existed.
Then it came close enough for visual inspection, and Captain Chandler
realized, with awed astonishment, that some patient historian was still
checking the earliest records of the Space Age. What a pity that the
computers had given him the answer, just a few years too late for the
Mifiermium celebrations!
`Goliath here,` Chandler radioed Earthwards, his voice tinged with
pride as well as solemnity. `We`re bringing aboard a thousand-year-old
astronaut. And I can guess who it is.`

2 Awakening

Frank Poole awoke, but he did not remember. He was not even sure of his
name.
Obviously, he was in a hospital room: even though his eyes were still
closed, the most primitive, and evocative, of his senses told him that. Each
breath brought the faint and not unpleasant tang of antiseptics in the air,
and it triggered a memory of the time when -- of course! -- as a reckless
teenager he had broken a rib in the Arizona Hang-gliding Championship.
Now it was all beginning to come back. I`m Deputy Commander Frank
Poole, Executive Officer, USSS Discovery, on a Top Secret mission to Jupiter
-- It seemed as if an icy hand had gripped his heart. He remembered, in

 
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