Destination: Void: Prequel to the Pandora Sequence by Frank Herbert Read Free Book Online Page A

robo-pilot, using the ship computer as a basis. Our computations indicate you have sufficient materials, including neuron packages intended for colony robots in your stores. This is theoretically feasible.”
    “Theoretically feasible!” Timberlake sneered. “Does he think we’ve never heard about all the failures in—”
    “Shhhh,” Flattery hissed.
    “Project Council suggests you continue present course and speed,” Hempstead said, “as long as you are within the solar system. If a solution has not been reached by then, present opinion is that you will be ordered to turn back.” There followed a long silence, then … “unless you have alternative suggestions.”
    “ You will be ordered to turn back” Flattery thought. He turned to see how those key words sat with Bickel. They were aimed at Bickel, contrived for him, fitted specially to trigger his deepest motives.
    Bickel lay in thoughtful silence staring up at the speech microscope display above the vocoder, checking the accuracy of message reception.
    “At this time,” Hempstead said, “Project Control requires a detailed report on the condition of all ship systems with special reference to hybernating colonists. It is recognized that prolonging the voyage increases probability of hybernation failure. We recognize that you must replace crew losses from the tanks. Suggestions on replacements will be made upon request. We share your grief at the unfortunate accidents among you, but the Project must continue.”
    “Detailed report on all ship systems,” Timberlake said. “He’s out of his mind.”
    How cold was Hempstead’s commiseration, Flattery thought. The phrasing betrayed the care with which it had been composed. Just enough grief; not too much.
    The vocoder emitted a filter-dulled crackling, then: “This is Morgan Hempstead closing transmission. Acknowledge and answer our questions immediately. UMB out.”
    “They left too much unsaid,” Bickel said. He sensed the “deletions for reasons of policy” all through the message. The thin political line they walked had been betrayed most in what was not said.
    “Build consciousness into our computer,” Timberlake growled. “How stupid can they get?” He glanced at Bickel. “You were on one of the original attempts at UMB, John. You get the honor of telling ‘Big Daddy’ where he can shove that idea.”
    “That attempt flopped and badly,” Bickel agreed. “But it’s still the only real course open to us.”
    Timberlake raged on as though he hadn’t heard: “There were people on the UMB fiasco who make us look like a pack of amateurs.”
    Flattery had heart, though, and he hid a knowing smile by turning away and speaking mildly: “We all read the report, Tim.”
    “The only part worth reading was their summation.” Timberlake pitched his voice in a sneering falsetto: “‘Impossible of achievement at present level of technology.’”
    “That was an excuse, not a summation,” Bickel said. And he thought back to UMB’s fruitless search for the Artificial Consciousness Factor. There had always been that sterile wall between his part of the group and the station personnel, but the triple-glass walls had never hidden the smell of failure. It had been all around the project from the beginning. They had been lost in tangles of pseudoneuron fiber, in winking lights and the snap of relays, the hiss of tape reels and the bitter ozone smell of burnt insulation from overloaded circuits. They had looked for a mechanical way to do what the least among them could do within his own flesh—be conscious. And they had failed.
    Over them all had hung the unspoken fear, the knowledge of what had happened to the one project that reportedly had achieved success—and its own doom—back on the surface of Earth.
    Timberlake cleared his throat, lifted a hand out of his couch cocoon, studied his fingernails. “Well, how’re we going to answer their damn questions? They must be living in a dream world