Rama II

23 NIGHTFALL

Considering the regular abuse that he received from his neurotic rather and the emotional scars that must remain from his youthful marriage to British actress Sarah Tydings, Cosmonaut Wakefield is remarkably well adjusted. He underwent two years of professional therapy after his celebrated divorce, concluding a year before he entered the Space Academy in 2192. His scholastic record at the academy is still unequaled to this day; his professors in electrical engineering and computer sciences all insist that by the time of his graduation, Wakefield knew more than any member of the faculty…

“…Except for a wariness where intimacy is concerned (particularly with women — he has apparently had no sustained emotional involvements since the breakup of his marriage), Wakefield exhibits none of the antisocial behavior usually found in abused children. Although his SC was low as a youth, he has grown less arrogant as he has matured and is now less likely to force his brilliance upon others. His honesty and character are unassailable. Knowledge, not power or money, seems to be his goal…”

Nicole finished reading the Psychological Assessment for Richard Wake-field and rubbed her eyes. It was very late. She had been studying the dossiers ever since the crew inside Rama had settled down to sleep. They would be awakening for their second day in that strange world in less than two hours. Her six-hour shift as communications officer would start in an­other thirty minutes. So out of this entire bunch, Nicole was thinking, there are only three that are beyond question. Those four with their illegal media contract have already compromised themselves. Yamanaka and Turgenyev are unknowns. Wilson is marginally stable and has his own agenda anyway. That leaves O’Toole, Takagishi, and Wakefield.

Nicole washed her face and hands and sat down again at the terminal. She exited from the Wakefield dossier and returned to the main menu of the data cube. She scanned the comparative statistics available and keyed a pair of displays to appear side by side on the screen. On the left-hand side was the ordered set of IE scores for each member of the crew; opposite, for comparison, Nicole had displayed the SC indices for the Newton dozen.

IE

SC

Wakefield

+ 5.58

O’Toole

86

Sabatini

+4.22

Borzov

84

Brown

+4.17

Takagishi

82

Takagishi

+4.02

Wilson

78

Tabori

+3.37

des Jardins

71

Borzov

+ 3.28

Heilmann

68

Des Jardins

+ 3.04

Tabori

64

O’Toole

+2.92

Yamanaka

62

Turgenyev

+ 2.87

Turgenyev

60

Yamanaka

+ 2.66

Wakefield

58

Wilson

+2.48

Sabatini

56

Heilmann

+2.24

Brown

49

Although Nicole had very quickly glanced through most of the informa­tion in the dossiers earlier, she had not read all the charts on all the crew members. Some of the indices she now saw for the first time. She was particularly surprised by the very high intelligence rating for Francesca Sabatini. What a waste, Nicole thought immediately. All that potential being used for such ordinary pursuits.

The overall intelligence level of the crew was quite impressive. Every cosmonaut was in the top one percent of the population. Nicole was “one in a thousand” and she was only in the middle of the dozen. Wakefield’s intelli­gence rating was truly exceptional and placed him in the supergenius cate­gory; Nicole had never before personally known someone with such high scores on the standardized tests.

Although her training in psychiatry had taught her to distrust attempts to quantify personality traits, Nicole was intrigued by the SC indices as well. She herself would have intuitively placed O’Toole, Borzov, and Takagishi at the top of the list. All three men seemed confident, balanced, and sensitive to others. But she was astonished by Wilson’s high socialization coefficient. He must have been an altogether different person before he became involved with Francesca. Nicole wondered for a brief moment why her own SC index was no higher than a seventy-one; then she remembered that as a young woman she had been more withdrawn and self-centered.

5o what about Wakefield? she asked herself, realizing that he was the only viable candidate to help her understand what had happened inside the RoSur software during Borzov’s operation. Could she trust him? And could she enlist Richard’s help without revealing some of her farfetched suspi­cions? Again the thought of abandoning her investigation altogether seemed very appealing. Nicole, she said to herself, if this conspiracy idea of yours turns out to be a waste of time…

But Nicole was convinced that there were enough unanswered questions to warrant continuing her investigation. She resolved to talk to Wakefield. After determining that she could add her own files to the king’s data cube, she created a new file, a nineteenth file, simply called nicole. She called in her word processing subroutine and wrote a brief memorandum:

3-3-00 — Have determined for certain that RoSur malfunction during Borzov pro­cedure due to external manual command after initial load and verification. Enlist­ing Wakefield for support.

Nicole pulled a blank data cube from the supply drawer adjacent to her computer. She copied onto it both her memorandum and all the information stored on the cube that she had been given by King Henry. When she dressed for her work shift in her flight suit, she put the duplicate cube in her pocket.

General O’Toole was dozing in the CCC (Command and Control Com­plex) of the military spacecraft when Nicole arrived to give him a break. Although the visual displays in this smaller vehicle were not quite as breathtaking as those in the scientific ship, the layout of the military “C-Cubed” as a communications center was far superior, especially from a human engineer­ing point of view. All the controls could easily be handled by a single cosmonaut.

O’Toole apologized for not being awake. He pointed to the three monitors that showed three different views of the same scene — the rest of the crew fast asleep inside the crude campsite at the foot of Alpha stairway. “This last five hours has not been what you would call exciting,” he said.

Nicole smiled. “General, you don’t need to apologize to me. I know you’ve been on duty for almost twenty-four hours.”

General O’Toole stood up. “After you left,” he summarized, checking his electronic log on one of the six monitors in front of him, “they finished dinner and then they started the assembly of the first rover. The automatic navigation program failed its self-test, but Wakefield found the problem — a software bug in one of the subroutines that was changed in the last delivery — and fixed it. Tabori took the rover for a test drive before the crew prepared for sleep. At the end of the day Francesca did a stirring short piece for transmission to the Earth.” He paused for a moment. “Would you like to see it?”

Nicole nodded. O’Toole activated the far right television monitor and Francesca appeared in a close-up outside the enclosed campsite. The frame showed a portion of the bottom of the stairway and the equipment for the chairlift as well. “It is time to sleep in Rama,” she intoned. She looked up and around her. “The lights in this amazing world came on unexpectedly about nine hours ago, showing us in more detail the elaborate handiwork of our intelligent cousins from across the stars.” A montage of still photographs and short videos, some taken by the drones and some taken by Francesca herself on that day, punctuated her tour of the artificial “worldlet” that the crew was “about to explore.” At the end of the brief segment the camera was again fixed on Francesca.

“Nobody knows why this second spacecraft in less than a century has invaded our little domain at the edge of the galaxy. Perhaps this magnificent creation has no explanation that would be even remotely comprehensible to us human beings. But perhaps somewhere in this vast and precise world of metal we will find some keys that will unlock the mysteries enshrouding the creatures who constructed this vehicle.” She smiled and her nostrils flared dramatically. “And if we do, then perhaps we will have moved one step closer to an understanding of ourselves… and maybe our gods as well.”

Nicole could tell that General O’Toole was moved by Francesca’s oratory. Despite her personal antipathy for the woman, Nicole begrudgingly acknowl­edged again that Francesca was talented. “She captures my feelings about this venture so well,” O’Toole said enthusiastically. “I just wish I could be that articulate.”

Nicole sat down at the console and entered the handover code. She fol­lowed the listed procedure on the monitor and checked out all the equip­ment. “All right, General!” she said as she turned around in her chair, “I believe I can handle it from here.”

O’Toole lingered behind her. It was obvious that he wanted to talk. “I had a long discussion with Signora Sabatini three nights ago,” he said. “About religion. She told me that she had become an agnostic before finally coming back to the church. She told me that thinking about Rama had made her a Catholic again.”

There was a long silence. For some reason, the fifteenth century church in the old village of Sainte Etienne de Chigny, eight hundred meters down the road from Beauvois, came into Nicole’s mind. She remembered standing inside the church with her father on a beautiful spring day and being fasci­nated by the light scattering through the stained glass windows. “Did God make the colors?” Nicole had asked her father. “Some say so,” he had answered laconically. “And what do you think, Daddy?” she had then asked. “I must admit,” General O’Toole was saying as Nicole forced herself to return to the present, “that this entire voyage has been spiritually uplifting for me. I feel closer to God now than I have ever felt before. There’s something about contemplating the vastness of the universe that humbles you and makes you—” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I have imposed—”

“No,” Nicole answered. “No, you haven’t. I find your religious certitude very refreshing.”

“Nevertheless, I hope I haven’t offended you in any way. Religion is a very private matter.” He smiled. “But sometimes it’s hard not to share your feelings, particularly since both you and Signora Sabatini are Catholics as well.”

As O’Toole left the control complex, Nicole wished him a sound sleep during his nap. When he had gone, she removed the duplicate data cube horn her pocket and placed it in the CCC cube reader. At least this way, she said to herself, !have backed up my information sources. Into her mind came a picture of Francesca Sabatini listening intently while General O’Toole waxed philosophical about the religious significance of Rama. You’re an amazing woman, Nicole thought. You do whatever it takes. Even immorality and hypocrisy are acceptable.

Dr. Shigeru Takagishi stared in rapt silence at the towers and spheres of New York four kilometers away. From time to time he would walk over to the telescope that he had temporarily set up on the cliff overlooking the Cylindrical Sea and study a particular feature in that alien landscape.

“You know,” he said at length to Cosmonauts Wakefield and Sabatini, “I don’t believe the reports the first crew gave on New York are entirely accu­rate. Or else this is a different spaceship.” Neither Richard nor Francesca responded. Wakefield was engrossed in the last stages of assembly of the icemobile and Francesca, as usual, was busy video recording Wakefield’s efforts.

“It looks as if there are certainly three identical parts to the city,” Dr. Takagishi continued, primarily to himself, “and three subdivisions within each of those parts. But all nine sections are not absolutely the same. There appear to be subtle differences.”

“There,” said Richard Wakefield, standing up with a satisfied smile. “That ought to do it. A full day ahead of schedule. I’ll just quickly test all the important engineering functions.”

Francesca glanced at her watch. “We’re almost half an hour behind the revised timeline. Are we still going to take a fast look at New York before dinner?”

Wakefield shrugged his shoulders and looked at Takagishi. Francesca walked over to the Japanese scientist. “What do you say, Shigeru? Shall we take a quick run across the ice and give the people on Earth a close-up view of the Rama version of New York?”

“By all means!” Takagishi answered. “I can’t wait—”

“Only if you will be back at camp by nineteen thirty at the latest,” David Brown interrupted. He was in the helicopter with Admiral Heilmann and Reggie Wilson. “We need to do some serious planning tonight We may want to revise the deployments for tomorrow.”

“Roger,” said Wakefield. “If we forget about the pulley system for now and have no problem carrying the icemobile down the stairs, we should be able to cross the sea in ten minutes each way. That would get us back to camp in plenty of time.”

“We’ve overflown many of the features of the Northern Hemicylinder this afternoon,” Brown said. “No biots anywhere. The cities look like duplicates of each other. There were no surprises anywhere in the Central Plain. I personally think that maybe we should attack the mysterious south tomor­row.”

“New York,” Takagishi shouted. “A detailed reconnaissance of New York should be our goal for tomorrow.” Brown didn’t answer. Takagishi walked out to the edge of the cliff and stared down at the ice fifty meters below. To his left the unimposing narrow stairway cut in the cliff descended in short steps. “How heavy is the icemobile?” Takagishi asked.

“Not very,” Wakefield answered. “But it’s bulky. Are you certain you don’t want to wait for me to install the pulleys? We can always go across tomorrow.”

“I can help carry it,” Francesca interjected. “If we don’t at least see New York, we will not be able to make educated inputs at the planning meeting tonight.”

“All right,” Richard replied, shaking his head in amusement at Francesca. “Anything for journalism. I’ll go first, so that most of the lifting is on my back. Francesca, get in the middle. Dr. Takagishi at the top. Watch out for the runners. They are sharp on the edges.”

The climb down to the surface of the Cylindrical Sea was uneventful. “Goodness,” Francesca Sabatini said as they prepared to cross the ice, “that was easy. Why is a pulley system needed at all?”

“Because sometimes we may be carrying something else or, perish the thought, we may need to defend ourselves during ascent or descent.”

Wakefield and Takagishi sat in the front of the icemobile. Francesca was in the back with her video camera. Takagishi became more and more ani­mated as they drew closer to New York. “Just look at that place,” he said when the icemobile was about five hundred meters from the opposite shore. “Can there be any doubt that this is the capital of Rama?”

As the trio approached the shore, the breathtaking sight of the strange city silenced all conversation. Everything about New York’s complicated structure spoke of order and purposeful creation by intelligent beings; yet the first set of cosmonauts, seventy years earlier, had found it as empty of life as the rest of Rama. Was this vast complex, broken into nine sections, indeed an enormously complicated machine, as the first visitors had suggested, or was the long thin island (ten kilometers by three) actually a city whose denizens had long ago disappeared?

They parked the icemobile on the edge of the frozen sea and walked along a path until they found a stairway leading to the ramparts of the wall sur­rounding the city. The excited Takagishi loped along about twenty meters in front of Wakefield and Sabatini. As they ascended, more and more of the details of the city became apparent.

Richard was immediately intrigued by the geometrical shapes of the build­ings. In addition to the normal tall, thin skyscrapers, there were scattered spheres, rectangular solids, even an occasional polyhedron. And they were definitely arranged in some kind of a pattern. Yes, he thought to himself as his eyes scanned the fascinating complex of structures, aver there is a dodeca­hedron, there a pentahedron…

His mathematical ruminations were interrupted when all the lights were suddenly extinguished and the entire interior of Rama was plunged into darkness.