Rendezvous With Rama - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,38

The Cylindrical Sea is enclosed between two cliffs, which completely circle the interior of Rama. The one on the north is only fifty meters high. The southern one, on the other hand, is almost half a kilometer high. Why the big difference? No one’s been able to think of a sensible reason.

“But suppose Rama is able to propel itself—accelerating so that the northern end is forward. The water in the sea would tend to move back; the level at the south would rise, perhaps hundreds of meters. Hence the cliff. Let’s see….”

He started scribbling furiously. After an astonishingly short time—it could not have been more than twenty seconds—he looked up in triumph. “Knowing the height of those cliffs, we can calculate the maximum acceleration Rama can take. If it was more than two per cent of a gravity, the sea would slosh over into the southern continent.”

“A fiftieth of a gee? That’s not very much.”

“For a mass of ten million megatons, it is. And it’s all you need for astronomical maneuvering.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Perera,” said the Hermian Ambassador. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Mr. Chairman, can we impress on Commander Norton the importance of looking at the south polar region?”

“He’s doing his best. The sea is the obstacle, of course. They’re trying to build some kind of raft—so that they can at least reach New York.”

“The South Pole may be even more important. Meanwhile, I am going to bring these matters to the attention of the General Assembly. Do I have your approval?”

There were no objections, not even from Dr. Taylor. But just as the committee members were about to switch out of circuit, Sir Lewis raised his hand.

The old historian seldom spoke; when he did, everyone listened.

“Suppose we do find that Rama is—active—and has these capabilities. There is an old saying in military affairs that capability does not imply intention.”

“How long should we wait to find what its intentions are?” asked the Hermian. “When we discover them, it may be far too late.”

“It is already too late. There is nothing we can do to affect Rama. Indeed, I doubt if there ever was.”

“I do not admit that, Sir Lewis. There are many things we can do—if it proves necessary. But the time is desperately short. Rama is a cosmic egg, being warmed by the fires of the Sun. It may hatch at any moment.”

The Chairman of the committee looked at the Ambassador from Mercury in frank astonishment. He had seldom been so surprised in his diplomatic career. He would never have dreamed that a Hermian was capable of such a poetic flight of imagination.

CHAPTER 20

BOOK OF REVELATION

When one of his crew called him “Commander,” or, worse still, “Mister Norton,” there was always something serious afoot. He could not recall that Boris Rodrigo had ever before addressed him in such a fashion, so this must be doubly serious. Even in normal times, Rodrigo was a grave and sober person.

“What’s the problem, Boris?” he asked when the cabin door closed behind them.

“I’d like permission, Commander, to use ship priority for a direct message to Earth.”

This was unusual, though not unprecedented. Routine signals went to the nearest planetary relay—at the moment, they were working through Mercury—and even though the transit time was only a matter of minutes, it was often five or six hours before a message arrived at the desk of the person for whom it was intended. Ninety-nine per cent of the time that was quite good enough; but, in an emergency, more direct and much more expensive channels could be employed at the captain’s discretion.

“You know, of course, that you have to give me a good reason. All our available band width is already clogged with data transmission. Is this a personal emergency?”

“No, Commander. It is much more important than that. I want to send a message to the Mother Church.”

Uh-uh, said Norton to himself. How do I handle this?

“I’d be glad if you’d explain.”

It was not mere curiosity that prompted Norton’s request, though that was certainly present. If he gave Rodrigo the priority he asked, he would have to justify his action.

The calm blue eyes stared into his. He had never known Rodrigo to lose control, to be other than completely self-assured. All the Cosmo Christers were like this; it was one of the benefits of their faith, and it helped to make them good spacemen. Sometimes, however, their unquestioning certainty was just a little annoying to those unfortunates who had not been