Rendezvous With Rama - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,7

on any given subject. He wished that, someday, one of them would do something totally unexpected—even something quite crazy.

And probably they felt exactly the same way about him.

The Rama Committee was still manageably small, though doubtless that would soon be changed. His six colleagues—each representing one of the members of the United Planets—were all present in the flesh. They had to be; electronic diplomacy was not possible over solar-system distances. Some elder statesmen, accustomed to the instantaneous communications that Earth had long taken for granted, had never reconciled themselves to the fact that radio waves took minutes, or even hours, to journey across the gulfs between the planets. “Can’t you scientists do something about it?” they had been heard to complain bitterly when told that immediate face-to-face conversation was impossible between Earth and any of its remoter children. Only the Moon had the barely acceptable one-and-a-half-second delay—with all the political and psychological consequences that implied. Because of this fact of astronomical life, the Moon—and only the Moon—would always be a suburb of Earth.

Also present in person were specialists who had been co-opted to the committee. Professor Davidson, the astronomer, was an old acquaintance. Today he did not seem his usual irascible self. Bose knew nothing of the infighting that had preceded the launch of the first probe to Rama, but the Professor’s colleagues had not let him forget it.

Dr. Thelma Price was familiar through her numerous television appearances, though she had first made her reputation fifty years ago during the archeological explosion that had followed the draining of that vast marine museum the Mediterranean.

Bose could still recall the excitement of that time, when the lost treasures of the Greeks, the Romans, and a dozen other civilizations were restored to the light of day. That was one of the few occasions when he was sorry to be living on Mars.

The exobiologist Carlisle Perera was another obvious choice; so was Dennis Solomons, the science historian. Bose was slightly less happy about the presence of Conrad Taylor, the celebrated anthropologist, who had made his reputation by uniquely combining scholarship and eroticism in his study of puberty rites in late-twentieth-century Beverly Hills.

No one, however, could possibly have disputed the right of Sir Lewis Sands to be on the committee. A man whose knowledge was matched only by his urbanity, Sir Lewis was reputed to lose his composure only when called the Arnold Toynbee of his age. The great historian was not present in person, however. He stubbornly refused to leave Earth, even for so momentous a meeting as this. His stereo image, indistinguishable from the real one, apparently occupied the chair to Bose’s right, and, as if to complete the illusion, someone had placed a glass of water in front of him. Bose considered this sort of technological tour de force an unnecessary gimmick but it was surprising how many undeniably great men were childishly delighted to be in two places at once. Sometimes this electronic miracle produced comic disasters. Bose had been at one diplomatic reception when somebody had tried to walk through a stereogram, and discovered, too late, that it was the real person. And it was even funnier to watch projections trying to shake hands.

Now, His Excellency the Ambassador from Mars to the United Planets called his wandering thoughts to order, cleared his throat, and said: “Gentlemen, the committee is now in session. I think I am correct in saying that this is a gathering of unique talents, assembled to deal with a unique situation. The directive that the Secretary-General has given us is to evaluate that situation, and to advise Commander Norton when necessary.”

This was a miracle of oversimplification, and everyone knew it. Unless there was a real emergency, the committee might never be in direct contact with Commander Norton—if, indeed, he ever heard of its existence. The committee was a temporary creation of the United Planets Science Organization, reporting through its director to the Secretary-General. It was true that the Solar Survey was part of the U.P.—but on the operations, not the science, side. In theory, this should not make much difference; there was no reason why the Rama Committee—or anyone else, for that matter—should not call up Commander Norton and offer helpful advice.

But deep-space communications were expensive. Endeavour could be contacted only through PLANETCOM, which was an autonomous corporation famous for the strictness and efficiency of its accounting. It took a long time to establish a line of credit with PLANETCOM. Somewhere, someone was working on this, but,