Rama II r-2

by Arthur C. Clarke

  Minutes went by. Nicole could hear occasional jabbering from the depths of the corridor. At length her two friends returned, each carrying a small manna melon in its talons. They landed in the plaza near the opening. Nicole walked over toward the melons, but the avians continued to clutch them. What followed was (Nicole assumed) a long lecture. The two birds jabbered both individually and together, always looking at her and often tapping on the melons. Fifteen minutes later, apparently satisfied that they had communicated their message, the avians took flight, swooped around the plaza, and vanished into their lair.

  I think they were telling me that melons are in short supply, Nicole thought as she walked back toward the eastern plaza. The melons were heavy. She had one in each of the two backpacks that she had emptied that morning before she left the White Room. Or maybe that I should not disturb them in the future. Whatever it was, we will not be welcome anymore.

  She thought that Richard would be ecstatic when she returned to the White Room. He was, but not because of Nicole and the manna melons. He had a grin on his face from one ear to the other and was holding one hand behind his back. “Wait until I show you what I have,” he said as Nicole unloaded the backpacks. Richard brought his hand around in front of him and opened it. The hand contained a solitary black ball about ten centime­ters in diameter.

  “I’m nowhere near figuring out all the logic, or How much information can go in the request,” Richard said. “But I have established a fundamental principle. We can ask for and receive “things” using the computer.”

  “What do you mean?” Nicole asked, still not certain why Richard was so excited about a small black ball.

  “They made this for me,” he said, handing her the ball again. “Don’t you understand? Somewhere here they have a factory and can make things for us.”

  “Then maybe “they,” whoever they are, can start making us some food,” said Nicole. She was a little annoyed that Richard had neither congratulated her nor thanked her for the melons. “The avians are not likely to give us any more.”

  “It will be no problem,” Richard said. “Eventually, once we learn the full range of the request process, we may be able to order fish and chips, steak and potatoes, anything, as long as we can state what we want in unambigu­ous scientific terms.”

  Nicole stared at her friend. With his unkempt hair, his unshaven face, the bags under his eyes, and his wild grin, he looked at the moment like a fugitive from an insane asylum. “Richard,” she asked, “will you slow down a little? If you’ve found the Holy Grail, can you at least spend a second explaining it to me?”

  “Look at the screen,” he said, Using the keyboard he drew a circle, then scratched it out and made a square. In less than a minute Richard had carefully drawn a cube in three dimensions. When he was finished with the graphics, he put the eight action keys into a predetermined configuration and then pressed the key with the small rectangle designator. A set of strange symbols appeared on the black monitor. “Don’t worry,” Richard said, “we don’t need to understand the details. They are just asking for the dimensional specifications on the cube.”

  Richard next made a string of entries from the normal alphanumeric keys. “Now,” he said, turning back to face Nicole, “if I have done it correctly, we will have a cube, made from the same material as that ball, in about ten minutes.”

  They ate some of the new melon while they waited. It tasted the same as the others. Steak and potatoes would be unbelievably good, Nicole was think­ing, when suddenly the end wall lifted up half a meter above the floor and a black cube appeared in the gap.

  “Wait a minute, don’t touch it yet,” Richard said as Nicole went over to investigate. “Look here!” He shone his flashlight into the darkness behind the cube. “There are vast tunnels beyond these walls,” he said, “and they must lead to factories so advanced we couldn’t even recognize them. Imag­ine! They can even make objects on request.”

  Nicole was beginning to understand why Richard was so ecstatic. “We now have the capability to control our own destiny in some small way,” he continued, “If I can break the code fast enough, we should be able to request food, maybe even what we need to build a boat.”

  “Without loud motors, I hope,” quipped Nicole.

  “No motors,” agreed Richard. He finished his melon and turned back to the keyboard.

  Nicole was becoming worried. Richard had succeeded in making only one new breakthrough in a full Raman day. All he had to show for thirty-eight hours of work (he had only slept eight hours during the entire period) was one new material. He could make “light” black objects like the first ball, whose specific gravity was close to balsa wood, or he could make “heavy” black objects of density similar to oak or pine. He was wearing himself out with his work. And he could not, or would not, share any of the load with Nicole.

  What if his first discovery was just blind luck? Nicole said to herself as she climbed the stairs for her dawn walk. Or what if the system cannot make anything but two kinds of black objects? She could not help worrying about wasted time. It was only sixteen more days until Rama would encounter the Earth. There was no sign of a rescue team. At the back of her mind was the thought that perhaps she and Richard had been abandoned altogether.

  She had tried to talk to Richard about their plans the previous evening, but he had been exhausted. Richard hadn’t responded in any way when Nicole had mentioned to him that she was very concerned. Later, after she had carefully outlined all their options and asked his opinion about what they should do, she noticed that he had fallen asleep. When Nicole awakened after a brief nap herself, Richard was already working again at the keyboard and refused to be distracted by either breakfast or conversation. Nicole had stumbled over the growing array of black objects on the floor as she had exited the White Room for her early morning exercise.

  Nicole was feeling very lonely. The last fifty hours, which she had spent mostly by herself, had passed very slowly. Her only escape had been the pleasure of reading. She had the text of five books stored in her computer. One was her medical encyclopedia, but the other four were all for recreation. ! bet all of Richard’s discretionary memory is filled with Shakespeare, she thought as she sat on the wall surrounding New York. She stared out at the Cylindrical Sea. In the far distance, barely visible in her binoculars through the mist and clouds, she could see the northern bowl where they had entered Rama the first time.

  She had two of her father’s novels stored in the computer. Nicole’s per­sonal favorite was Queen for All Ages, the story of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s younger years, beginning with her adolescence at the ducal court in Poitiers, The story line followed Eleanor through her marriage to Louis Capet of France, their crusade to the Holy Land, and her extraordinary personal ap­peal for an annulment from Pope Eugenius. The novel culminated with Eleanor’s divorce from Louis and betrothal to the young and exciting Henry Plantagenet.

  The other Pierre des Jardins novel in her computer’s memory was his universally acclaimed chef d’oeuvre, I Richard Coeur de Lion, a mixture of first-person diary and interior monologue, set during two winter weeks at the end of the twelfth century. In the novel Richard and his soldiers, embarked on another crusade, are quartered near Messina under the protection of the Norman king of Sicily, While there the famous warrior-king and homosexual son of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry Plantagenet, in a burst of self-exami­nation, relives the major personal and historical events of his life.

  Nicole remembered a long discussion with Genevieve after her daughter had read ! Richard the previous summer. The young teenager had been fascinated by the story, and had surprised her mother by asking extremely intelligent questions. Thoughts of Genevieve made Nicole wonder what her daughter might be doing at Beauvois at the very moment. They have told you that I have disappeared, Nicole surmised. What does the military call it? Missing in action?

  In her mind’s eye Nicole could see her daughter riding home from school each day on her bicycle. “Any n
ews?” Genevieve would probably say to her grandfather as she crossed the portal of the villa. Pierre would just shake his head sorrowfully.

  It has been two weeks now since anyone has officially seen me. Do you still have hope, my darling daughter? The bereft Nicole was struck by an over­whelming desire to talk to Genevieve. For a moment, suspending reality, Nicole could not accept the fact that she was separated from her daughter by millions of kilometers and had no way to communicate with her. She rose to return to the White Room, thinking in her temporary confusion that she could phone Genevieve from there.

  When her sanity returned several seconds later, Nicole was astonished at how easily her mind had tricked itself. She shook her head and sat down on the wall overlooking the Cylindrical Sea. She remained on the wall for al­most two hours, her thoughts roaming freely over a variety of subjects. To­ward the end of the time, when she was preparing to return to the White Room, her mind focused on Richard Wakefield. ! have tried, my British friend, Nicole said to herself. ! have been more open with you than with anyone since Henry. But it would be just my luck to be here with someone even less trusting than myself.

  Nicole was feeling an undefined sadness as she trekked down the stairs to the second level and turned right at the horizontal tunnel. Her sadness changed to surprise when she entered the White Room. Richard jumped up from his small black chair and greeted her with a hug. He had shaved and brushed his hair. He had even cleaned his fingernails. Laid out on the black table in the middle of the room was a neatly sectioned manna melon. One piece sat on each of the two black plates in front of the chairs.

  Richard pulled out her chair and indicated for Nicole to sit down. He went around the table and sat in his own seat. He reached across the table and took both of Nicole’s hands. “I want to apologize,” he said with great intensity, “for being such a boor. I have behaved very badly these last few days.

  “I have thought of thousands of things to tell you during these hours I’ve been waiting,” he continued hesitantly, a strained smile playing across his lips, “but I can’t remember most of them… I know I wanted to explain to you how very important Prince Hal and Falstaff were to me. They were my closest friends… It has not been easy for me to deal with their deaths. My grief is still very intense…”

  Richard took a drink of water and swallowed. “But most of all,” he said, “I’m sorry that I have not told you what a spectacular person you are. You are intelligent, attractive, witty, sensitive — everything I ever dreamed of finding in a woman. Despite our situation, I’ve been afraid to tell you how I felt. I guess my fear of rejection runs very deep.”

  Tears welled out of the comer of Richard’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. He was trembling slightly. Nicole could tell what an incredible effort it had been for him. She brought his hands up against her cheeks. “I think you’re very special too,” she said.

  50

  HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL

  Richard continued to work with the Rama computer, but he limited himself to short sessions and involved Nicole whenever he could. They took walks together and chatted like old friends. Richard entertained Nicole by acting out entire scenes from Shakespeare. The man had a prodigious mem­ory. He tried to play both sides in the love scenes from Romeo and Juliet, but every time he broke into his falsetto, Nicole would erupt with laughter.

  One night they talked for over an hour about Omen, the Senoufo tribe, and Nicole’s visions. “You understand that it’s difficult for me to accept the physical reality of some of these stories,” Richard said, attempting to qualify his curiosity. “Nevertheless, I admit that I find them absolutely fascinating.” Later he showed keen interest in analyzing all the symbolism in her visions.

  It was obvious that he acknowledged Nicole’s mystical attributes as just another component in her rich personality.

  They slept nuzzling together before they made love. When they did fi­nally have intercourse, it was gentle and unhurried, surprising both of them with its ease and satisfaction. A few nights later, Nicole was lying with her head on Richard’s chest, quietly drifting in and out of sleep. He was in deep thought. “Several days ago,” he said, nudging her awake, “back before we became so intimate, I told you that I considered committing suicide once. At the time I was afraid to tell you the story. Would you like to hear it now?”

  Nicole opened her eyes. She rolled over and put her chin on his stomach. “Uh-huh,” she said. She reached up and kissed him on the eyes before he began his tale.

  “I guess you know I was married to Sarah Tydings when both of us were very young,” he began. “It was also before she was famous. She was in her first year with the Royal Shakespeare Company and they were performing Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, and Cymbeline in repertory at Stratford. Sarah was Rosalind and Juliet and fantastic at both.

  “She was eighteen at the time, just out of school. I fell in love with her the first night I saw her as Juliet. I sent her roses in the dressing room every evening and used most of my savings to see all the performances. We had two long dinners together and then I proposed. She accepted more from astonishment than love.

  “I went to graduate school at Cambridge after the summer was over. We lived in a modest flat and she commuted to the theater in London. I would go with her whenever I could, but after several months my studies demanded more of my time.”

  Richard stopped his narrative and glanced down at Nicole. She had not moved. She was lying partially across him, a smile of love on her face. “Go on,” she said softly.

  “Sarah was an adrenaline junkie. She craved excitement and variety. The mundane and tedious angered her. Grocery shopping, for example, was a colossal bore. It was just too much trouble for her to turn on the set and decide what to order. She also found any kind of schedule incredibly con­straining.

  “Lovemaking had to be performed in a different position or be accompa­nied by some different music every time; otherwise it was old hat. For a while I was creative enough to satisfy her. I also took care of all the routine tasks to free her from the drudgery of housework. But there were only so many hours in the day. Ultimately, despite my considerable abilities, my graduate studies began to suffer because I was spending all my energy mak­ing life interesting for her.

  “After we had been married for a year, Sarah wanted to rent a flat in London, so that she didn’t need to make the long commute every night after a performance. Actually she had already been spending a couple of nights a week in London, ostensibly with one of her actress friends. But her career was soaring and we had plenty of money, so why should I say no?

  “It was not long before rumors about her behavior became quite wide­spread. I chose to ignore them, fearing, I guess, that she wouldn’t deny them if I asked her. Then one night, late, while I was studying for an examination, I received a phone call from a woman. She was very polite, although obvi­ously distraught. She told me that she was the wife of the actor Hugh Sinclair, and that Mr. Sinclair — who at that time was starring with Sarah in the American drama In Any Weather — was having an affair with my wife. “In fact,” she told me, “he is over at your wife’s flat at this very moment.” Mrs. Sinclair started crying and then hung up.”

  Nicole reached up and softly caressed Richard’s cheek with her hand. “I felt as if my chest had exploded,” he said, remembering the pain. “I was angry, terrified, frantic. I went to the station and took the late train to London. When the taxi dropped me at Sarah’s place, I ran to the door.

  “I did not knock. I bolted up the stairs and found the two of them sleeping naked in the bed. I picked Sarah up and flung her against the wall — I can still remember the sound of her head smashing into the mirror. Then I fell on him in a rage, punching his face over and over, until it was nothing but a mass of blood. It was awful…”

  Richard stopped himself and began to cry noiselessly. Nicole put her arms around his heaving chest and wept with him. “Darling, darling,” she said.

  “I was an animal,” he c
ried. “I was worse than my father ever was. I would have killed them both if the people in the next flat hadn’t restrained me.”

  Neither of them said anything for several minutes. When Richard spoke again his voice was subdued, almost remote. “The next day, after the police station and the tabloid reporters and all the recriminations with Sarah, I wanted to kill myself. I would have done it, too, if I had owned a gun. I was considering the gruesome alternatives — pills, slitting my wrists with a razor blade, jumping off a bridge — when another student called to ask me a de­tailed question on relativity. There was no way, after fifteen minutes of thinking about Mr. Einstein, that suicide was still a viable option. Divorce, certainly. Celibacy, highly likely. But death was out of the question. I could never have prematurely terminated my love affair with physics.” His voice trailed off.

  Nicole wiped her eyes and placed her hands in his. She leaned her naked body across Richard’s and kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

  Nicole’s sounding alarm indicated that it was daylight again in Rama. Ten more days, she noted after a quick mental calculation. We “d better have a serious talk now,

  The alarm had awakened Richard as well. He turned and smiled at his sleeping partner. “Darling,” Nicole said, “the time has come—”

  “The walrus said, to speak of many things.”

  “Come on now, be serious. We have to decide what we’re going to do. It’s fairly obvious that we’re not going to be rescued.”

  “I agree,” said Richard. He sat up and reached across Nicole’s mat for his shirt. “I have been dreading this moment for days. But I guess we have finally reached the point where we should consider swimming across.”

  “You don’t think there’s any chance of making a boat out of our black stuff?”

  “No,” he answered. “One material is too light and the other too heavy. We could probably build a hybrid that would be seaworthy, if we had some nails, but without any sails we would still have to row across… Our best bet is to swim.”