The strange sea, a body of water running completely around the huge cylinder, was at the far edge of the image. It was still frozen, as expected, and in its center was the mysterious island of towering skyscrapers that had been called New York since its original discovery. The skyscrapers stretched off the end of the picture, the looming towers beckoning to be visited.
The entire crew stared silently at the image for almost a minute. Then Dr. David Brown started hooting. “All right, Rama,” he said in a proud voice. “You see, all you disbelievers,” he shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, “it is exactly like the first one.” Francesca’s video camera turned to record Brown’s exultation. Most of the rest of the crew were still speechless, transfixed by the details on the monitor.
Meanwhile, Takagishi’s drone was transmitting narrow-angle photos of the area just under the tunnel. These images were featured on the smaller screens around the control center. The pictures would be used to reverify the designs of the communication and transportation infrastructure to be established inside Rama. This was the real “job” of this phase of the mission — comparing the thousands of pictures that would be taken by these drones to the existing camera mosaics from Rama I. Although most of the comparisons could be done digitally (and therefore automatically), there would always be differences that would require human explanation. Even if the two spaceships were identical, the differing light levels at the times the images were taken would create some artificial miscompares.
Two hours later the last of the drones returned to the relay station and an initial summary of the photographic survey was complete. There were no major structural differences between Rama II and the earlier space vehicle down to a scale of a hundred meters. The only significant region of miscompares at that resolution was the Cylindrical Sea itself, and ice reflectivity was a notoriously difficult phenomenon to handle with a straightforward digital comparison algorithm. It had been a long and exciting day. Borzov announced that crew assignments for the first sortie would be posted in an hour and that a “special dinner” would be served in the control center two hours later.
“You cannot do this,” an angry David Brown shouted, bursting into the commander’s office without knocking, and brandishing a hard-copy printout of the first sortie assignments.
“What are you talking about?” General Borzov responded. He was annoyed by Dr. Brown’s rude entrance.
“There must be some kind of mistake,” Brown continued in a loud voice. “You can’t really expect me to stay here on the Newton during the first sortie.” When there was no response from General Borzov, the American scientist changed tactics. “I want you to know that I don’t accept this. And the ISA management won’t like it either.”
Borzov stood up behind his desk. “Close the door, Dr. Brown,” he said calmly. David Brown slammed the sliding door. “Now you listen to me for a minute,” the general continued. “I don’t give a damn who you know. I am the commanding officer of this mission. If you continue to act like a prima donna, I’ll see to it that you never set foot inside Rama.”
Brown lowered his voice. “But I demand an explanation,” he said with undisguised hostility. “I am the senior scientist on this mission. I am also the leading spokesman for the Newton project among the media. How can you possibly justify leaving me onboard the Newton while nine other cosmonauts go inside Rama?”
“I don’t have to justify my actions,” Borzov replied, for the moment enjoying his power over the arrogant American. He leaned forward. “But for the record, and because I anticipated this childish outburst of yours, I will tell you why you’re not going on the first sortie. There are two major purposes for our first visit: to establish the communications!transportation infrastructure and to complete a detailed survey of the interior, ensuring that this spaceship is exactly like the first one—”
“That’s already been confirmed by the drones,” Brown interrupted. “Not according to Dr. Takagishi,” Borzov rebutted. “He says that—” “Shit, General, Takagishi won’t be satisfied until every square centimeter of Rama has been shown to be exactly the same as the first ship. You saw the results of the drone survey. Do you have any doubt in your mind—”
David Brown stopped himself in midsentence. General Borzov was drumming on his desk with his fingers and regarding Dr. Brown with a cold stare. “Are you going to let me finish now?” Borzov said at length. He waited a few more seconds. “Whatever you may think,” the commander continued, “Dr. Takagishi is considered to be the world expert on the interior of Rama. You cannot argue even for a minute that your knowledge of the details approaches his. I need all five of the space cadets for the infrastructure work. The two journalists must go inside, not only because there are two separate tasks, but also because world attention is focused on us at this time. Finally, I believe it is important for my subsequent management of this mission that I myself go inside at least once, and I choose to do it now. Since the procedures clearly state that at least three members of the crew must remain outside Rama during the early sorties, it is not difficult to figure out—”
“You don’t fool me for a minute,” David Brown now interrupted nastily. “I know what this is all about. YouVe concocted an apparently logical excuse to hide the real reason for my exclusion from the first sortie team. You’re jealous, Borzov. You can’t stand the fact that I am regarded by most people as the real leader of this mission.”
The commander stared at the scientist for over fifteen seconds without saying anything. “You know, Brown,” he said finally, “I feel sorry for you. You are remarkably talented, but your talent is exceeded by your own opinion of it. If you weren’t such a—” This time it was Borzov’s turn to stop himself in midsentence. He looked away. “Incidentally, since I know that you will go back to your room and immediately whine to the ISA, I should probably tell you that the life science officer’s fitness report explicitly recommends against your sharing any mission duties with Wilson — because of the personal animosity that both of you have demonstrated.”
Brown’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that Nicole des Jardins actually filed an official memorandum citing Wilson and me by name?”
Borzov nodded.
“The bitch,” Brown muttered.
“It’s always someone else who is at fault, isn’t it Dr. Brown?” General Borzov said, smiling at his adversary.
David Brown turned around and stalked out of the office.
For the banquet, General Borzov ordered a few precious bottles of wine to be opened. The commanding officer was in an excellent mood. Francesca’s suggestion had been a good one. There was a definite feeling of camaraderie among the cosmonauts as they brought the small tables together in the control center and anchored them to the floor.
Dr. David Brown did not come to the banquet. He remained in his room while the other eleven crew members feasted on game hens and wild rice. Francesca awkwardly reported that Brown was “feeling under the weather,” but when Janos Tabori playfully volunteered to go check the American scientist’s health, Francesca hurriedly added that Dr. Brown wanted to be left alone. Janos and Richard Wakefield, both of whom had several glasses of wine, bantered with Francesca at one end of the table while Reggie Wilson and General O’Toole engaged in an animated discussion about the coming baseball season at the opposite end. Nicole sat between General Borzov and Admiral Heilmann and listened to their reminiscences of peacekeeping activities in the early post-Chaos days. Cosmonauts Turgenyev and Yamanaka were their usual taciturn selves, contributing to the conversation only when asked a direct question.
When the meal was over, Francesca excused herself. She and Dr. Takagishi disappeared for several minutes. When they returned Francesca asked the cosmonauts to turn their chairs to face the large screen. Then, with the lights out, she and Takagishi projected a full exterior view of Rama on the monitor. Except that this was not the dull gray cylinder everyone had seen before. No, this Rama had been cleverly colored,
using image processing subroutines, and was now a black cylinder with yellow-gold stripes. The end of the cylinder looked almost like a face. There was a momentary quiet in the room before Francesca began to recite.
“Tyger, tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?”
Nicole des Jardins felt a cold chill run up her spine as she listened to Francesca begin the next verse.
“In what distant deeps or skies, Burnt the fire of thine eyes?..”
That is the real question after all, Nicole was thinking. Who made this gargantuan spacecraft? That’s much more important for our ultimate destiny than why.
“What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?..”
Across the table General O’Toole was also mesmerized by Francesca’s recitation. His mind was again struggling with the same fundamental questions that had been bothering him since he originally applied for the mission. Dear God, he was wondering, how do these Ramans fit into your universe? Did You create them first, before us? Are they our cousins in some sense? Why have You sent them here at this time?
“When the stars threw down their spears And water’d heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see, Did He who made the Lamb make thee?”
When Francesca finished the short poem there was a brief silence and then spontaneous applause. She graciously mentioned that Dr. Takagishi had provided all the image processing intelligence and the likable Japanese cosmonaut took an embarrassed bow. Then Janos Tabori stood at his chair. “I think I speak for all of us, Shig and Francesca, in congratulating you on that original and thought-provoking performance,” he said with a grin. “It almost, but not quite, made me feel serious about what we are doing tomorrow.”
“Speaking of which,” General Borzov said, rising at the head of the table with his recently opened bottle of Ukrainian vodka, from which he had already taken two strong belts, “it is now time for an ancient Russian tradition — the toasts. I brought along only two bottles of this national treasure and I propose to share them both with you, my comrades and colleagues, on this very special evening.”
He placed both bottles in General O’Toole’s hands and the American adroitly used the liquid dispenser to channel the vodka into small covered cups that were passed around the table. “As Irina Turgenyev knows!” the commander continued, “there is always a small worm in the bottom of a bottle of Ukrainian vodka. Legend has it that he who eats the worm will be endowed with special powers for twenty-four hours. Admiral Heilmann has marked two of the cup bottoms with an infrared cross. The two people who drink from the marked cups will each be allowed to eat one of the vodka-saturated worms.”
“Yuch,” said Janos a moment later, as he passed the infrared scanner to Nicole. He had first verified that he had no cross on the bottom of his cup. “This is one contest I am glad to lose.”
Nicole’s cup did have a marking on the bottom. She was one of the two lucky cosmonauts who would be able to eat a Ukrainian worm for dessert. She found herself wondering, Must I do this? and then answering her own question affirmatively as she saw the earnest look on her commanding officer’s face. Oh well, she thought, it probably won’t kill me. Any parasites have probably been rendered harmless by the alcohol.
General Borzov himself had the second cup with a cross on the bottom. The general smiled, placed one of the two tiny worms in his own cup (and the other in Nicole’s), and raised his vodka toward the ceiling of the spacecraft.
“Let us all drink to a successful mission,” he said. “For each of us, these next few days and weeks will be the greatest adventure of our lives. In a real sense, we dozen are human ambassadors to an alien culture. Let us each resolve to do our best to properly represent our species.”
He took the cover off his cup, being careful not to jiggle it, and then drank it all in one gulp. He swallowed the worm whole. Nicole also swallowed the worm quickly, commenting to herself that the only thing she had ever eaten that tasted worse than the worm was that awful tuber during her Poro ceremony in the Ivory Coast.
After several more short toasts the lights in the room began to dim. “And now,” General Borzov announced with a grand gesture, “direct from Stratford, the Newton proudly presents Richard Wakefield and his talented robots.” The room became dark except for a square meter to the left of the table that was spotlit from above. In the middle of the light was a cutaway of an old castle. A female robot, twenty centimeters high and dressed in a robe, was walking around in one of the rooms. She was reading a letter at the beginning of the scene. After a few steps, however, she dropped her hands to her sides and began to speak.
“Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature: It is too full o’th’milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great .
“I know that woman,” Janos said with a grin to Nicole. “I have met her somewhere before.”
“Shh,” replied Nicole. She was fascinated by the precision in the movements of Lady Macbeth. That Wakefield really is a genius, she was thinking. How is he able to design such extraordinary detail into those little things? Nicole was astonished by the range of expressions on the robot’s face.
As she concentrated, the tiny stage began to swim in Nicole’s mind. She momentarily forgot she was watching robots in a miniature performance. A messenger came in and told Lady Macbeth both that her husband was drawing near and that King Duncan would be spending the night in their castle. Nicole watched Lady Macbeth’s face explode with ambitious anticipation as soon as the messenger had departed.
“…Come you Spirits That tend on mortal thoughts. Unsex me here And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood…”
My God, Nicole thought, blinking her eyes to make certain they were not playing tricks on her, she’s changing! Indeed she was. As the words “Unsex me here” came from the robot, her (or its) shape began to change. The impression of the breasts against the metal gown, the roundness of the hips, even the softness of the face all disappeared. An androgynous robot played on as Lady Macbeth.
Nicole was spellbound and floating in a fantasy induced both by her wild imagination and the sudden intake of alcohol. The new face on the robot was vaguely reminiscent of someone she knew. She heard a disturbance to her right and turned to see Reggie Wilson talking avidly with Franceses. Nicole glanced back and forth quickly from Francesca to Lady Macbeth. That’s it, she said to herself. This new Lady Macbeth resembles Francesca.
A burst of fear, a premonition of tragedy, suddenly overwhelmed Nicole and plunged her into terror. Something terrible is going to happen, her mind was saying. She took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself but the eerie feeling would not go away. On the little stage King Duncan had just been greeted by his gracious hostess for the evening. To her left Nicole saw Francesca offer General Borzov the last sips of the wine. Nicole could not quell her panic.
“Nicole, what’s the matter?” Janos asked. He could tell she was distressed.
“Nothing,” she said. She gathered all her strength and rose to her feet. “Something I ate must have disagreed with me. I think I’ll go to my room.”
“But you’ll miss the movie after dinner,” Janos said humorously. Nicole
forced a pained smile. He helped her stand up. Nicole heard Lady Macbeth berating her husband for his lack of courage and one more wave of premonitory fear surged through her. She waited until the adrenaline burst had subsided and then excused herself quietly from the group. She walked slowly back to her room.
17
DEATH OF A SOLDIER
In her dream Nicole was ten years old again and playing in the woods behind her home in the Paris suburb of Chilly-Mazarin. She had a sudden feeling that her mother was dying. The little girl panicked. She ran toward the house to tell her father. A small snarling cat
blocked her path. Nicole stopped, She heard a scream. She left the path and went through the trees. The branches scraped her skin. The cat followed her. Nicole heard another scream. When she awakened a frightened Janos Tabori was standing over her. “It’s General Borzov,” Janos said. “He’s in excruciating pain.”
Nicole jumped swiftly out of bed, threw her robe around her, grabbed her portable medical kit, and followed Janos into the corridor, “It looks like an appendicitis,” he mentioned as they hurried into the lobby, “But I’m not certain.”
Irina Turgenyev was kneeling beside the commander and holding his hand. The general himself was stretched out on a couch. His face was white and there was sweat on his brow. “Ah, Dr. des Jardins has arrived.” He managed a smile. Borzov then tried to sit up, winced from the pain, and let himself lie back down. “Nicole,” he said quietly, “I am in agony. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life, not even when I was wounded in the army.”
“How long ago did it start?” she asked. Nicole had pulled out her scanner and biometry monitor to check all his vital statistics. Meanwhile Francesca and her video camera had moved over right behind Nicole’s shoulder to film the doctor performing the diagnosis. Nicole impatiently motioned for her to back away.
“Maybe two or three minutes ago,” General Borzov said with effort. “I was sitting here in a chair watching the movie, laughing heartily as I recall, when there was an intense, sharp pain, here on my lower right side. It felt as if something were burning me from the inside.”
Nicole programmed the scanner to search through the last three minutes of detailed data recorded by the Hakamatsu probes inside Borzov. She located the onset of the pain, easily identifiable in terms of both heart rate and endocrine secretions. She next requested a full dump over the time period of interest from all channels. “Janos,” she then said to her colleague, “go over to the supply room and bring me the portable diagnostician.” She handed Tabori the code card for the door.
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