Rama II

15 ENCOUNTER

The combined Newton spacecraft — had maneuvered so that Rama filled the expanded viewpoint in the control center. The alien spaceship was im­mense. Its surface was a dull, drab gray, and its long body was a geometrically perfect cylinder. Nicole stood beside Valeriy Borzov in silence. For each of them, this first sight of the entire Rama vehicle in the sunlight was a mo­ment to savor.

“Have you detected any differences?” Nicole said at length. “Not yet,” Commander Borzov replied. “It looks as if the two of them came off the same assembly line.” They were quiet again.

“Wouldn’t you love to see that assembly line?” Nicole asked.

Valeriy Borzov nodded. A small flying craft, like a bat or a hummingbird zoomed past the viewport in the near field and headed off in the direction of Rama. “The exterior drones will confirm the similarities. Each of them has a stored set of images from Rama I. Any variations will be logged and reported within three hours.”

“And if there are no unexplained variations?”

“Then we proceed as planned,” General Borzov answered with a smile. “We dock, open up Rama, and release the interior drones.” He glanced at his watch. “All of which should take place about twenty-two hours from now, provided the life science officer asserts that the crew is ready.”

“The crew is in fine shape,” Nicole reported. “I’ve just finished looking at a synopsis of the cruise health data again. It’s been surprisingly regular. Except for hormonal abnormalities in all three women, which were not totally unexpected, we have seen no significant anomalies in forty days.”

“So physically we’re all ready to go,” the commander said thoughtfully, “but what about our psychological readiness? Are you troubled about this recent spate of arguments? Or can we chalk it up to tension and excite­ment?”

Nicole was silent for a moment. “I agree these four days since the docking have been a little rough. Of course, we knew about the Wilson-Brown prob­lem even before launch. We partially solved it by having Reggie on your ship during most of the cruise, but now that we’ve joined the two spacecraft and the team is all together again, those two seem to be at each other at every opportunity. Particularly if Francesca is around.”

“I tried to talk to Wilson twice while the two ships were separated!” Brozov said in a frustrated tone. “He wouldn’t discuss it. But it’s clear that he is very angry about something.”

General Borzov walked over to the control panel and started fiddling with the keyboards. Sequencing information appeared on one of the monitors. “It must involve Sabatini,” he continued. “Wilson didn’t do much work during cruise, but his log indicates that he spent an inordinate amount of time on the videophone with her. And he was always in a foul mood. He even offended O’Toole.” General Borzov turned and looked intently at Nicole. “As my life science officer, I want to know if you have any official recom­mendations about the crew, especially with respect to psychological interac­tions among the team members.”

Nicole had not expected this. When General Borzov had scheduled this final “crew health assessment” with her, she had not thought that the meet­ing would extend to the mental health of the Newton dozen as well. “You’re asking for a professional psychological evaluation also?” she asked.

“Certainly,” General Borzov replied. “I want an A5401 from you that attests to both the physical and psychological readiness of every one of the crew members. The procedure clearly states that the commanding officer, before each sortie, should request crew certification from the life science officer.”

“But during the simulations you asked only for physical health data.”

Borzov smiled. “I can wait, Madame des Jardins,” he said, “if you’d like time to prepare your report.”

“No, no,” Nicole said after some reflection. “I can give my opinions now and then officially document them later tonight.” She hesitated several more seconds before continuing. “I wouldn’t put Wilson and Brown together as crew members on any subteam, at least not in the first sortie. And I’d even have some qualms, although this opinion is certainly not as strong, about combining Francesca in a group with either of the two men. I would place no other limitations of any kind on this crew.”

“Good. Good.” The commander grinned broadly, “I appreciate your re­port, and not just because it confirms my own opinions. As you can under­stand, these matters can sometimes be fairly delicate.” General Borzov abruptly changed the subject. “Now I have another question of an altogether different nature to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Francesca came to me this morning and suggested that we have a party tomorrow night. She contends that the crew is tense and in need of some kind of release before the first sortie inside Rama. Do you agree with her?”

Nicole reflected for a moment. “It’s not a bad idea,” she replied. “The strain has been definitely showing… But what kind of party did you have in mind?”

“A dinner all together, here in the control room, some wine and vodka, maybe even a little entertainment.” Borzov smiled and put his arm on Nicole’s shoulder. “I’m asking your professional opinion, you understand, as my life science officer.”

“Of course,” Nicole said with a laugh. “General,” she added, “if you think it’s time for the crew to have a party, then I’d be delighted to lend a hand…”

Nicole finished her report and transferred the file by data line over to Borzov’s’s computer in the military ship. She had been very careful in her language to identify the problem as a “personality conflict” rather than any kind of behavioral pathology. To Nicole, the problem between Wilson and Brown was straightforward: jealousy, pure and simple, the ancient green-eyed monster itself.

She was certain that it was wise to prevent Wilson and Brown from working closely together during sorties inside Rama. Nicole chastized herself for not having raised the issue with Borzov on her own. She realized that her mission portfolio included mental health as well, but somehow she had diffi­culty thinking of herself as the crew psychiatrist. ! avoid it because it “s not an objective process, she thought. We have no sensors yet to measure good or bad mental health.

Nicole walked down the hall of the living area. She was careful to keep one foot on the floor at all times; she was so accustomed to the weightless environment that it was almost second nature. Nicole was glad that the Newton design engineers had worked so hard to minimize the differences between being in space and on the Earth. It made the job of being a cosmo­naut much simpler by allowing the crew to concentrate on the more impor­tant elements of their work.

Nicole’s room was at the end of the corridor. Although each of the cosmo­nauts had private quarters (the result of heated arguments between the crew and the system engineers, the latter having insisted that sleeping in pairs was a more efficient use of the space), the rooms were very small and confining. There were eight bedrooms on this larger vehicle, called the scientific ship by the crew members. The military ship had four more small bedrooms. Both spacecraft also had exercise rooms and “lobbies,” common rooms where there was more comfortable furniture as well as some entertainment options not available in the bedrooms.

As Nicole passed Janos Tabori’s room on her way to the exercise area, she heard his unmistakable laugh. His door was open as usual. “Did you really expect me,” Janos was saying, “to trade bishops and leave your knights in command of the center of the board? Come on, Shig, I may not be a master, but I do learn from my mistakes. I fell for that one in an earlier game.”

Tabori and Takagishi were involved in their usual postprandial chess match. Almost every “night” (the crew had stayed on a twenty-four-hour day that coincided with Greenwich Mean Time) the two men played for an hour or so before sleeping. Takagishi was a ranked chess master but he was also softhearted and wanted to encourage Tabori. So in virtually every game, after establishing a solid position, Takagishi would allow his edge to be eroded.

Nicole stuck her head in the door. “Come in, beautiful,” Janos said with a grin. “Watch me destroy our Asiatic friend in this pseudocerebral endeavor.” Nicole had started to explain that she was going to the exercise room when a strange creature, about the size of a big mouse, scurried through her legs and into Tabori’s room. She jumped back involuntarily as the toy, or whatever it was, headed for the two men.

“The ousel cock, so black of hue With orange-lawny bill, The throstle, with his note so true The wren with little quill .

The robot was singing as it skipped toward Janos. Nicole dropped down on her knees and examined the curious newcomer. It had the lower body of a human and the head of a donkey. It continued to sing. Tabori and Takagishi stopped their game and both laughed at the bewildered expression on Nicole’s face.

“Go on,” said Janos, “tell him that you love him. That’s what the fairy queen Titania would do!’

Nicole shrugged her shoulders. The little robot was temporarily quiet. As Janos urged again, Nicole mumbled “I love you” to the twenty-centimeter Athenian with a mule’s head.

The miniature Bottom turned to Nicole. “Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.”

Nicole was amazed. She reached out to pick up the tiny figure but stopped herself when she heard another voice.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be. Now where is that player I changed into an ass. Bottom, where art thou?”

A second small robot, this one dressed as an elf, leapt into the room. When he saw Nicole, he jumped up from the floor and hovered at eye level for several seconds, his tiny back wings beating at a frantic pace. “I be Puck, fair lass,” he said. “I’ve not seen thee before.” The robot dropped to the ground and was silent. Nicole was now dumbfounded.

“What in the world—” she started to say.

“Shh… ” Janos said, motioning for her to be quiet. He pointed at Puck. Bottom was sleeping in the corner near the edge of Janos” bed. Puck had now found Bottom and was spraying him with a fine light dust from a small pouch. As the three human beings watched, Bottom’s head began to change. Nicole could tell that the small plastic and metal pieces making up the asshead were simply rearranging themselves, but even she was impressed by the scope of the metamorphosis. Puck scampered off just as Bottom awakened with his new human head and started talking.

“I have had a most rare vision,” Bottom said. “I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to expound this dream.”

“Bravo. Bravo,” Janos shouted as the creature fell silent.

“Omedeto,” Takagishi added.

Nicole sat down in the single unoccupied chair and looked at her compan­ions. “And to think,” she said, shaking her head, “that I actually told the commander you two were psychologically sound.” She paused two or three seconds. “Would one of you please tell me what is going on here?”

“It’s Wakefield,” Janos said. “The man is absolutely brilliant and, unlike some geniuses, also very clever. In addition he’s a Shakespeare fanatic. He has a whole family of these little guys, although I think Puck is the only one that flies and Bottom’s the only one that changes shape.”

“Puck doesn’t fly,” Richard Wakefield said, coming into the room. “He is barely capable of hovering, and only for a short period.” Wakefield seemed embarrassed. “I didn’t know you were going to be here!” he said to Nicole. “Sometimes I entertain these two in the middle of their chess game.”

“One night,” Janos added as Nicole remained speechless, “I had just conceded defeat to Shig when we heard what we thought was a fracas in the hall. Moments later, Tybalt and Mercutio entered the room, swearing and slashing their swords at each other.”

“This is a hobby of yours?” Nicole asked after several seconds, indicating the robots with a wave of her hand.

“My lady,” Janos interrupted before Wakefield could answer, “never, never mistake a passion for a hobby. Our esteemed Japanese scientist does not play chess as a hobby, And this young man from The Bard’s home town of Stratford-on-Avon does not create these robots as a hobby.”

Nicole glanced at Richard. She was trying to imagine the amount of energy and work that was necessary for the creation of sophisticated robots like the ones she had just seen. Not to mention talent and, of course, passion. “Very impressive,” she said to Wakefield.

His smile acknowledged her compliment. Nicole excused herself and started to leave the room. Puck zoomed around her and stood in the door­way.

“If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear.”

Nicole was laughing as she stepped over the sprite and waved good night to her friends.

Nicole stayed in the exercise room longer than she expected, Ordinarily thirty minutes of hard bicycling or running in place was enough to release her tensions and relax her body for sleep. On this evening, however, with the goal of their mission now so close at hand, it was necessary for her to work out for a longer time to calm her hyperactive system. Part of her difficulty was her residual concern about the report she had filed recommending that Wilson and Brown be separated on all important mission activities.

Was I too hasty? she asked herself. Did I let General Borzov sway my opinion? Nicole was very proud of her professional reputation and often constructively second-guessed her major decisions. Toward the end of her exercise she convinced herself again that she had filed the proper report. Her tired body told her that it was ready to sleep.

When she returned to the living area in the spacecraft, it was dark every­where except in the hallway. As she started to turn left into the corridor that led to her room, she happened to glance beyond the lobby, in the direction of the small room where she kept all the medical supplies. That’s strange, she thought, straining her eyes in the dim light. It looks as if f left the supply room door open.

Nicole walked across the lobby. The supply door was indeed ajar. She had already activated the automatic lock and had started to close the door when she heard a noise inside the dark room. Nicole reached in and turned on the light. She surprised Francesca Sabatini, who was sitting in the comer at a computer terminal. There was information displayed on the monitor in front of her and Francesca was holding a thin bottle in one of her hands.

“Oh, hello Nicole,” Francesca said nonchalantly, as if it were normal for her to be sitting in the dark at the computer in the medical supply room.

Nicole walked slowly over to the computer. “What’s going on?” she said casually, her eyes scanning the information on the screen. From the coded headings, Nicole could tell that Francesca had requested the inventory sub­routine to list the birth control devices available onboard the spacecraft.

“What is this?” Nicole now asked, pointing at the monitor. There was a trace of irritation in her voice. All the cosmonauts knew that the medical supply room was off limits to everyone but the life science officer.

When Francesca still did not reply, Nicole became angry. “How did you get in here?” she demanded. The two women were only a few centimeters apart in the small alcove next to the desk. Nicole suddenly reached over and grabbed the bottle out of Francesca’s hand. While Nicole was reading the label, Francesca pushed her way through the narrow space and headed for the door. Nicole discovered that the liquid in her hand was for inducing abortions and quickly followed Francesca into the lobby.

“Are you going to explain this?” Nicole asked.

“Just give me the bottle, please,” Francesca said finally.

“I can’t do that,” answered Nicole, shaking her head. “This is a very strong medicine with serious side effects. What did you think you were going to do? Steal it and have it pass unnoticed? As soon as I completed an inventory comparison I would have known that it was gone.”

The two women stared at each other for several seconds. “Look, Nicole,” Francesca said at length” managing a smile, “this is really a very simple matter. I have discovered recently, much to my chagrin, that I am in the very early stages of pregnancy. I wish to abort the embryo. It’s a private matter and I did not want to involve you or any of the rest of the crew.”

“You can’t be pregnant,” Nicole replied quickly. “I would have seen it in your biometry data.”

“I’m only four or 6ve days. But I’m certain. I can already feel the changes in my body. And it’s the right time of the month.”

“You know the proper procedures for medical problems,” Nicole said after some hesitation. “This might have been very simple, to use your phrase, if you had first come to me. Most likely I would have respected your request for confidentiality. But now you’ve given me a dilemma—”

“Will you stop with the bureaucratic lecture,” Francesca interrupted sharply. “I’m really not interested in the goddamn rules. A man has made me pregnant and I intend to remove the fetus. Now, are you going to give me the bottle, or must I find another way?”

Nicole was outraged. “You are amazing,” she responded to Francesca. “Do you really expect me to hand you this bottle and walk away? Without asking any questions? You may be that cavalier about your life and health, but I certainly am not. I have to examine you first, check your medical history, determine the age of the embryo — only then would I even consider prescribing this medicine for you. Besides, I would feel compelled as well to point out to you that there are moral and psychological ramifications—”

Francesca laughed out loud. “Spare me your ramifications, Nicole. I don’t need your upper class Beauvois morality passing judgment on my life. Con­gratulations to you for raising a child as a single parent. My situation is much different. The father of this baby purposely stopped taking his pills, thinking my being pregnant would rekindle my love for him. He was wrong. This baby is unwanted. Now, should I be more graphic—”

“That’s enough,” Nicole interrupted, pursing her lips in disgust. “The details of your personal life are really none of my business. I must decide what is best for you and for the mission.” She paused. “In any event, I must insist on a proper examination, including the normal pelvic internal image set. If you refuse, then I won’t authorize the abortion. And of course I’d be forced to make a complete report—”

Francesca laughed. “You don’t need to threaten me. I am not that stupid. If it will make you feel better to stick your fancy equipment between my legs, then be my guest. But let’s do it. I want this baby out of me before the sortie.”

Nicole and Francesca hardly exchanged a dozen words during the next hour. They went together to the small infirmary, where Nicole used her sensitive instruments to verify the existence and size of the embryo. She also tested Francesca for her acceptability to receive the abortion liquid. The fetus had been growing inside Francesca for five days. Who might you be? Nicole thought as she looked on the monitor at the microscopic image of the tiny sac embedded in the walls of the uterus. Even in the microscope on the probe there was no way to tell that the collection of cells was a living thing. But you are already alive. And much of your future is already programmed by your genes.

Nicole had the printer list for Francesca what she could expect physically once she had ingested the medicine. The fetus would be swept away, re­jected by her body, within twenty-four hours. There could possibly be some slight cramping with the normal menstruation that would follow immedi­ately.

Francesca drank the liquid without hesitation. As her patient was dressing, Nicole thought back to the time when she had first suspected her own pregnancy. Never once did I consider… And not just because her father was a prince. No. It was a question of responsibility. And love.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Francesca said when she was ready to leave. She was standing by the infirmary door. “But don’t waste your time. You have enough problems of your own.”

Nicole did not reply. “So tomorrow the little bastard will be gone,” Fran­cesca said coldly, her eyes tired and angry. “It’s a damn good thing. The world doesn’t need another half-black baby.” Francesca didn’t wait for Nicole’s response.