Rendezvous With Rama - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,8

at the moment, PLANETCOM’s hardhearted computers did not recognize the existence of the Rama Committee.

“This Commander Norton,” said Sir Robert Mackay, the Ambassador from Earth, “has a tremendous responsibility. What sort of person is he?”

“I can answer that,” said Professor Davidson, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his memory pad. He frowned at the screenful of information, and started to make an instant synopsis.

“William Tsien Norton, born 2077, Brisbane, Oceana. Educated Sydney, Bombay, Houston. Then five years at Astrograd, specializing in propulsion. Commissioned 2102. Rose through usual ranks… lieutenant on the third Persephone expedition… distinguished himself during fifteenth attempt to establish base on Venus… um… um… exemplary record… dual citizenship. Earth and Mars… wife and one child in Brisbane, wife and two in Port Lowell, with option on third….”

“Wife?” asked Taylor innocently.

“No. Child, of course,” snapped the Professor, before he caught the grin on the other’s face. Mild laughter rippled around the table, though the overcrowded terrestrials looked more envious than amused. After a century of determined effort, Earth had still failed to get its population below the target of one billion….

“Appointed commanding officer Solar Survey research vessel Endeavour. First voyage to retrograde satellites of Jupiter… um, that was a tricky one… one asteroid mission when ordered to prepare for this operation… managed to beat deadline….”

The Professor cleared the display and looked at his colleagues. “I think we were extremely lucky, considering that he was the only man available at such short notice. We might have had the usual run-of-the-mill captain.” He sounded as if he was referring to the typical peg-legged scourge of the spaceways, pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other.

“The record proves only that he’s competent,” objected the Ambassador from Mercury (population: 112,500, but growing). “How will he react in a wholly novel situation like this?”

On Earth, Sir Lewis Sands cleared his throat. A second and a half later, he did so on the Moon. “Not exactly a novel situation,” he reminded the Hermian, “even though it’s three centuries since it last occurred. If Rama is dead, or unoccupied—and so far all the evidence suggests that it is—Norton is in the position of an archeologist discovering the ruins of an extinct culture.” He bowed politely to Dr. Price, who nodded in agreement. “Obvious examples are Schliemann at Troy and Mouhot at Angkor Vat. The danger is minimal, though of course accident can never be completely ruled out.”

“But what about the booby traps and trigger mechanisms these Pandora people have been talking about?” asked Dr. Price.

“Pandora?” asked the Hermian Ambassador quickly. “What’s that?”

“It’s a crackpot movement,” explained Sir Robert, with as much embarrassment as a diplomat was ever likely to show, “that is convinced that Rama is a grave potential danger. A box that shouldn’t be opened, you know.” He doubted if the Hermian did know; classical studies were not encouraged on Mercury.

“Pandora—paranoia,” snorted Taylor. “Oh, of course such things are conceivable, but why should any intelligent race want to play childish tricks?”

“Well, even ruling out such unpleasantness,” Sir Robert continued, “we still have the much more ominous possibility of an active, inhabited Rama. Then the situation is one of an encounter between two cultures—at very different technological levels. Pizzaro and the Incas. Peary and the Japanese. Europe and Africa. Almost invariably, the consequences have been disastrous—for one or both parties. I’m not making any recommendations; I’m merely pointing out precedents.”

“Thank you, Sir Robert,” replied Bose. It was a mild nuisance, he thought, having two “Sirs” on one small committee; in these latter days, knighthood was an honor few Englishmen escaped. “I’m sure we’ve all thought of these alarming possibilities. But if the creatures inside Rama are… er… malevolent, will it really make the slightest difference what we do?”

“They might ignore us if we go away.”

“What—after they’ve traveled billions of miles and thousands of years?”

The argument had reached the take-off point, and was now self-sustaining. Bose sat back in his chair, said little, and waited for a consensus to emerge.

It was just as he had predicted. Everyone agreed that, once he had opened the first door, it was inconceivable that Commander Norton should not open the second.

CHAPTER 7

TWO WIVES

If his wives ever compared his videograms, Commander Norton thought, with more amusement than concern, it would involve him in a lot of extra work. Now, he could make one long gram and dupe it, adding only brief personal messages and endearments before shooting the almost identical copies off to Mars and to Earth.

Of course, it was