Rama II r-2

by Arthur C. Clarke

Richard looked at Janos with a quizzical smile. “It wasn’t, of course,” Janos continued. “Rama made the decision for us to leave. And Rama will decide what we do next.”

  25

  A FRIEND IN NEED

  In his dream he was lying on a futon in a seventeenth century ryokan. The room was very large, nine tatami mats in all. To his left, in the yard on the other side of the open screen, was a perfect miniaturized garden with tiny trees and a manicured stream. He was waiting for a young woman.

  “Takagishi-san, are you awake?”

  He stirred and reached out for the communicator. “Hello,” he said, his voice betraying his grogginess. “Who is it?”

  “Nicole des Jardins,” the voice said. “I’m sorry to call you so early, but I need to see you. It’s urgent.”

  “Give me three minutes,” Takagishi said,

  There was a knock on his door exactly three minutes later. Nicole greeted him and entered the room. She was carrying a data cube. “Do you mind?” she said, pointing to the computer console. Takagishi shook his head.

  “Yesterday there were half a dozen separate incidents,” Nicole said gravely, pointing at some blips on the monitor, “including the two largest aberrations I have ever seen in your heart data.” She looked at him. “Are you certain that you and your doctor provided me with complete historical records?”

  Takagishi nodded.

  “Then I have reason for concern,” she continued. “The irregularities yes­terday suggest that your chronic diastolic abnormality has worsened. Perhaps the valve has sprung a new leak. Perhaps the long periods of weight­lessness—”

  “Or perhaps,” Takagishi interrupted with a soft smile, “I became overly excited and my extra adrenaline aggravated the problem.”

  Nicole stared at the Japanese scientist. “That’s possible, Dr. Takagishi. One of the major incidents occurred just after the lights went out. I guess it was when you were listening to your strange sound.”

  “And the other, by chance, could it have been during my argument with Dr. Brown in the campsite? If so, that would support my hypothesis.”

  Cosmonaut des Jardins touched several keys on the console and her soft­ware entered a new subroutine. She studied the data displayed on two sides of a split screen. “Yes,” she said, “it looks right. The second incident took place twenty minutes before we started leaving Rama. That would have been toward the end of the meeting.” She moved away from the monitor. “But I can’t dismiss the bizarre behavior of your heart just because you were ex­cited.”

  They stared at each other for several long seconds. “What are you trying to tell me, Doctor?” Takagishi said softly. “Are you going to confine me to my quarters on the Newton? Now, at the most significant moment in my professional career?”

  “I’m considering it,” Nicole answered directly. “Your health is more im­portant to me than your career. I’ve already lost one member of the crew. I’m not certain that I could forgive myself if I lost another.”

  She saw the entreaty in her colleague’s face. “I know how critical these sorties into Rama are to you. I’m trying to find some kind of rationalization that will allow me to overlook yesterday’s data.” Nicole sat down at the far end of the bed and looked away. “But as a doctor, not a Newton cosmonaut, it’s very very tough.”

  She heard Takagishi approach and felt his hand gently on her shoulder. “I know how difficult it has been for you these last few days,” he said. “But it was not your fault. All of us are aware that General Borzov’s death was unavoidable.”

  Nicole recognized the respect and friendship in Takagishi’s gaze. She thanked him with her eyes, “I very much appreciate what you did for me before launch,” he continued. “If you feel compelled to limit my activities now, I will not object.”

  “Dammit,” said Nicole, standing up quickly, “it’s not that simple. I’ve been studying your overnight data for almost an hour. Look at this. Your chart for the last ten hours is perfectly normal. There’s not a trace of any anomaly. And you had had no incidents for weeks. Until yesterday. What is it with you, Shig? Do you have a bad heart? Or just a weird one?”

  Takagishi smiled. “My wife told me once that I had a strange heart. But I think she was referring to something altogether different.”

  Nicole activated her scanner and displayed the data on the monitor in real-time. “There we are again” — she shook her head — “the signature of a perfectly healthy heart. No cardiologist in the world would argue with my conclusion.” She moved toward the door.

  “So what’s the verdict, Doc?” Takagishi asked.

  “I haven’t decided,” she answered. “You could help. Have another one of your incidents in the next few hours and make it easy for me.” She waved good-bye. “See you at breakfast.”

  Richard Wakefield was coming out of his room as Nicole headed down the hall after leaving Takagishi. She made a spontaneous decision to talk to him about the RoSur software.

  “Good morning, princess,” he said as he approached. “What are you doing awake at this hour? Something exciting, I hope.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Nicole replied in the same playful tone, “I was coming to talk to you.” He stopped to listen. “Do you have a minute?”

  “For you, Madame Doctor,” he answered with an exaggerated smile, “I have two minutes. But no more. Mind you, I’m hungry. And if I am not fed quickly when I’m hungry, I turn into an awful ogre.” Nicole laughed. “What’s on your mind?” he added lightly.

  “Could we go into your room?” she asked.

  “I knew it. I knew it,” he said, spinning around and sliding quickly toward his door. “It’s finally happened, just like in my dreams. An intelligent, beau­tiful woman is going to declare her undying affection—”

  Nicole could not suppress a chortle. “Wakefield,” she interrupted, still grinning, “you are hopeless. Are you never serious? I have some business to discuss with you.”

  “Oh, darn,” Richard said dramatically. “Business. In that case I’m going to limit you to the two minutes I allocated you earlier. Business also makes me hungry… and grumpy.”

  Richard Wakefield opened the door to his room and waited for Nicole to enter. He offered her the chair in front of his computer monitor and sat down behind her on the bed. She turned around to face him. On the shelf above his bed were a dozen tiny figurines similar to the ones she had seen before in Tabori’s room and at the Borzov banquet.

  “Allow me to introduce you to some of my menagerie,” Richard said, noticing her curiosity. “You’ve met Lord and Lady Macbeth, Puck, and Bottom. This matched pair is Tybalt and Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet Next to them are Iago and Othello, followed by Prince Hal, Falstaff, and the wonderful Mistress Quickly. The last one on the right is my closest friend, The Bard, or TB for short.”

  As Nicole watched, Richard activated a switch near the head of his bed and TB climbed down a ladder from the shelf to the bed. The twenty-centimeter-nigh robot carefully navigated the folds in the bed coverings and came over to greet Nicole.

  “And what be your name, fair lady?” TB said.

  “I am Nicole des Jardins,” she replied.

  “Sounds French,” the robot said immediately. “But you don’t look French. At least not Valois.” The robot appeared to be staring at her. “You look more like a child of Othello and Desdemona.”

  Nicole was astonished. “How did you do that?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Richard said with a wave of his hand. “Do you have a favorite Shakespearean sonnet?” he now inquired. “If you do, recite a line, or give TB a number.”

  “Full many a glorious morning…” recalled Nicole.

  “…have I seen,” the robot added,

  “Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green. Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy…”

  The little robot recited the sonnet with fluid head and arm movements as well as a wide range of facial expressio
ns. Again Nicole was impressed by Richard Wakefield’s creativity. She remembered the key four lines of the sonnet from her university days and mumbled them along with TB:

  “Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all-triumphant splendor on my brow; But, out alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath masked him from me now…”

  After the robot finished the final couplet, Nicole, who was moved by the almost forgotten words, found herself applauding. “And he can do all the sonnets?” she asked.

  Richard nodded. “Plus many, many of the more poetic dramatic speeches. But that’s not his most outstanding capability. Remembering passages from Shakespeare only requires plenty of storage. TB is also a very intelligent robot. He can carry on a conversation better than—”

  Richard stopped himself in midsentence. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I’m monopo­lizing the time. You said you had some business to discuss.”

  “But you’ve already used my two minutes,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Are you certain that you won’t die of starvation if I take five more minutes of your time?”

  Nicole quickly summarized her investigation into the RoSur software mal­function, including her conclusion that the fault protection algorithms must have been disabled by manual commands. She indicated that she could go no further with her own analysis and that she would like some help from Richard. She did not discuss her suspicions.

  “Should be a snap,” he said with a smile. “All I have to do is find the place in memory where the commands are buffered and stored. That could take a little time, given the size of the storage, but these memories are generally designed with logical architectures. However, I don’t understand why you’re doing all this detective work. Why don’t you simply ask Janos and the others if they input any commands?”

  “That’s the problem,” Nicole replied. “Nobody recalls commanding RoSur at any time after the final load and verify. When Janos hit his head during the maneuver, I thought his fingers were on the control box. He doesn’t remember and I can’t be certain.”

  Richard’s brow furrowed. “It would be very unlikely that Janos just hap­pened to toggle the fault protection enable switch with a random command. That would mean the overall design was stupid.” He thought for a moment. “Oh well,” he continued, “there’s no need to speculate. Now you’ve aroused my curiosity. I’ll look at the problem as soon as I have—”

  “Break break. Break break.” Otto Hermann’s voice on the communicator interrupted their conversation. “Will everyone come immediately to the science control center for a meeting. We have a new development. The lights inside Rama just came on again.”

  Richard opened the door and followed Nicole into the corridor. “Thanks for your help,” Nicole said. “I appreciate it very much.”

  “Thank me after I do something,” Richard said with a grin. “I’m notori­ous for promises. Now, what do you think is the meaning of all these games with the lights?”

  26

  SECOND SORTIE

  David Brown had placed a single large sheet of paper on the table in the middle of the control center. Franceses had divided it into partitions, representing hours, and was now busy writing down whatever he told her, “The damn mission planning software is too inflexible to be useful in a situation like this,” Dr. Brown was saying to Janos Tabori and Richard Wakefield. “It’s only good when the sequence of activities being planned is consistent with one of the preflight strategies.”

  Janos walked over to one of the monitors. “Maybe you can use it better than I can,” Dr. Brown continued, “but I have found it much easier this morning to rely on pencil and paper.” Janos called up a software program for mission sequencing and began to key in some data.

  “Wait a minute,” Richard Wakefield interjected. Janos stopped typing on the keyboard and turned to listen to his colleague. “We’re getting all worked up over nothing. We don’t need to plan the entire next sortie at this mo­ment. In any case, we know the first major activity segment must be the completion of the infrastructure. That will take another ten or twelve hours. The rest of the sortie design can be done in parallel.”

  “Richard’s right,” Francesca added. “We’re trying to do everything too fast. Let’s send the space cadets into Rama to finish setting up. While they’re gone we can work out the details of the sortie.”

  “That’s impractical,” Dr. Brown replied. “The academy graduates are the only ones who know how long each of the various engineering activities should take. We can’t make meaningful timelines without them.”

  “Then one of us will stay here with you,” Janos Tabori said. He grinned. “And we can use Heilmann or O’Toole inside, as an extra worker. That shouldn’t slow us down too much.”

  A consensus decision was reached in half an hour. Nicole would stay onboard the Newton again, at least until the infrastructure was completed, and represent the cadets in the mission planning process, Admiral Heilmann would go into Rama with the four other professional cosmonauts. They would finish the remaining three infrastructure tasks: the assembly of the rest of the vehicles, the deployment of another dozen portable monitoring stations in the Northern Hemicylinder, and the construction of the Beta campsite!communications complex on the north side of the Cylindrical Sea.

  Richard Wakefield was in the process of reviewing all the detailed subtasks with his small team when Reggie Wilson, who had been virtually silent during the entire morning, suddenly jumped up from his chair. “This is all bullshit!” he shouted. “I can’t believe all the nonsense I’m hearing.”

  Richard stopped his review. Brown and Takagishi, who had already started discussing the sortie design, were suddenly silen. All eyes were focused on Reggie Wilson.

  “A man died here four days ago,” he said. “Killed, most likely, by whoever or whatever is operating that gigantic spacecraft. But we went inside explor­ing anyway. Next the lights go on and off unexpectedly.” Wilson looked around the room at the rest of the crew. His eyes were wild. His forehead was sweating. “And what do we all do? Huh? How do we respond to this warning from alien creatures far superior to us? We sit down calmly and plan the rest of our exploration of their vehicle. Don’t any of you get it? They don’t want us in there. They want us to leave, to go home to Earth.”

  Wilson’s outburst was greeted by an uncomfortable silence. At length General O’Toole walked over beside Reggie Wilson. “Reggie,” he said qui­etly, “we were all upset by General Borzov’s death. But none of the rest of us see any connection—”

  “Then you’re blind, man, you’re blind. I was up in that goddamn helicop­ter when the lights went out. One minute it was bright as a summer day and the next, poof, it was pitch black. It was fucking weird, man. Somebody turned out all the lights. In this discussion never once have I heard anybody ask why the lights went out. What’s the matter with you people? Are you too smart to be afraid?”

  Wilson ranted for several minutes. His recurring theme was always the same. The Ramans had planned Borzov’s death, they were sending a warn­ing with the lights going on and off, there would be more disasters if the crew insisted on continuing with the exploration.

  General O’Toole stood beside Reggie during the entire episode. Dr, Brown, Francesca, and Nicole had a hurried discussion on the side and then Nicole approached Wilson. “Reggie,” she said informally, interrupting his diatribe, “why don’t you and General O’Toole come with me? We can continue this conversation without delaying the rest of the crew.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “You, Doctor? Why should I come with you? You weren’t even in there. You haven’t seen enough to know anything.” Wilson moved over in front of Wakefield. “You were there, Richard,” he said. “You saw that place, You know what kind of intelligence and power it would take to make a space vehicle that large and then launch it on a trip between the stars. Hey, man, we’re nothing to them. We’re less than ants. We haven’t got a chance.”

  “I agree with you, Reggie,” Richard
Wakefield said calmly after a mo­ment’s hesitation. “At least where our comparative capabilities are con­cerned. But we have no evidence they’re hostile. Or even care about whether or not we explore their craft. On the contrary, the very fact that we are alive—”

  “Look,” shouted Irina Turgenyev suddenly. “Look at the monitor.” A solitary image was frozen on the giant screen in the control center. A crablike creature filled the entire frame. It had a low, flat body, about twice as long as it was wide. Its weight was supported on six triple-jointed legs. Two scissorlike claws extended in front of the body and a whole row of manipulators, which looked uncannily like tiny human hands at first glance, nestled close to some kind of opening in the carapace. On closer inspection the manipulators were a veritable hardware store of capabilities — there were pincers, probes, rasps, and even something that resembled a drill.

  Its eyes, if that’s indeed what they were, were deeply recessed in protec­tive hoods and raised like periscopes above the top of the shell. The eyeballs themselves were crystal or jelly, vivid blue in color, and utterly expressionless. From the legend on the side of the image it was clear that the photograph had been taken just moments before, by one of the long-range drones, at a

  spot roughly five kilometers south of the Cylindrical Sea. The frame, filmed with a telescopic lens, covered an area roughly six meters square.

  “So we have company in Rama,” said Janos Tabori. The rest of the cos­monauts stared at the monitor in amazement.

  All of the crew later agreed that the image of the crab biot on the giant screen would not have been so frightening if it had not occurred at that precise moment. Although Reggie’s behavior was definitely aberrant, there was enough sense in what he was saying to remind each of them of the dangers in their expedition. None of the crew was completely free from fear. All of them had, in some private moment, confronted the disquieting fact that the super-advanced Ramans might not be friendly.