No what? Answer? What is "answer"?
"Estimate arrival four hundred seventy-two minutes," he said loudly, looking at the time-to-destination indicator.
There was a sudden flood of relief, washing away the irritation that had been picking away at the back of his mind. He felt at ease again. He turned off both transmitter and receiver and stood out of the control chair. He felt better now, but he was a little worried about what had happened.
He couldn't understand it. Suddenly he had lost control of himself, of his voice and his hands. He was doing meaningless things, saying things, making motions stupidly. Every movement he made, every act, was without pattern or sense.
He had a sudden thought, and it made his whole body grow cold and prickly, and he almost choked.
Maybe I'm going Nova.
He was near the edge of panic for a minute. Nova Nova Nova Nova.
Brightly flaring, burning out, lighting space around for billions of light years....
That was how it started, he knew. Unpredictability, variation without explanation.... He sat back down in the control chair, feeling shaky and weak and frightened.
By the time he had regained his balance, time-to-destination told him 453 minutes.