by Arthur C.
He had glanced briefly at more exotic solutions, some frankly crazy. Perhaps a simp, fitted with suction pads, could make the ascent. But even if this scheme was practical, how long would it take to manufacture and test such equipment—and to train a simp to use it? He doubted if a man would have the necessary strength to perform the feat.
Then there was more advanced technology. The EVA propulsion units were tempting, but their thrust was too small, since they were designed for zero-gee operation. They could not possibly lift the weight of a man, even against Rama's modest gravity.
Could an EVA thrust be sent up on automatic control, carrying only a rescue line? He had tried out this idea on Sergeant Myron, who had promptly shot it down in flames. There were, the engineer pointed out, severe stability problems; they might be solved, but it would take a long time—much longer than they could afford.
What about balloons? There seemed a faint possibility here, if they could devise an envelope and a sufficiently compact source of heat. This was the only approach that Norton had not dismissed, when the problem suddenly ceased to be one of theory, and became a matter of life and death, dominating the news in all the inhabited worlds.
While Jimmy was making his trek along the edge of the Sea, half the crackpots in the solar system were trying to save him. At Fleet Headquarters, all the suggestions were considered, and about one in a thousand was forwarded to Endeavour. Dr. Carlisle Perera arrived twice—once via the Survey's own network, and once by PLANETCOM, RAMA PRIORITY. It had taken the scientist approximately five minutes of thought and one millisecond of computer time.
At first, Commander Norton thought it was a joke in very poor taste. Then he saw the sender's name and the attached calculations, and did a quick double take.
He handed the message to Karl Mercer. 'What do you think of this?' he asked, in as noncommittal a tone of voice as he could manage.
Karl read it swiftly, then said, 'Well I'm damned! He's right, of course.'
'Are you sure?'
'He was right about the storm, wasn't he? We should have thought of this; it makes me feel a fool.'
'You have company. The next problem is—how do we break it to Jimmy?'
'I don't think we should … until the last possible minute. That's how I'd prefer it, if I was in his place. Just tell him we're on the way.'
Though he could look across the full width of the Cylindrical Sea, and knew the general direction from which Resolution was coming, Jimmy did not spot the tiny craft until it had already passed New York. It seemed incredible that it could carry six men—and whatever equipment they had brought to rescue him.
When it was only a kilometre away, he recognized Commander Norton, and started waving. A little later the skipper spotted him, and waved back.
'Glad to see you're in good shape, Jimmy,' he radioed. 'I promised we wouldn't leave you behind. Now do you believe me?'
Not quite, Jimmy thought; until this moment he had still wondered if this was all a kindly plot to keep up his morale. But the Commander would not have crossed the Sea just to say goodbye; he must have worked out something.
'I'll believe you, Skipper,' he said, 'when I'm down there on the deck. Now will you tell me how I'm going to make it?'
Resolution was now slowing down, a hundred metres from the base of the cliff; as far as Jimmy could tell, she carried no unusual equipment—though he was not sure what he had expected to see.
'Sorry about that, Jimmy, but we didn't want you to have too many things to worry about.'
Now that sounded ominous; what the devil did he mean?
Resolution came to a halt, fifty metres out and five hundred below; Jimmy had almost a bird's-eye view of the Commander as he spoke into his microphone.
'This is it, Jimmy. You'll be perfectly safe, but it will require nerve. We know you've got plenty of that. You're going to jump.'
'Five hundred metres!'
'Yes, but at only half a gee.'
'So—have you ever fallen two hundred and fifty on Earth?'
'Shut up, or I'll cancel your next leave. You should have worked this out for yourself … it's just a question of terminal velocity. In this atmosphere, you can't reach more than ninety kilometres an hour—whether you fall two hundred or two thousand metres. Ninety's a little high for comfort, but we can trim it some more. This is what you'll have to do, so listen carefully…'
'I will,' said Jimmy. 'It had better be good.'
He did not interrupt the Commander again, and made no comment when Norton had finished. Yes, it made sense, and was so absurdly simple that it would take a genius to think of it. And, perhaps, someone who did not expect to do it himself…
Jimmy had never tried high-diving, or made a delayed parachute drop, which would have given him some psychological preparation for this feat. One could tell a man that it was perfectly safe to walk a plank across an abyss—yet even if the structural calculations were impeccable, he might still be unable to do it. Now Jimmy understood why the Commander had been so evasive about the details of the rescue. He had been given no time to brood, or to think of objections.
'I don't want to hurry you,' said Norton's persuasive voice from half a kilometre below. 'But the sooner the better.'
Jimmy looked at his precious souvenir, the only flower in Rama. He wrapped it very carefully in his grimy handkerchief, knotted the fabric, and tossed it over the edge of the cliff.
It fluttered down with reassuring slowness, but it also took a very long time getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until he could no longer see it. But then Resolution surged forward, and he knew that it had been spotted.
'Beautiful!' exclaimed the Commander enthusiastically. 'I'm sure they'll name it after you. OK—we're waiting…'
Jimmy stripped off his shirt—the only upper garment anyone ever wore in this now-tropical climate—and stretched it thoughtfully. Several times on his trek he had almost discarded it; now it might help save his life.
For the last time, he looked back at the hollow world he alone had explored, and the distant, ominous pinnacles of the Big and Little Horns. Then, grasping the shirt firmly with his right hand, he took a running jump as far out over the cliff as he could.
Now there was no particular hurry; he had a full twenty seconds in which to enjoy the experience. But he did not waste any time, as the wind strengthened around him and Resolution slowly expanded in his field of view. Holding his shirt with both hands, he stretched his arms above his head, so that the rushing air filled the garment and blew it into a hollow tube.
As a parachute, it was hardly a success; the few kilometres an hour it subtracted from his speed was useful, but not vital. It was doing a much more important job—keeping his body vertical, so that he would arrow straight into the sea.
He still had the impression that he was not moving at all, but that the water below was rushing up towards him. Once he had committed himself, he had no sense of fear; indeed, he felt a certain indignation against the skipper for keeping him in the dark. Did he really think that he would be scared to jump, if he had to brood over it too long?
At the very last moment, he let go of his shirt, took a deep breath, and grabbed his mouth and nose with his hands. As he had been instructed, he stiffened his body into a rigid bar, and locked his feet together. He would enter the water as cleanly as a falling spear…
'It will be just the same,' the Commander had promised, 'as stepping off a diving board on Earth. Nothing to it—if you make a good entry.'
'And if I don't?' he had asked.
'Then you'll have to go back and try again.'
Something slapped him across the feet—hard, but not viciously. A million slimy hands were tearing at his body; even though his eyes were tightly closed, he could tell that darkness was falling as he arrowed down into the depths of the Cylindrical Sea.
With all his strength, he started to swim upwards towards the fading light. He could not open his, eyes for more than a single blink; the poisonous water felt l
ike acid when he did so. He seemed to have been struggling for ages, and more than once he had a nightmare fear that he had lost his orientation and was really swimming downwards. Then he would risk another quick glimpse, and every time the light was stronger.
His eyes were still clenched tightly shut when he broke water. He gulped a precious mouthful of air, rolled over on his back, and looked around.
Resolution was heading towards him at top speed; within seconds, eager hands had grabbed him and dragged him aboard.
'Did you swallow any water?' was the Commander's anxious question.
'I don't think so.'
'Rinse out with this, anyway. That's fine. How do you feel?'
'I'm not really sure. I'll let you know in a minute. Oh … thanks, everybody.' The minute was barely up when Jimmy was only too sure how he felt.
'I'm going to be sick,' he confessed miserably.
His rescuers were incredulous. 'In a dead calm—on a flat sea?' protested Sergeant Barnes, who seemed to regard Jimmy's plight as a direct reflection on her skill.
'I'd hardly call it flat,' said the Commander, waving his arm around the band of water that circled the sky. 'But don't be ashamed—you may have swallowed some of that stuff. Get rid of it as quickly as you can.'
Jimmy was still straining, unheroically and unsuccessfully, when there was a sudden flicker of light in the sky behind them. All eyes turned towards the South Pole, and Jimmy instantly forgot his sickness. The Horns had started their firework display again.
There were the kilometre-long streamers of fire, dancing from the central spike to its smaller companions. Once again they began their stately rotation, as if invisible dancers were winding their ribbons around an electric maypole. But now they began to accelerate, moving faster and faster until they blurred into a flickering cone of light.
It was a spectacle more awe-inspiring than any they had yet seen here, and it brought with it a distant crackling roar which added to the impression of overwhelming power. The display lasted for about five minutes; then it stopped as abruptly as if someone had turned a switch.
'I'd like to know what the Rama Committee make of that,' Norton muttered to no one in particular. 'Has anyone here got any theories?'
There was no time for an answer, because at that moment Hub Control called in great excitement.
'Resolution! Are you OK? Did you feel that?'
'Feel what?'
'We think it was an earthquake—it must have happened the minute those fireworks stopped.'
'Any damage?'
'I don't think so. It wasn't really violent but it shook us up a bit.'
'We felt nothing at all. But we wouldn't, out here in the Sea.'
'Of course, silly of me. Anyway, everything seems quiet now… until next time.'
'Yes, until the next time,' Norton echoed. The mystery of Rama was steadily growing; the more they discovered about it, the less they understood.
There was a sudden shout from the helm. 'Skipper—look—up there in the sky!'
Norton lifted his eyes, swiftly scanning the circuit of the Sea. He saw nothing, until his gaze had almost reached the zenith, and he was staring at the other side of the world.
'My God,' he whispered slowly, as he realized that the 'next time' was already almost here.
A tidal wave was racing towards them, down the eternal curve of the Cylindrical Sea.
CHAPTER 32
THE WAVE
YET EVEN IN that moment of shock, Norton's first concern was for his ship.
'Endeavour!' he called. 'Situation report!'
'All OK, Skipper,' was the reassuring answer from the Exec. 'We felt a slight tremor, but nothing that could cause any damage. There's been a small change of attitude—the bridge says about point two degrees. They also think the spin rate has altered slightly—we'll have an accurate reading on that in a couple of minutes.'
So it's beginning to happen, Norton told himself, and a lot earlier than we expected; we're still a long way from perihelion, and the logical time for an orbit change. But some kind of trim was undoubtedly taking place—and there might be more shocks to come.
Meanwhile, the effects of this first one were all too obvious, up there on the curving sheet of water which seemed perpetually falling from the sky. The wave was still about ten kilometres away, and stretched the full width of the Sea from northern to southern shore. Near the land, it was a foaming wall of white, but in deeper water it was a barely visible blue line, moving much faster than the breakers on either flank. The drag of the shoreward shallows was already bending it into a bow, with the central portion getting further and further ahead.
'Sergeant,' said Norton urgently. 'This is your job. What can we do?'
Sergeant Barnes had brought the raft completely to rest and was studying the situation intently. Her expression, Norton was relieved to see, showed no trace of alarm—rather a certain zestful excitement, like a skilled athlete about to accept a challenge.
'I wish we had some soundings,' she said. 'If we're in deep water, there's nothing to worry about.'
'Then we're all right. We're still four kilometres from shore.'
'I hope so, but I want to study the situation.'
She applied power again, and swung Resolution around until it was just under way, heading directly towards the approaching wave. Norton judged that the swiftly moving central portion would reach them in less than five minutes, but he could also see that it presented no serious danger. It was only a racing ripple a fraction of a metre high, and would scarcely rock the boat. The walls of foam lagging far behind it were the real menace.
Suddenly, in the very centre of the Sea, a line of breakers appeared. The wave had clearly hit a submerged wall, several kilometres in length, not far below the surface. At the same time; the breakers on the two flanks collapsed, as they ran into deeper water.
Anti-slosh plates, Norton told himself. Exactly the same as in Endeavour's own propellant tanks—but on a thousand-fold greater scale. There must be a complex pattern of them all around the Sea, to damp out any waves as quickly as possible. The only thing that matters now is: are we right on top of one?
Sergeant Barnes was one jump ahead of him. She brought Resolution to a full stop and threw out the anchor. It hit bottom at only five metres.
'Haul it up!' she called to her crewmates. 'We've got to get away from here!'
Norton agreed heartily; but in which direction? The Sergeant was headed full speed towards the wave, which was now only five kilometres away. For the first time, he could hear the sound of its approach—a distant, unmistakable roar which he had never expected to hear inside Rama. Then it changed in intensity; the central portion was collapsing once more and the flanks were building up again.
He tried to estimate the distance between the submerged baffles, assuming that they were spaced at equal intervals. If he was right, there should be one more to come; if they could station the raft in the deep water between them, they would be perfectly safe.
Sergeant Barnes cut the motor, and threw out the anchor again. It went down thirty metres without hitting bottom.
"We're OK,' she said, with a sigh of relief. 'But I'll keep the motor running.'
Now there were only the lagging walls of foam along the coast; out here in the central Sea it was calm again, apart from the inconspicuous blue ripple still speeding towards them. The Sergeant was just holding Resolution on course towards the disturbance, ready to pour on full power at a moment's notice.
Then, only two kilometres ahead of them, the Sea started to foam once more. It humped up in white-maned fury, and now its roaring seemed to fill the world. Upon the sixteen-kilometre-high wave of the Cylindrical Sea, a smaller ripple was superimposed, like an avalanche thundering down a mountain slope. And that ripple was quite large enough to kill them.
Sergeant Barnes must have seen the expressions on the faces of her crewmates. She shouted above the roar: 'What are you scared about? I've ridden bigger ones than this.' That wa
s not quite true; nor did she add that her earlier experience had been in a well-built surfboat, not an improvised raft. 'But if we have to jump, wait until I tell you. Check your lifejackets.'
She's magnificent, thought the Commander—obviously enjoying every minute, like a Viking warrior going into battle. And she's probably right—unless we've miscalculated badly.
The wave continued to rise, curving upwards and over. The slope above them probably exaggerated its height, but it looked enormous—an irresistible force of nature that would overwhelm everything in its path.
Then, within seconds, it collapsed, as if its foundations had been pulled out from underneath it. It was over the submerged barrier, in deep water again. When it reached them a minute later Resolution merely bounced up and down a few times before Sergeant Barnes swung the raft around and set off at top speed towards the north.
'Thanks, Ruby—that was splendid. But will we get home before it comes round for the second time?'
'Probably not; it will be back in about twenty minutes. But it will have lost all its strength then; we'll scarcely notice it.'
Now that the wave had passed, they could relax and enjoy the voyage—though no one would be completely at ease until they were back on land. The disturbance had left the water swirling round in random eddies, and had also stirred up a most peculiar acidic smell—'like crushed ants', as Jimmy aptly put it. Though unpleasant, the odour caused none of the attacks of seasickness that might have been expected; it was something so alien that human physiology could not respond to it.
A minute later, the wave front hit the next underwater barrier, as it climbed away from them and up the sky. This time, seen from the rear, the spectacle was unimpressive and the voyagers felt ashamed of their previous fears. They began to feel themselves masters of the Cylindrical Sea.
