Rendezvous With Rama - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,84

long day of Rama was drawing to its close.

It was as warm as ever, yet Norton felt himself shivering. He had known this sensation once before, during a beautiful summer day on Earth. There had been an inexplicable weakening of light, as if darkness was falling or the sun had lost its strength, though there was not a cloud in the sky. Then he had remembered that a partial eclipse had begun.

“This is it,” he said grimly. “We’re going home. Leave all the equipment behind—we won’t need it again.”

Now, he hoped, one piece of planning was about to prove its worth. He had selected London for this raid because no other town was so close to a stairway. The foot of Beta was only four kilometers away.

They set off at the steady loping trot that was the most comfortable mode of traveling at half a gravity. Norton set a pace that, he estimated, would get them to the edge of the plain without exhaustion and in the minimum of time. He was acutely aware of the eight kilometers they would still have to climb when they had reached Stairway Beta, but he would feel much safer when they had actually started the ascent.

The first tremor came when they had almost reached the stairway. It was very slight, and instinctively Norton turned toward the south, expecting to see another display of fireworks around the horns. But Rama never seemed to repeat itself exactly. If there were any electrical discharges above those needle-sharp mountains, they were too faint to be seen.

“Bridge,” he called, “did you notice that?”

“Yes, Skipper—very small shock. Could be another attitude change. We’re watching the rate gyro. Nothing yet…. Just a minute! Positive reading! Can just detect it—less than a microradian per second, but holding.”

So Rama was beginning to turn, though with almost imperceptible slowness. Those earlier shocks might have been a false alarm, but this, surely, was the real thing.

“Rate increasing. Five microrad. Hello, did you feel that shock?”

“We certainly did. Get all ship’s systems operational. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

“Do you expect an orbit change already? We’re still a long way from perihelion.”

“I don’t think Rama works by our textbooks. Nearly at Beta. We’ll rest there for five minutes.”

Five minutes was utterly inadequate, yet it seemed an age, for there was now no doubt that the light was failing, and failing fast.

Though they were all equipped with flashlights, the thought of darkness here was now intolerable. They had grown so accustomed psychologically to the endless day that it was hard to remember the conditions under which they had first explored this world. They felt an overwhelming urge to escape—to get out into the light of the Sun, a kilometer away on the other side of these cylindrical walls.

“Hub Control,” called Norton, “is the searchlight operating? We may need it in a hurry.”

“Yes, Skipper. Here it comes.”

A reassuring spark of light started to shine eight kilometers above their heads. Even against the now fading day of Rama, it looked surprisingly feeble; but it had served them before, and would guide them once again if they needed it.

This, Norton was grimly aware, would be the longest and most nerve-racking climb they had ever made. Whatever happened, it would be impossible to hurry; if they overexerted themselves they would simply collapse somewhere on that vertiginous slope, and would have to wait until their protesting muscles permitted them to continue. By this time they must be one of the fittest crews that had ever carried out a space mission, but there were limits to what flesh and blood could do.

After an hour’s steady plodding they had reached the fourth section of the stairway, about three kilometers from the plain. From now on it would be much easier; gravity was already down to a third of Earth value. Although there had been minor shocks from time to time, no other unusual phenomena had occurred and there was still plenty of light. They began to feel more optimistic, and even to wonder if they had left too soon. One thing was certain, however: there was no going back. They had all walked for the last time on the Central Plain of Rama.

It was while they were taking a ten-minute rest on the fourth platform that Calvert exclaimed: “What’s that noise, Skipper?”

“Noise? I don’t hear anything.”

“High-pitched whistle, dropping in frequency. You must hear it.”

“Your ears are younger than mine. Oh, now I do.”

The whistle seemed to come from everywhere. Soon it