Rama: The Omnibus

by Arthur C. Clarke

  A sudden chill ran down Vivien’s spine when she recognized the shape of the cloud. Although the collection of particles did not have the sharp edges of a solid object, there was an unmistakable resemblance between this cloud of sparkling particles and the tiny ceramic angel that her family placed each year at the top of their Christmas tree.

  Vivien’s natural cynicism rushed to her protection. “All right,” she said out loud, surprised by the unsteadiness in her voice, “what’s this all about?”

  The cloud moved ever so slightly toward her, still retaining its general shape. A burst of fear caused Vivien to step quickly backward. An instant later there was a blinding flash of light. When she opened her eyes again the bright particles were gone.

  She stood transfixed, her heart still beating at a frantic pace. Sister Vivien stared for several seconds at the empty area where the cloud had been. What did I see? she asked herself, struggling already to keep a clear image in her mind.

  She walked slowly back to the storehouse. Despite the fact that Vivien did not believe in miracles, or epiphanies, or even a personal God who cared about the life of each individual person, she was convinced that what had occurred was directly connected to the decision she was trying to make. When she stopped at the entrance to the storehouse and closed her eyes, the cloud in her memory now looked exactly like the ceramic angel of her childhood.

  Vivien walked purposefully through the storehouse. When she reached her possessions, she dropped down on her knees and pressed her forehead against the bedspread on her bed. “Dear, dear God,” she said. “Thank you for sending me that sign. Or whatever it was… I know now that I will request ordination. But, God, I still don’t know if I can live my whole life, forever, and not want things.”

  She paused for a moment. “Can you help me with that, God?” she continued. “Can you teach me somehow, day by day, that serving and loving are enough, and that I don’t need things to make me feel good? I hope so, because without a lot of help I don’t think I can do it.”

  7

  Vivien stared out the window of the train, thinking about what she was going to say to Beatrice. She had definitely decided that she wanted to be ordained, the sooner the better. Vivien had also decided not to tell Beatrice, at least not now, about the cloud of particles shaped like an angel. She didn’t want her friend and sponsor to think that a decision as important as her ordination was being influenced by the unusual apparition.

  On the seat opposite, Sister Beatrice was deeply engrossed in what she was reading. When she was finished, she asked Vivien if she would like to share a soft drink.

  “Not yet,” said Vivien nervously. “Maybe later.”

  Beatrice noticed that Vivien’s brow was furrowed. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Are you upset about something?”

  Vivien shook her head and took a deep breath. “‘The time has come,’” she said, “the Walrus said…”

  “And which cabbages and kings do you want to discuss,” Beatrice said, puzzled but enjoying the literary game.

  “I want to be ordained tonight,” Vivien said hurriedly. “At vespers, if possible…”

  Beatrice was momentarily silent. “Goodness, Vivien,” she said at length, “this is certainly sudden… Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” said Vivien. She leaned forward and smiled again. “At least as sure as I’m ever likely to be… I won’t say that I’m not afraid, B. I still worry that I’ll screw up or that I won’t be able to tolerate the lifestyle or that—”

  “Did you pray for guidance?” Beatrice interrupted softly.

  Vivien nodded. “I knew you would ask me that… Yes, I did. I really prayed, too, I didn’t just go through the motions. When I was out by the storehouse, after looking at all my stuff, I asked God to help me through the uncertainty I was feeling.”

  “That’s good,” Beatrice said. “God is the only source of strength we can always count on.”

  “But can we do it tonight?” Vivien persisted. “I really don’t even want to wait until tomorrow morning. I’m sure I wouldn’t sleep a wink.”

  Beatrice reached across and touched her hand. “I can arrange for it to happen tonight,” she said. “During vespers.”

  “Thank you,” Vivien replied.

  At the headquarters in Hyde Park everyone was talking about the approval of the expansion into Kensington Gardens. Many members of the order offered Beatrice their congratulations. She accepted their plaudits gracefully, reminding them that she was not responsible for anything, that she had simply been God’s agent in dealing with the London city officials. Sister Chintha, a Sri Lankan who ran the preschool for the community, was uncharacteristically emotional. “Oh, Sister Beatrice,” she said, “I had been praying that our proposal would succeed. This will make such a difference to the kids. Now we will be able to do things properly.”

  Beatrice was a little surprised that Brother Hugo was not present. But she didn’t think about his absence for long. She walked down the hall to the office that she shared with five other priestesses. “Are you still in charge of the program for vespers tonight?” she asked Sister Emily.

  “Yes,” said Emily. “What’s up?”

  Beatrice smiled. “Vivien is ready to be ordained,” she said.

  “That’s wonderful,” Sister Emily said, crossing the small room to hug her colleague. “You must be very happy.”

  “I am,” Beatrice replied. “Vivien has a lot to offer our order.”

  “When do you want to do it?” Emily asked.

  “After the sermonette, I think would be best,” Beatrice said. “Just before we start the singing.”

  The nightly services began at 2100 and lasted only half an hour. Like all the other religious activities in the Hyde Park community, attendance was voluntary. It was no accident that on the two nights of the week when Beatrice sang, the attendance at the vespers service was always twenty percent above normal. On this particular February evening, just under a thousand residents, along with almost all the hundred and fifty priests and priestesses who managed the community, came to the large tent in the northern part of the park.

  Brother Diego, a former actor and an excellent speaker, gave the sermonette for the night. His topic was “The Nature of Man,” and he quoted liberally from the famous notebooks that St. Michael had kept in the last months of his life. Brother Diego’s twelve-minute lecture discussed man’s relationship to the primates, the mechanisms involved in evolution itself, and what St. Michael had believed would be the next important evolutionary step in man’s continuing spiritual growth.

  Vivien was sitting in the front row of folding chairs, next to Sister Beatrice. When Vivien kept squirming nervously, Beatrice reached over and held her hand.

  Following Brother Diego’s closing prayer, Beatrice mounted the rostrum and addressed the audience. “Before we sing tonight,” she said, “I have the incomparable pleasure of performing the ordination ceremony for my own novice, Sister Vivien… Will you all please stand and welcome her into the order?”

  There was some scattered applause among a few of the residents, but it died out quickly. Beatrice and Vivien stood sideways to the crowd, facing each other. “Sister Vivien,” Beatrice said, “have you voluntarily come forward to be ordained into the Order of St. Michael, whose purpose is serving mankind according to God’s plan?”

  “I have, Sister Beatrice,” Vivien said with a quivering voice.

  “And have you read and studied the writings of St. Michael, especially those that pertain to the duties and responsibilities of the priests and priestesses of this order?”

  “I have, Sister Beatrice.”

  “Do you swear in God’s name, Sister Vivien, that you will never again, as long as you live, engage in sexual activities of any kind, with or without anyone else, nor will you ever again claim as your own possession any object, item, or piece of property, regardless of its size or value, excepting only the amulet that symbolizes your ordination?”

  “I swear, Sister
Beatrice.”

  Beatrice reached into one of the pockets of her blue robe and pulled out a necklace made of ordinary dark twine. She held it aloft so that everyone could see. At the bottom of the necklace was a wooden carving the size of a large coin. On the carving a young man wearing a robe was standing with his eyes raised and his arms outstretched. Behind and above him were the flames representing the nuclear fire that ended St. Michael’s life abruptly.

  Without saying anything else, Beatrice put the necklace around Vivien’s neck and affixed the clasp. Then she hugged her and whispered “Congratulations” in Vivien’s ear.

  At the rear of the tent Sister Laura entered a code word into the computer system and the sounds of an organ playing “Holy, Holy, Holy” were distributed to the speakers scattered throughout the tent. Vivien stepped down from the rostrum, smiling and clutching the amulet in her right hand. As she returned to her seat the clear image of a cloud shaped like a ceramic angel was uppermost in her mind.

  During the two hymns sung by the whole congregation, Beatrice noticed that Brother Hugo had entered the tent, near the rear, and that someone was accompanying him. She could not see the other person at first because of the people standing between them. After the second hymn was completed, however, Beatrice saw the white stripes on the man’s blue robe. It’s the bishop, she thought quickly. What’s he doing here?

  The audience was waiting, in great anticipation, for Beatrice to sing. She began with an updated version of what had once been a fourteenth-century monastic song of praise. “Morning has broken, like the first morning…” she sang to the accompaniment of several synthesized instruments.

  When she was finished with the first song, Beatrice rested for only a moment before nodding her head at Sister Laura. The sound of the solitary keyboard hushed the audience. “A-ve Ma-ri-i-a,” sang Beatrice in a voice so clear, so perfect, that everyone was immediately spellbound. As the song continued, the sound of Beatrice’s beautiful voice provoked a deep and highly personal emotional experience in nearly everyone in the audience. She had a rare gift. To hear her sing left one feeling enriched and glad to be alive.

  In the front row Beatrice’s song brought immediate tears to Vivien’s eyes. It also catalyzed in her an overpowering sense of love, for God, for mankind, and for herself. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, “for giving me this moment.”

  None of the audience, most of whom had closed their eyes while Beatrice was singing, stirred for at least ten seconds after she had completed the song.

  Outside the tent, the other members of the order waited patiently in line to give Vivien the traditional hug of welcome. Beatrice stood off to the side, trying to be as insignificant as possible. Still, there was a steady stream of residents in her direction, each telling her how much they had enjoyed her singing. She responded with a polite “Thank you” to the praise, but she did not encourage any additional conversation.

  Brother Hugo and the bishop were standing in line waiting to greet Vivien. Hugo caught Beatrice’s eye and motioned for her to join them.

  “Quite a day for you,” the bishop said to Beatrice after they exchanged pleasantries. “God must be very pleased with your work.”

  “Thank you, Brother Wallace,” Beatrice replied. “We are honored that you are with us this evening… Have you come to help us rejoice?”

  “No,” he said, patting Sister Beatrice affectionately on the shoulder. “Actually, the primary reason I came was to see you, to bring you a special message from Siena.”

  “What is it about?” Beatrice asked.

  “I don’t know myself,” Brother Wallace replied. “But it must be important. It has been closed with the archbishop’s seal and is marked for personal delivery into your hands. It’s not very often that the electronic mail is bypassed.”

  “Sister Cecelia was just explaining to me last week,” Beatrice said, “how easy it would be for a hacker to invade our message structure. I guess a sealed personal letter is the only way to ensure privacy.”

  The three of them had reached the front of the line. Brother Hugo hugged Vivien first, in his stiff and somewhat formal way. Hugo was an experienced, capable, cautious administrator, but personal warmth had never been one of his major attributes. After Brother Wallace released her, Vivien flashed a radiant smile. “Hey, that was great,” she said in her mischievous tone. “I’ve never been hugged by a bishop before.”

  Beatrice was glad to see that Vivien was again her normal self. They embraced for a long time. “Thanks, B,” Vivien whispered in her ear. “You know I never would have made it without you.”

  It was only after Beatrice left Vivien’s side that she began to wonder in earnest about the content of her message from Siena. The Archbishop of Siena was the titular head of the Order of St. Michael. Although he was not really an archbishop in the official Catholic hierarchy (the whole relationship between the Order of St. Michael and the Roman Catholic Church would be in a state of flux and confusion for the next fifty years), he was the supreme authority for all the priests and priestesses of the order, a large group who now numbered almost three hundred thousand worldwide.

  Beatrice had only even heard of one sealed message from Siena before. The head priest in the Birmingham region had received such a notice following an investigation by the order’s Conduct Council. In the message the Birmingham supervisor had been told to defrock half a dozen of his staff for having used their positions in the order to engage in profiteering.

  As she crossed the park toward the offices Beatrice was making a mental list of all the reasons she might be receiving a message from the archbishop. Beatrice was the primary supervisor of forty-five priests and priestesses. Could something have been happening in her group?

  It was not necessary for her to wait long to find out the contents of the message. The bishop handed Beatrice the envelope as soon as she reached the headquarters complex. “I’m certain you will want to open it in private,” Brother Wallace said.

  Her pulse was racing wildly when Beatrice broke the seal on the envelope. Her eyes darted across the page.

  Dear Sister Beatrice,

  Your outstanding service to God and the order continues to draw praise from everyone. We are delighted to add our official recognition of your devotion and dedication. You have been selected to become the first Bishop of Mars. Please come to Siena at your earliest convenience to discuss this unusual and challenging assignment.

  Beatrice read the words again in disbelief. What? she was thinking. Is this really possible? I’m to be the Bishop of where?

  When Beatrice opened the small office door and walked out into the community room, fifteen pairs of eyes, including the bishop’s, followed her every step. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, rushing out the door, “and I’ll explain everything.”

  She ran excitedly across the park, over the pontoon bridge, and into the tent where she slept every night. “Sister Teresa,” Beatrice said. “Has anyone seen Sister Teresa?”

  “She went to the bathhouse a couple of minutes ago,”one of the other priestesses said.

  Sister Teresa was Beatrice’s main source of astronomical information. Teresa had been a physics student at Oxford before she had decided to join the order.

  Beatrice accosted Sister Teresa on the path between the sleeping tent and the bathhouse. “Sister Teresa,” she said, her by both shoulders. “Where is Mars?”

  Teresa looked at Beatrice as if she had lost her mind. “is Mars?” she repeated. “Well, it’s the fourth major planet orbiting the sun, it’s between us and Jupiter—”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Beatrice interrupted. “I mean where is it now, up there, in the sky?”

  Teresa recognized the intensity in Beatrice’s expression. Without saying anything, she led her down to the end of the island, near the outdoor chapel. They looked up together. “That’s Mars, there,” Sister Teresa said. “The brightest one, just coming out from behind that fluffy cloud.”

  “Thank y
ou, Sister Teresa,” Beatrice said. “Thank you very much.”

  Beatrice dropped to her knees and raised her clasped hands toward the tiny light in the night sky. “Dear God,” she prayed. “I entrust my life to Thee completely. If it be . Thy will that I do Thy service on Mars, let me do it in the very best way possible. In St. Michael’s name. Amen.”

  8

  Johann Eberhardt took a breath on his left side a few meters before he reached the wall. He pulled through the water with one last motion of his long arms and then executed a flip turn. Relaxing his body only briefly before beginning his powerful stroke again, Johann headed back toward the opposite end of the twenty-five-meter pool.

  Acht und neunzig. Johann said to himself, increasing the tempo as he neared the end of his early-morning workout. There were three others in the pool now. As usual, Johann had been the first one in the water when he had started swimming thirty-five minutes earlier, shortly after the facility’s computer-regulated doors had allowed him early access because of his special pass.

  Johann felt a surge of competitive adrenaline as he sped past a swimmer in an adjoining lane. What was that Italian’s name? he thought fleetingly, suddenly remembering one of his best races. Bianchi, wasn’t it? Johann had overtaken the Italian swimmer in the final two laps of a four-hundred-meter race during a dual meet between Germany and Italy.

  When he touched the wall at the end of his workout, Johann bobbed up and down in the water until his breathing became more regular. He recorded his elapsed time in his memory and set the automatic lane clock to zero. Then he climbed out of the water, grabbed a towel, and headed toward the locker room.

  A Turkish man had been watching Johann from pool-side. The young man was wearing a bathing suit, but had not yet been in the water.