"E-nish-ul-eyes the colony?" Max interrupted. "Shit, man, you talk like one of them robots." He grinned at Nai. "After two years with one of those talking cultivators, I threw the son of a bitch away and replaced him with one of those earlier silent versions."
Kenji laughed easily. "I guess I do use a lot of ISA jargon. I was one of the first civilians selected for New Lowell, and I managed the recruiting in the Orient."
Max had put a cigarette in his mouth. He glanced around in the observation lounge. "I don't see a smoking sign anywhere," he said. "So I guess if I light up I'll set off all the alarms." He put the cigarette behind his ear. "Winona hates it when me and Clyde smoke. She says only farmers and whores smoke anymore."
Max chuckled. Kenji and Nai laughed as well. He was a funny man. "Speaking of whores," Max said with a twinkle, "where's all those convict women I saw on television? Whoo-eee, some of them were mighty fine. Damn sight better looking than my chickens and pigs."
"All the colonists who had been held in detention on Earth are traveling on the Santa Maria," Kenji said. "We'll arrive about two months before them."
"You know an awful lot about this mission," Max said. "And you don't speak garbled English like the Japs I've met in Little Rock and Texarkana. Are you somebody special?"
"No," Kenji replied, unable to suppress another laugh. "As I told you, I'm just the lead colony historian."
Kenji was about to tell Max that he had lived in the United States for six years-which explained why his English was so good-when the door to the lounge opened and a dignified elderly gentleman in a gray suit and dark tie entered. "Pardon me," he said to Max, who had again placed the unlighted cigarette in his mouth, "have I mistakenly ended up in the smoking room?"
"No, Pops," Max answered. "This room is the observation lounge. It's much too nice to be the smoking area. Smoking is probably confined to a small room, without windows, near the bathrooms. My ISA interviewer told me—"
The elderly gentleman was staring at Max as if the man were a biologist and Max was a rare but unpleasant species. "My name, young man," he interrupted, "is not 'Pops.' It's Pyotr. Pyotr Mishkin, to be exact."
"Glad to know you, Peter," Max said, sticking out his hand. "I'm Max. This couple here's the Wabanyabes. They're from Japan."
"Kenji Watanabe," Kenji said in correction. "This is my wife Nai, who is a citizen of Thailand."
"Mr. Max," Pyotr Mishkin said formally, "my first name is Pyotr, not Peter. It is bad enough that I must speak English for five years. Surely I can ask that my name at least retain its original Russian sound."
"Okay, Pee-yot-ur," Max said, again grinning. "What do you do, anyway? No, let me guess … you're the colony undertaker."
For a fraction of a second Kenji was afraid that Mr. Mishkin was going to explode in anger. Instead, however, the smallest of smiles began to form upon his face. "It is apparent, Mr. Max," he said slowly, "that you have a certain comic gift. I can see where that might be a virtue on a long and boring space trip." He paused for a moment. "For your information, I am not the undertaker. I was trained in the law. Until two years ago, when I retired of my own volition to seek a 'new adventure,' I was a member of the Soviet Supreme Court."
"Holy shit," Max Puckett exclaimed. "Now I remember. I read about you in Time magazine… Hey, Judge Mishkin, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you—"
"Not at all," Judge Mishkin interrupted, an amused smile spreading across his face. "It was fascinating to be unknown for a moment and to be taken for an undertaker. Probably the practiced judge's mien is very close to the proper dour expression of the funeral attendant. By the way, Mr…"
"Puckett, sir."
"By the way, Mr. Puckett," Judge Mishkin continued, "would you like to join me in the bar for a drink? A vodka would taste especially good right about now."
"So would some tequila," Max replied, walking toward the door with Judge Mishkin. "Incidentally, I don't suppose you know what happens when you feed tequila to pigs, do you?… I thought not… Well, me and my brother Clyde…"
They disappeared out the door, leaving Kenji and Nai Watanabe alone again. The couple glanced at each other and laughed. "You don't mink," Kenji said, "that those two are going to be friends, do you?"
"No chance," Nai replied with a smile. "What a pair of characters."
"Mishkin is considered to be one of the finest jurists of our century. His opinions are required reading in all the Soviet law schools. Puckett was president of the Southwest Arkansas Farmers Cooperative. He has incredible knowledge of farming techniques, and farm animals as well."
"Do you know the background of all the people in New Lowell?"
"No," Kenji replied. "But I have studied the files of everyone on the Pinta."
Nai put her arms around her husband. "Tell me about Nai Buatong Watanabe," she said.
"Thai schoolteacher, fluent in English and French, IE equals 2.48, SC of 91—"
Nai interrupted Kenji with a kiss. "You forgot the most important characteristic," she said.
"What's that?"
She kissed him again. "Adoring new bride of Kenji Watanabe, colony historian."
6
Most of the world was watching on television when the Pinta was formally dedicated several hours before it was scheduled to depart for Mars with its passengers and cargo. The second vice president of the COG, a Swiss real estate executive named Heinrich Jenzer, was present at GEO-4 for the dedication ceremonies. He gave a short address to commemorate both the completion of the three large spacecraft and the opening of a "new era of Martian colonization." When he was finished, Mr. Jenzer introduced Mr. Ian Macmillan, the Scottish commander of the Pinta. Macmillan, a boring speaker who appeared to be the quintessential ISA bureaucrat, read a six-minute speech reminding the world of the fundamental objectives of the project.
"These three vehicles," he said early in his speech, "will carry almost two thousand people on a hundred-million-kilometer voyage to another planet, Mars, where this time a permanent human presence will be established. Most of our future Martian colonists will be transported in the second ship, the Niña, which will depart from here at GEO-4 three weeks from today. Our ship, the Pinta, and the final spacecraft, the Santa Maria, will each carry about three hundred passengers as well as the thousands of kilograms of supplies and equipment that will be necessary to sustain the colony."
Carefully avoiding any mention of the demise of the first set of Martian outposts in the previous century, Commander Macmillan next tried to be poetic, comparing the forthcoming expedition to that of Christopher Columbus seven hundred and fifty years earlier. The language of the speech that had been written for him was excellent, but Macmillan's drab, monotonic delivery transformed words that would have been inspirational in the hands of an outstanding speaker into a dull and prosaic historical lecture.
He ended his speech by characterizing the colonists as a group, citing statistics about their ages, occupations, and countries of origin. "These men and women, then," Macmillan summarized, "are a representative cross section of the human species in almost every way. I say almost because there are at least two attributes common to this group that would not be found in a random collection of human beings of this size. First, the future residents of Lowell Colony are extremely intelligent—their average IE is slightly above 1.86. Second, and this goes without saying, they must be courageous or they would not have applied for and then accepted a long and difficult assignment in a new and unknown environment."
When he was finished, Commander Macmillan was handed a tiny bottle of champagne, which he broke across the 1/100 scale model of the Pinta that was displayed behind him and the other dignitaries on the dais. Moments later, as the colonists filed out of the auditorium and prepared to board the Pinta, Macmillan and Jenzer began the scheduled press conference.
"He's a jerk."
"He's a marginally competent bureaucrat."
"He's a fucking jerk."
Max Puckett and Judge Mishkin were discu
ssing Commander Macmillan in between bites of lunch.
"He has no goddamn sense of humor."
"He is simply unable to appreciate things that are out of the ordinary."
Max was chafing. He had been censured by the Pinta command staff during an informal hearing earlier that morning. His friend Judge Mishkin had represented Max in the hearing and had prevented the proceedings from getting out of control.
"Those assholes have no right to pass judgment on my behavior."
"You are most certainly correct, my friend," Judge Mishkin replied, "in the general sense. But we have a set of unique conditions on this spacecraft. They are the authority here, at least until we arrive at Lowell Colony and establish our own government… At any rate, there's no real harm done. You are not inconvenienced in any way by their declaration that your actions were 'untenable.' It could have been much worse."
Two nights earlier there had been a party celebrating the crossing of the halfway point in the Pinta's voyage from Earth to Mars. Max had flirted energetically for over an hour with lovely Angela Rendino, one of Macmillan's staff assistants. The bland Scotsman had then taken Max aside and strongly suggested that Max should leave Angela alone.
"Let her tell me that," Max had said sensibly.
"She's an inexperienced young woman," Macmillan had replied. "And she's too gracious to tell you how repulsive your animal humor is."
Max had been having a great time until then. "What's your angle here. Commander?" he had asked, after first quaffing another margarita. "Is she your private punch or something?"
Ian Macmillan had flushed crimson. "Mr. Puckett," the spacecraft officer had replied a few seconds later, "if your behavior does not improve, I will be forced to confine you to your living quarters."
The confrontation with Macmillan had ruined Max's evening. He had been incensed by the commander's use of his official authority in what was clearly a personal situation. Max had returned to his room, which he shared with another American, a pensive forester from the state of Oregon named Dave Denison, and quickly finished an entire bottle of tequila. In his drunken state Max had been both homesick and depressed. He had then decided to go to the communications center to phone his brother Clyde back in Arkansas.
By this time it was very late. To reach the communications complex, it was necessary for Max to cross the entire ship, passing first the common lounge where the party had just ended, and then the officers' quarters. In the central wing Max caught a fleeting glimpse of Ian Macmillan and Angela Rendino, arm in arm, going into the commander's private apartment.
"The son of a bitch," Max said to himself.
The drunken Max paced outside Macmillan's door in the hall, growing angrier and angrier. After five minutes he finally had an idea that he liked. Remembering his award-winning pig call from his days at the University of Arkansas, Max split the evening quiet with a horrendous noise.
"Sooo-eee, pig, pig," Max hollered.
He repeated the call another time and then disappeared in a flash, just before every door in the officers' wing (including Macmillan's) opened to see what the disturbance had been. Commander Macmillan was not at all happy that his entire crew saw him, along with Miss Rendino, in a state of undress.
The cruise to Mars was a second honeymoon for Kenji and Nai. Neither of them had much work to do. The journey was relatively uneventful, at least from the point of view of a historian, and Nai's duties were minimal since most of her high school students were onboard the other two spaceships.
The Watanabes spent many evenings socializing with Judge Mishkin and Max Puckett. They played cards often (Max was as good at poker as he was terrible at bridge), talked about their hopes for Lowell Colony, and discussed the lives they had left behind on Earth.
When the Pinta was three weeks away from Mars, the staff announced a coming two-day communications outage and urged everyone to call home before the radio systems were temporarily out of commission. Since it was the year-end holiday period, it was the perfect time to phone.
Max hated the time delay and the long one-way conversations. After listening to a disjointed discussion of Christmas plans in Arkansas, Max informed Clyde and Winona that he wasn't going to call anymore because he disliked "waiting fifteen minutes to find out if anyone has laughed at my jokes."
It had snowed early in Kyoto. Kenji's mother and father had prepared a video showing Ginkaku-ji and the Honen-In under a soft blanket of snow; if Nai had not been with him Kenji would have been unbearably homesick. In a brief call to Thailand, Nai congratulated one of her sisters on having won a scholarship to the university.
Pyotr Mishkin didn't telephone anyone. The old Russian's wife was dead and he had no children. "I have wonderful memories," he told Max, "but there is nothing personal left for me on Earth."
On the first day of the planned communications blackout, it was announced that an important program, required viewing for everybody, would be shown at two o'clock in the afternoon. Kenji and Nai invited Max and Judge Mishkin to their small apartment to watch.
"I wonder what stupid lecture this is going to be," said Max, opposed, as always, to official pronouncements, which he considered a waste of his time.
When the video began, the president of the COG and the director of the ISA were shown sitting together at a large desk. The COG president underscored the importance of the message that they were about to receive from Werner Koch, the director of the ISA.
"Passengers on the Pinta," Dr. Koch began, "four years ago our satellite tracking systems decoded a coherent signal that had apparently originated in deep space in the general direction of the star Epsilon Eridani. When properly processed, the signal contained an amazing video, one that you will see in its entirety in about five minutes.
"As you will hear, the video announces the return to our system of a Rama spacecraft. In 2130 and 2200, giant cylinders, fifty kilometers long and twenty kilometers wide, created by an unknown alien intelligence for a purpose we still have not fathomed, visited our family of planets in orbit around the Sun. The second intruder, usually referred to as Rama II, made a velocity correction while inside the orbit of Venus that put it on an impact course with the Earth. A fleet of nuclear missiles was dispatched to encounter the alien cylinder and destroy it before Rama came close enough to our planet to do any harm.
"The following video claims that another of these Rama spacecraft has now come to our neighborhood with the sole purpose of 'acquiring' a representative sample of two thousand human beings for 'observation.' As bizarre as this claim may be, it is important to note that our radar has indeed confirmed that a Rama class vehicle did enter orbit around Mars less than a month ago.
"Unfortunately, we must take this fantastic message from deep space seriously. Therefore, you colonists on the Pinta have been assigned to rendezvous with the new object in Mars orbit. We realize that this news will come as a severe shock to most of you, but we did not have many viable options. If, as we suspect, some misguided genius has planned and orchestrated an elaborate hoax, then, after the brief detour, you will continue on with your colonization of Mars as originally conceived. If, however, the video you are about to see is actually telling the truth, then you and your associates onboard the Niña and the Santa Maria will become the contingent of human beings that the Raman intelligence will observe.
"You can well imagine that your mission now has uppermost priority among all COG activities. You can also understand the need for secrecy. From this moment forward, until this Rama issue is resolved one way or the other, all communication between your vehicle and the Earth will be strictly controlled. The IIA will monitor all the voice loops. Your friends and families will be told that you are safe, and eventually that you have landed on Mars, but that the Pinta communication systems have completely failed.
"You are being shown the following video now to give you three weeks to prepare for the encounter. A baseline plan and accompanying procedures for the rendezvous, worked out in great detail by the IIA
in conjunction with ISA operations personnel, have already been transmitted to Commander Macmillan on the high-rate data stream. Each one of you will have a specific set of assignments. Each of you also has a personalized document packet that will provide you with the necessary background information for you to perform your duties.
"Of course we wish you well. Most likely this Rama affair will turn out to be nothing, in which case it will simply have delayed your initialization of Lowell Colony. If, however, this video is on the level, then you must move quickly to develop careful plans for accommodating the arrival of the Niña and the Santa Maria—none of the colonists on those other two spacecraft will have been told anything at all about Rama or the change in assignment."
There was a momentary silence in the Watanabe apartment as the video abruptly concluded and was replaced on the screen by a text message, Next video in two minutes. "Well, I'll be goddamned," was Max Puckett's only comment.
7
In the video Nicole was sitting on an ordinary brown chair with a featureless wall behind her. She was dressed in one of the ISA flight suits that had been her regular apparel during the Newton mission. Nicole read the message from an electronic notebook that she held in her hands.
"My fellow Earthlings," she began, "I am Newton cosmonaut Nicole des Jardins, speaking to you from billions of kilometers away. I am onboard a Rama spacecraft similar to the two great cylindrical spaceships that visited our solar system during the last two centuries. This third Rama vehicle is also heading toward our tiny region of the Galaxy. Approximately four years after your first receipt of this video, Rama III will go into orbit around the planet Mars.
"Since I left the Earth I have learned that the Rama class vehicles were constructed by an advanced extraterrestrial intelligence as elements in a vast information-gathering system whose ultimate objective is acquiring and cataloguing data about life in the universe. It is as part of this goal that this third Rama craft is returning to the vicinity of our home planet.
Rama: The Omnibus Page 94
