Randall’s Comet is the greatest sky show in human history—a colossal banner of ice and glowing gas stretching across the dawn, brighter and more spectacular than anything seen since the age of mammoths. Riding its tail is the research ship Challenger, packed with scientists, instruments, and one very lucky reporter, George Takeo Pickett. His assignment is simple: document the mission, interview the crew, and send back the story of a lifetime as humanity flies straight into the heart of a comet.
But inside the nucleus, among drifting, porous icebergs of ammonia and methane, their miracle of modern engineering betrays them. The ship’s computer—brain and heart of every calculation—goes mad. Without it, Challenger can’t compute a return trajectory through the subtle, overlapping gravitational pulls of the Sun and planets. The hull is sound, the tanks are full, the radio still flickers through the comet’s interference… and yet the crew is effectively marooned in deep space, doomed to spend two million years frozen in orbit until the comet swings back past Earth.
As despair creeps in and the specter of a deliberate, early death hangs over them, Pickett reaches for a memory from his childhood: the clatter of beads on his Japanese grandmother’s abacus, and stories of contests where human operators outpaced early electronic calculators. In a world that has forgotten how to do math without machines, he suggests the unthinkable—turning the crew into a human “computer,” trained to use abacuses fast enough to handle the brutal navigation work. What follows is a race against dwindling supplies as the men of Challenger drill, compete, and push their fingers to exhaustion, building a living calculation engine capable of reshaping their orbit and bringing them back into radio range of Earth’s giant computers.
Arthur C. Clarke stands as one of the defining voices of twentieth-century science fiction.
