“It will be just the same,” the Commander had promised, “as stepping off a diving board on Earth. Nothing to it—if you make a good entry.”
“And if I don’t?” he had asked. “Then you’ll have to go back and try again.” Something slapped him across the feet—hard, but not viciously. A million slimy hands were tearing at his body; even though his eyes were tightly closed, he could tell that darkness was falling as he arrowed down into the depths of the Cylindrical Sea.
With all his strength, he started to swim upwards towards the fading light. He could not open his eyes for more than a single blink; the poisonous water felt like acid when he did so. He seemed to have been struggling for ages, and more than once he had a nightmare fear that he had lost his orientation and was really swimming downwards. Then he would risk another quick glimpse, and every time the light was stronger.
His eyes were still clenched tightly shut when he broke water. He gulped a precious mouthful of air, rolled over on his back, and looked around.
Resolution was heading towards him at top speed; within seconds, eager hands had grabbed him and dragged him aboard.
“Did you swallow any water?” was the Commander’s anxious question.
“I don’t think so.”
“Rinse out with this, anyway. That’s fine. How do you feel?”
“I’m not really sure. I’ll let you know in a minute. Oh… thanks, everybody.” The minute was barely up when Jimmy was only too sure how he felt.
“I’m going to be sick,” he confessed miserably. His rescuers were incredulous.
“In a dead calm—on a flat sea?” protested Sergeant Barnes, who seemed to regard Jimmy’s plight as a direct reflection on her skill.
“I’d hardly call it flat,” said the Commander, waving his arm around the band of water that circled the sky. “But don’t be ashamed—you may have swallowed some of that stuff. Get rid of it as quickly as you can.”
Jimmy was still straining, unheroically and unsuccessfully, when there was a sudden flicker of light in the sky behind them. All eyes turned towards the South Pole, and Jimmy instantly forgot his sickness. The Horns had started their firework display again.
There were the kilometre-long streamers of fire, dancing from the central spike to its smaller companions. Once again they began their stately rotation, as if invisible dancers were winding their ribbons around an electric maypole. But now they began to accelerate, moving faster and faster until they blurred into a flickering cone of light.
It was a spectacle more awe-inspiring than any they had yet seen here, and it brought with it a distant crackling roar which added to the impression of overwhelming power. The display lasted for about five minutes; then it stopped as abruptly as if someone had turned a switch.
“I’d like to know what the Rama Committee make of that,” Norton muttered to no one in particular. “Has anyone here got any theories?”
There was no time for an answer, because at that moment Hub Control called in great excitement.
“Resolution! Are you OK? Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“We think it was an earthquake—it must have happened the minute those fireworks stopped.”
“Any damage?”
“I don’t think so. It wasn’t really violent but it shook us up a bit.”
“We felt nothing at all. But we wouldn’t, out here in the Sea.”
“Of course, silly of me. Anyway, everything seems quiet now… until next time.”
“Yes, until the next time,” Norton echoed.
The mystery of Rama was steadily growing; the more they discovered about it, the less they understood.
There was a sudden shout from the helm.
“Skipper—look—up there in the sky!”
Norton lifted his eyes, swiftly scanning the circuit of the Sea. He saw nothing, until his gaze had almost reached the zenith, and he was staring at the other side of the world.
“My God,” he whispered slowly, as he realized that the “next time” was already almost here.
A tidal wave was racing towards them, down the eternal curve of the Cylindrical Sea.
32. The Wave
Yet even in that moment of shock, Norton’s first concern was for his ship.
“Endeavour!” he called. “Situation report!”
“All OK, Skipper,” was the reassuring answer from the Exec. “We felt a slight tremor, but nothing that could cause any damage. There’s been a small change of attitude—the bridge says about point two degrees. They also think the spin rate has altered slightly—we’ll have an accurate reading on that in a couple of minutes.”
So it’s beginning to happen, Norton told himself, and a lot earlier than we expected; we’re still a long way from perihelion, and the logical time for an orbit change. But some kind of trim was undoubtedly taking place—and there might be more shocks to come.
Meanwhile, the effects of this first one were all too obvious, up there on the curving sheet of water which seemed perpetually falling from the sky. The wave was still about ten kilometres away, and stretched the full width of the Sea from northern to southern shore. Near the land, it was a foaming wall of white, but in deeper water it was a barely visible blue line, moving much faster than the breakers on either flank. The drag of the shoreward shallows was already bending it into a bow, with the central portion getting further and further ahead.
“Sergeant,” said Norton urgently. “This is your job. What can we do?”
Sergeant Barnes had brought the raft completely to rest and was studying the situation intently. Her expression, Norton was relieved to see, showed no trace of alarm—rather a certain zestful excitement, like a skilled athlete about to accept a challenge.
“I wish we had some soundings,” she said. “If we’re in deep water, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Then we’re all right. We’re still four kilometres from shore.”
“I hope so, but I want to study the situation.”
She applied power again, and swung Resolution around until it was just under way, heading directly towards the approaching wave. Norton judged that the swiftly moving central portion would reach them in less than five minutes, but he could also see that it presented no serious danger. It was only a racing ripple a fraction of a metre high, and would scarcely rock the boat. The walls of foam lagging far behind it were the real menace.
Suddenly, in the very centre of the Sea, a line of breakers appeared. The wave had clearly hit a submerged wall, several kilometres in length, not far below the surface. At the same time the breakers on the two flanks collapsed, as they ran into deeper water.
Anti-slosh plates, Norton told himself. Exactly the same as in Endeavour’s own propellant tanks—but on a thousand-fold greater scale. There must be a complex pattern of them all around the Sea, to damp out any waves as quickly as possible. The only thing that matters now is: are we right on top of one?
Sergeant Barnes was one jump ahead of him. She brought Resolution to a full stop and threw out the anchor. It hit bottom at only five metres.
“Haul it up!” she called to her crewmates. “We’ve got to get away from here!”
Norton agreed heartily; but in which direction? The Sergeant was headed full speed towards the wave, which was now only five kilometres away. For the first time, he could hear the sound of its approach—a distant, unmistakable roar which he had never expected to hear inside Rama. Then it changed in intensity; the central portion was collapsing once more and the flanks were building up again.
He tried to estimate the distance between the submerged baffles, assuming that they were spaced at equal intervals. If he was right, there should be one more to come; if they could station the raft in the deep water between them, they would be perfectly safe.
Sergeant Barnes cut the motor, and threw out the anchor again. It went down thirty metres without hitting bottom.
“We’re OK,” she said, with a sigh of relief. “But I’ll keep the moto
r running.”
Now there were only the lagging walls of foam along the coast; out here in the central Sea it was calm again, apart from the inconspicuous blue ripple still speeding towards them. The Sergeant was just holding Resolution on course towards the disturbance, ready to pour on full power at a moment’s notice.
Then, only two kilometres ahead of them, the Sea started to foam once more. It humped up in white-maned fury, and now its roaring seemed to fill the world. Upon the sixteen-kilometre-high wave of the Cylindrical Sea, a smaller ripple was superimposed, like an avalanche thundering down a mountain slope. And that ripple was quite large enough to kill them.
Sergeant Barnes must have seen the expressions on the faces of her crewmates. She shouted above the roar: “What are you scared about? I’ve ridden bigger ones than this.” That was not quite true; nor did she add that her earlier experience had been in a well-built surfboat, not an improvised raft. “But if we have to jump, wait until I tell you. Check your lifejackets.”
She’s magnificent, thought the Commander—obviously enjoying every minute, like a Viking warrior going into battle. And she’s probably right—unless we’ve miscalculated badly.
The wave continued to rise, curving upwards and over. The slope above them probably exaggerated its height, but it looked enormous—an irresistible force of nature that would overwhelm everything in its path.
Then, within seconds, it collapsed, as if its foundations had been pulled out from underneath it. It was over the submerged barrier, in deep water again. When it reached them a minute later Resolution merely bounced up and down a few times before Sergeant Barnes swung the raft around and set off at top speed towards the north.
“Thanks, Ruby—that was splendid. But will we get home before it comes round for the second time?”
“Probably not; it will be back in about twenty minutes. But it will have lost all its strength then; we’ll scarcely notice it.”
Now that the wave had passed, they could relax and enjoy the voyage—though no one would be completely at ease until they were back on land. The disturbance had left the water swirling round in random eddies, and had also stirred up a most peculiar acidic smell—“like crushed ants”, as Jimmy aptly put it. Though unpleasant, the odour caused none of the attacks of seasickness that might have been expected; it was something so alien that human physiology could not respond to it.
A minute later, the wave front hit the next underwater barrier, as it climbed away from them and up the sky. This time, seen from the rear, the spectacle was unimpressive and the voyagers felt ashamed of their previous fears. They began to feel themselves masters of the Cylindrical Sea.
The shock was therefore all the greater when, not more than a hundred metres away, something like a slowly rotating wheel began to rear up out of the water. Glittering metallic spokes five metres long, emerged dripping from the sea, spun for a moment in the fierce Raman glare, and splashed back into the water. It was as if a giant starfish with tubular arms had broken the surface.
At first sight, it was impossible to tell whether it was an animal or a machine. Then it flopped over and lay half-awash, bobbing up and down in the gentle aftermath of the wave.
Now they could see that there were nine arms, apparently jointed, radiating from a central disc. Two of the arms were broken, snapped off at the outer joint. The others ended at a complicated collection of manipulators that reminded Jimmy very strongly of the crab he had encountered. The two creatures came from the same line of evolution—or the same drawing board.
At the middle of the disc was a small turret, bearing three large eyes. Two were closed, one open—and even that appeared to be blank and unseeing. No one doubted that they were watching the death throes of some strange monster, tossed up to the surface by the submarine disturbance that had just passed.
Then they saw that it was not alone. Swimming round it, and snapping at its feebly moving limbs, were two small beasts like overgrown lobsters. They were efficiently chopping up the monster, and it did nothing to resist, though its own claws seemed quite capable of dealing with the attackers.
Once again, Jimmy was reminded of the crab that had demolished Dragonfly. He watched intently as the one-sided conflict continued, and quickly confirmed his impression.
“Look, Skipper,” he whispered. “Do you see—they’re not eating it. They don’t even have any mouths. They’re simply chopping it to pieces. That’s exactly what happened to Dragonfly.”
“You’re right. They’re dismantling it—like—like a broken machine.” Norton wrinkled his nose. “But no dead machine ever smelled like that!”
Then another thought struck him.
“My God—suppose they start on us! Ruby, get us back to shore as quickly as you can!”
Resolution surged forward with reckless disregard for the life of her power cells. Behind them, the nine spokes of the great starfish—they could think of no better name for it—were clipped steadily shorter, and presently the weird tableau sank back into the depths of the Sea.
There was no pursuit, but they did not breathe comfortably again until Resolution had drawn up to the landing stage and they had stepped thankfully ashore. As he looked back across that mysterious and now suddenly sinister band of water, Commander Norton grimly determined that no one would ever sail it again. There were too many unknowns, too many dangers…
He looked back upon the towers and ramparts of New York, and the dark cliff of the continent beyond. They were safe now from inquisitive man.
He would not tempt the gods of Rama again.
33. Spider
From now on, Norton had decreed, there would always be at least three people at Camp Alpha, and one of them would always be awake. In addition, all exploring parties would follow the same routine. Potentially dangerous creatures were on the move inside Rama, and though none had shown active hostility, a prudent commander would take no chances.
As an extra safeguard, there was always an observer up on the Hub, keeping watch through a powerful telescope. From this vantage point, the whole interior of Rama could be surveyed, and even the South Pole appeared only a few hundred metres away. The territory round any group of explorers was to be kept under regular observation; in this way, it was hoped to eliminate any possibility of surprise. It was a good plan—and it failed completely.
After the last meal of the day, and just before the 22.00 hour sleep period, Norton, Rodrigo, Calvert and Laura Ernst were watching the regular evening news telecast specially beamed to them from the transmitter at Inferno, Mercury. They had been particularly interested in seeing Jimmy’s film of the Southern continent, and the return across the Cylindrical Sea—an episode which had excited all viewers. Scientists, news commentators, and members of the Rama Committee had given their opinions, most of them contradictory. No one could agree whether the crablike creature Jimmy had encountered was an animal, a machine, a genuine Raman—or something that fitted none of these categories.
They had just watched, with a distinctly queasy feeling, the giant starfish being demolished by its predators when they discovered that they were no longer alone. There was an intruder in the camp.
Laura Ernst noticed it first. She froze in sudden shock, then said: “Don’t move, Bill. Now look slowly to the right.”
Norton turned his head. Ten metres away was a slender-legged tripod surmounted by a spherical body no larger than a football. Set around the body were three large, expressionless eyes, apparently giving 360 degrees of vision, and trailing beneath it were three whiplike tendrils. The creature was not quite as tall as a man, and looked far too fragile to be dangerous, but that did not excuse their carelessness in letting it sneak up on them unawares. It reminded Norton of nothing so much as a three-legged spider, or daddy-long-legs, and he wondered how it had solved the problem—never challenged by any creature on Earth—of tripedal locomotion.
“What do you make of it, Doc?” he whispered, turning off the voice of the TV newscaster.
“U
sual Raman three-fold symmetry. I don’t see how it could hurt us, though those whips might be unpleasant—and they could be poisonous, like a coelenterate’s. Sit tight and see what it does.”
After regarding them impassively for several minutes, the creature suddenly moved—and now they could understand why they had failed to observe its arrival. It was fast, and it covered the ground with such an extraordinary spinning motion that the human eye and mind had real difficulty in following it.
As far as Norton could judge—and only a high-speed camera could settle the matter—each leg in turn acted as a pivot around which the creature whirled its body. And he was not sure, but it also seemed to him that every few “steps” it reversed its direction of spin, while the three whips flickered over the ground like lightning as it moved. Its top speed—though this also was very hard to estimate—was at least thirty kilometres an hour.
It swept swiftly round the camp, examining every item of equipment, delicately touching the improvised beds and chairs and tables, communication gear, food containers, Electrosans, cameras, water tanks, tools—there seemed to be nothing that it ignored, except the four watchers. Clearly, it was intelligent enough to draw a distinction between humans and their inanimate property; its actions gave the unmistakable impression of an extremely methodical curiosity or inquisitiveness.
“I wish I could examine it!” Laura exclaimed in frustration, as the creature continued its swift pirouette. “Shall we try to catch it?”
“How?” Calvert asked, reasonably enough.
“You know—the way primitive hunters bring down fast-moving animals with a couple of weights whirling around at the end of a rope. It doesn’t even hurt them.”
“That I doubt,” said Norton. “But even if it worked, we can’t risk it. We don’t know how intelligent this creature is—and a trick like that could easily break its legs. Then we would be in real trouble—from Rama, Earth and everyone else.”
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