Rendezvous With Rama - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,30

protection, and would not have forwarded this message unless it was considered important.

“Two-hundred-kilometer winds… probably sudden onset….” Well, that was something to think about. But it was hard to take it too seriously, on this utterly calm night; and it would be ridiculous to run away like frightened mice when they were just starting effective exploration.

Norton lifted a hand to brush aside his hair, which had somehow fallen into his eyes again. Then he froze, the gesture uncompleted.

He had felt a trace of wind, several times in the last hour. It was so slight that he had completely ignored it; after all, he was the commander of a spaceship, not a sailing ship. Until now the movement of air had not been of the slightest professional concern. What would the long-dead captain of that earlier Endeavour have done in a situation such as this?

Norton had asked himself that question at every moment of crisis in the last few years. It was his secret, which he had never revealed to anyone. And, like most of the important things in life, it had come about quite by accident.

He had been captain of the Endeavour for several months before he realized that it was named after one of the most famous ships in history. True, during the last four hundred years there had been a dozen Endeavours of sea and two of space, but the ancestor of them all was the 370-ton Whitby collier that Captain James Cook, RN, had sailed around the world between 1768 and 1771.

With a mild interest that had quickly turned to an absorbing curiosity, almost an obsession, Norton had begun to read everything he could find about Cook. He was now probably the world’s leading authority on the greatest explorer of all time, and knew whole sections of the Journals by heart.

It still seemed incredible that one man could have done so much with such primitive equipment. But Cook had been not only a supreme navigator, but also a scientist and—in an age of brutal discipline—a humanitarian. He treated his own men with kindness, which was unusual; what was quite unheard of was that he behaved in exactly the same way to the often hostile savages in the new lands he discovered.

It was Norton’s private dream, which he knew he would never achieve, to retrace at least one of Cook’s voyages around the world. He had made a limited but spectacular start, which would certainly have astonished the Captain, when he once flew a polar orbit directly above the Great Barrier Reef. It had been early morning on a clear day, and from four hundred kilometers up he had had a superb view of that deadly wall of coral, marked by its line of white foam, along the Queensland coast.

He had taken just under five minutes to travel the whole two thousand kilometers of the reef. In a single glance he could span weeks of perilous voyaging for that first Endeavour. And through the telescope he had caught a glimpse of Cooktown and the estuary where the ship had been dragged ashore for repairs after her near-fatal encounter with the reef.

A year later, a visit to the Hawaii Deep-Space Tracking Station had given him an even more memorable experience. He had taken the hydrofoil to Kealakekua Bay, and as he moved swiftly past the bleak volcanic cliffs he felt a depth of emotion that had surprised and even disconcerted him. The guide had led his group of scientists, engineers, and astronauts past the glittering metal pylon that had replaced the earlier monument, destroyed by the Great Tsunami of ’68. They had walked on for a few more yards across black, slippery lava to the small plaque at the water’s edge. Little waves were breaking over it, but Norton scarcely noticed them as he bent down to read the words.

Near this spot

CAPTAIN JAMES COOK

was killed

February 14, 1779

Original tablet dedicated August 18, 1928

by Cook Sesquicentennial Commission

replaced by Tricentennial Commission

February 14, 2079

That was years ago, and a hundred million kilometers away. But at moments like this, Cook’s reassuring presence seemed very close. In the secret depths of his mind, Norton would ask: “Well, Captain, what is your advice?” It was a little game he played on occasions when there were not enough facts for sound judgment and one had to rely on intuition. That had been part of Cook’s genius; he always made the right choice—until the end, at Kealakekua Bay.

The Sergeant waited patiently, while his commander stared silently out into