by Arthur C.
The general and Admiral Heilmann were sitting together in the Newton military control center when the transmission from Norimoto began. General Norimoto was dressed in his full military uniform. He did not smile when he greeted the Newton officers. He put on his glasses and read from a prepared text.
"General O'Toole, we have carefully reviewed the questions contained in your last transmission. All your concerns were included on the issues list that was discussed here on Earth before we reached the decision to proceed with Trinity. Under the unique provisions contained in the ISA-COG operating protocols, you and the other Newton military personnel are temporarily part of my special staff; therefore, I am your commanding officer. The message that was transmitted to you should be treated as an order."
General Norimoto managed just a glimmer of a smile. "Nevertheless," he continued reading, "because of the significance of the action contained in your order and your obvious concern about its repercussions, we have prepared three summary statements that should help you to understand our decision:
"One: We do not know if Rama is hostile or friendly. We have no way of obtaining additional data to resolve the issue.
"Two: Rama is hurtling toward Earth. It might impact our home planet, take hostile action once it's in our neighborhood, or perform benign activities that we can't define.
"Three: By implementing Trinity when Rama is still ten or more days away, we can guarantee the safety of the planet, regardless of Rama's intentions or future actions."
The general paused for the briefest of moments. "That is all," he then concluded. "Proceed with Trinity."
The screen went black, "Are you satisfied?" Admiral Heilmann asked.
"I guess so," O'Toole said with a sigh. "I didn't hear anything new, but I shouldn't have expected anything else."
Admiral Heilmann looked at his watch. "We've wasted almost an entire day," he said. "Should we have the crew meeting after dinner?"
"I'd rather not," O'Toole replied. "This episode has exhausted me and I hardly slept at all last night. I'd prefer to wait until the morning."
"All right," Heilmann said after a pause. He stood up and put his arm on O'Toole's shoulder. "We'll get started first thing after breakfast."
In the morning General O'Toole did not attend the scheduled crew meeting. He phoned Heilmann and asked the admiral to proceed with the discussion without him. O'Toole's excuse was that he had a "vicious stomach upset." He doubted if Admiral Heilmann really believed his explanation, but it didn't really matter.
O'Toole watched and listened to the meeting on the video monitor in his room, never interrupting or adding to the proceedings. None of the other cosmonauts seemed particularly surprised that the Newton was carrying a nuclear arsenal. Heilmann did a thorough job of explaining what was to be done. He enlisted the help of Yamanaka and Tabori, as he and O'Toole had discussed, and outlined a sequence of events that would be complete with the weapons deployed inside Rama in seventy-two hours. That would leave the crew another three days to prepare for departure.
"When will the bombs detonate?" Janos Tabori asked nervously after Admiral Heilmann was finished.
"They will be set to explode sixty hours after our scheduled departure. According to the analytical models, we should be out of the debris field in twelve hours, but for safety we have specified, in our procedure, that the weapons will not be exploded unless we are at least twenty-four hours away… If our departure is delayed because of some crisis, we can always overwrite the detonation time by electronic command."
"That's reassuring" Janos remarked.
"Any more questions?" Heilmann asked.
"Just one," Janos said. "As long as we're inside Rama putting these things in their proper locations, I assume that it's all right if we look around for our lost friends. In case they may be wandering—"
"The timeline is very tight, Cosmonaut Tabori," the admiral replied, "and the deployment itself, inside the structure, only takes a few hours. Unfortunately, due to our delays in starting the procedure, we will place the weapons in their designated positions during the time that Rama is dark."
Great, O'Toole thought in his room, that's something else that can be blamed on me. All in all, though, he felt that Admiral Heilmann had handled the meeting very well. It was nice of Otto not to say anything about the code, O'Toole told himself. He probably figures I'll come around. And he's probably right.
When O'Toole woke up from a short nap it was past lunchtime and he had a ravenous appetite. There was nobody in the dining room except Francesca Sabatini; she was finishing her coffee and studying some kind of engineering data on a nearby computer monitor.
"Feeling better, Michael?" she said when she saw him.
He nodded. "What are you reading?" O'Toole asked.
"I'm looking at the executive software manual," Francesca replied. "David is very concerned that without Wakefield we won't even know if the Newton software is working properly or not. I'm learning how to read the self-test diagnostic output."
"Whew," O'Toole whistled. "That's pretty heavy for a journalist."
"It's really not that complicated," Francesca said with a laugh. "And it's extremely logical. Maybe in my next career I'll be an engineer."
O'Toole made himself a sandwich, picked up a package of milk, and joined Francesca at the table. She put a hand on his forearm. "Speaking of next careers, Michael, have you given any thought to yours?"
He looked at her quizzically, "What are you talking about?"
"I'm trapped in the usual professional dilemma, my dear friend. My duties as a journalist are in direct conflict with my feelings."
O'Toole stopped chewing. "Heilmann told you?"
She nodded. "I'm not stupid, Michael. I would have found out sooner or later. And this is a big, big story. Maybe one of the biggest of the mission. Can't you see the trailer on the nightly news? 'American general refuses to follow order to destroy Rama. Tune in at five.'"
The general became defensive. "I haven't refused. The Trinity procedure does not call for me to input my code until after the weapons are out of the containers—"
"—and ready for placement in the pods," Francesca finished. "Which is about eighteen hours from now. Tomorrow morning, as near as I can figure… I plan to be on hand to record the historic event." She rose from the table, "And Michael, in case you're wondering, I haven't mentioned your call to Norimoto in any of my reports. I may refer to your conversation with him in my memoirs, but I won't publish them for at least five years "
Francesca turned and looked directly in O'Toole's eyes. "You're about to crap in your mess kit, my friend. You will go from being an international hero to a bum overnight. I hope you've considered your decision very very carefully."
55
THE VOICE OF MICHAEL
General O'Toole spent the afternoon in his room, watching on the video monitor as Tabori and Yamanaka checked out the nuclear weapons. He was excused, on the basis of his presumed stomach upset, from his assigned task of checking out the weapon subsystems. The procedure was surprisingly straightforward; no one would have suspected that the cosmonauts were initiating an activity designed to destroy the most impressive work of engineering ever seen by humans.
Before dinner O'Toole placed a call to his wife. The Newton was rapidly approaching the Earth now and the delay time between transmission and reception was under three minutes. Old-fashioned two-way conversations were even possible. His talk with Kathleen was cordial and mundane. General O'Toole thought briefly about sharing his moral dilemma with his wife, but he realized that the videophone was not secure and decided against it, They both expressed excitement about being reunited again in the very near future.
The general ate dinner with the crew. Janos was in one of his boisterous moods, entertaining the others with stories about his afternoon with "the bullets," as he insisted on calling the nuclear bombs. "At one point," Janos said to Francesca, who had been laughing nonstop since his narrative began, "we had all the bullets
lightly anchored to the floor and lined up in a row, like dominoes. I scared the shit out of Yamanaka. I pushed the front one over and they all fell, clang, bang, in every direction. Hiro was certain they were going to explode."
"Weren't you worried that you might injure some critical components?" David Brown asked.
"Nope," Janos replied. "The manuals that Otto gave me said that you couldn't hurt those things if you dropped them from the top of the Trump Tower. Besides," he added, "they aren't even armed yet. Right, Herr Admiral?"
Heilmann nodded and Janos launched into another story. General O'Toole drifted away, into his own mind, struggling impossibly with the relationship between those metal objects in the military ship and the mushroom-shaped cloud in the Pacific…
Francesca interrupted his reverie. "You have an urgent call on your private line, Michael," she said. "President Bothwell will be on in five minutes."
The conversation at the table stopped. "Well," said Janos with a grin, "you must be some special person. It's not just everybody that receives a call from Slugger Bothwell."
General O'Toole excused himself politely from the table and went to his room. He must know, he was thinking as he waited impatiently for the call to connect. But of course. He's the president of the United States.
O'Toole had always been a baseball fan and his favorite team, naturally enough, was the Boston Red Sox. Baseball had gone into receivership at the height of The Great Chaos, in 2141, but a new group of owners had put the leagues back in business four years later. When Michael was six, in 2148, his father had taken him to Fenway Dome to watch a game between the Red Sox and the Havana Hurricanes. It was the beginning of a lifelong love affair for O'Toole.
Sherman Bothwell had been a left-handed, power-hitting first baseman for the Red Sox between 2172 and 2187. He had been immensely popular. A Missouri boy by birth, his genuine modesty and old-fashioned dedication to hard work were as exceptional as the 527 home runs he had hit during his sixteen years in the major leagues. During the last year of his baseball career, Bothwell's wife had died in a terrible boating accident. Sherman's uncomplaining courage in facing the responsibility of raising his children as a single parent was applauded in every American home.
Three years later, when he married Linda Black, the darling daughter of the governor of Texas, it was obvious to many people that old Sherman had a political career in mind. He advanced through the ranks with great speed. First lieutenant governor, then governor and presidential hopeful. He was elected to the White House by a landslide in 2196; it was anticipated that he would soundly defeat the Christian Conservative candidate in the forthcoming general election of 2200.
"Hello, General O'Toole," the man in the blue suit with the friendly smile said when the screen was no longer blank. "This is Sherman Bothwell, your president."
The president was using no notes. He was leaning forward in a simple chair, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands folded in front of him. He was talking as if he were sitting beside General O'Toole in someone's cozy living room.
"I have been following your Newton mission with great interest—as has everybody in my family, including Linda and the four kids—ever since you launched. But I have been especially attentive these last several weeks, as the tragedies have rained down upon you and your courageous colleagues. My, my. Who would have ever thought that such a thing as that Rama ship could exist? It is truly staggering…
"Anyway, I understand from our COG representatives that the order has been given to destroy Rama. Now, I know that decisions like that are not made lightly, and that it places quite a large responsibility on folks like yourself. Nevertheless, I'm certain it's the right action.
"Yessirree, I know it's correct. Why, you know, my daughter Courtney—that's the eight-year-old—she wakes up with nightmares almost every night. We were watching when you all were trying to capture that bi-ot, the one that looked like a crab, and my, it was positively awful. Now, Courtney knows—it's been all over the television—that Rama is heading directly for the Earth and she is really scared. Terrified. She thinks the whole country will be overrun by those crab things and that she and all her friends will be chopped up just like journalist Wilson.
"I'm telling you all this, General, because I know you're facing a big decision. And I've heard on the grapevine that you may be hesitant to destroy that humongous spacecraft and all its wonders. But General, I've told Courtney about you. I've told her that you and your crew are going to blow Rama to smithereens long before it reaches the Earth.
"That's why I called. To tell you that I'm counting on you. And so is Courtney."
General O'Toole had thought, before listening to the president, that he might take advantage of the call and lay his dilemma in front of the leader of the American people. He had imagined that he might even question Slugger Bothwell about the nature of a species that destroys to protect against an unlikely downside risk. But after the practically perfect short speech from the ex-first baseman, O'Toole had nothing to say. After all, how could he refuse to respond to such a plea? All the Courtney Bothwells on the entire planet were counting on him.
After sleeping for five hours O'Toole awakened at three o'clock. He was aware that the most important action of his life was facing him. It seemed to him that everything he had done—his career, his religious studies, even his family activities—had been preparing him for this moment. God had trusted him with a monumental decision. But what did God want him to do? His forehead broke out in a sweat as O'Toole knelt before the image of Jesus on the cross that was behind his desk.
Dear Lord, he said, clasping his hands earnestly, my hour approaches and I still do not see Thy will clearly. It would be so easy for me just to follow my orders and do what everyone wants. Is that Thy desire? How can I know for certain?
Michael O'Toole closed his eyes and prayed for guidance with a fervor surpassing any he had ever felt previously. As he prayed, he recalled another time, years before, when he had been a young pilot working as part of a temporary peacekeeping force in Guatemala. O'Toole and his men had awakened one morning to find their small air base in the jungle completely surrounded by the right-wing terrorists that were trying to bring the fledgling democratic government to its knees. The subversives wanted the planes. In exchange they would guarantee safe passage to O'Toole and his men.
Major O'Toole had taken fifteen minutes to deliberate and pray before deciding to fight it out. In the ensuing battle the planes were destroyed and almost half his men were killed, but his symbolic stand against terrorism emboldened the young government and many others throughout Central America at a time when the poor countries were struggling desperately to overcome the ravages of two decades of depression. O'Toole had been awarded the Order of Merit, the highest COG military accolade, for his exploits in Guatemala.
Onboard the Newton years later, General O'Toole's decision process was much less straightforward. In Guatemala the young major had not had any questions about the morality of his actions His order to destroy Rama, however, was altogether different. In O'Toole's opinion, the alien ship had not taken any overtly bellicose actions. In addition, he knew that the order was based primarily on two factors: fear of what Rama might do and the uproar of xenophobic public opinion. Historically, both fear and public opinion were notoriously unconcerned about morality. If somehow he could learn what Rama's true purpose was, then he could…
Below the painting of Jesus on the desk in his room was a small statue of a young man with curly hair and wide eyes. This figure of St. Michael of Siena had accompanied O'Toole on every journey he had made since his marriage to Kathleen. Seeing the statue gave him an idea. General O'Toole reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out an electronic template. He switched on the power, checked the template menu, and accessed a concordance indexing the sermons of St. Michael.
Under the word "Rama," the general found a host of different references in the concordance. The one that he was looking for was the only on
e marked in a bold font. That specific reference was the saint's famous "Rama sermon," delivered in camp to a group of five thousand of Michael's neophytes three weeks before the holocaust in Rome. O'Toole began to read.
"As the topic for my talk to you today, I am going to address an issue raised by Sister Judy in our council, namely what is the basis for my statement that the extraterrestrial spacecraft called Rama might well have been the first announcement of the second coming of Christ. Understand that at this point I have had no clear revelation one way or the other; God has, however, suggested to me that the heralds of Christ's next coming will have to be extraordinary or the people on Earth will not notice. A simple angel or two blowing trumpets in the heavens won't suffice. The heralds must do things that are truly spectacular to engage attention,
"There is a precedent, established in the old testament prophecies foretelling the coming of Jesus, of prophetic announcements originating in the heavens. Elijah's chariot was the Rama of its time. It was, technologically speaking, as much beyond the understanding of its observers as Rama is today. In that sense there is a certain conforming pattern, a symmetry that is not inconsistent with God's order.
"But what I think is most hopeful about the arrival of the first Rama spacecraft eight years ago—and I say first because I am certain there will be others—is that it forces humanity to think of itself in an extraterrestrial perspective. Too often we limit our concept of God and, by implication, our own spirituality. We belong to the universe. We are its children. It's just pure chance that our atoms have risen to consciousness here on this particular planet.
