Rama II

30 POSTMORTEM II

Nicole sat quietly in her hut at the Beta campsite. She could not erase from her mind the horrible image of Reggie Wilson’s face, contorted in terror as he was being hacked to pieces. She tried to force herself to think of something else. So what now, she wondered. What will happen to the mission now?

Outside it was dark again in Rama. The lights had vanished abruptly three hours before, after a period of illumination thirty-four seconds less than during the previous Raman day. The disappearance of the lights should have prompted much discussion and speculation. But it didn’t. None of the cos­monauts wanted to talk about anything. The awful memory of Wilson’s death weighed too heavily on everyone.

The normal crew meeting after dinner had been postponed until morning because David Brown and Admiral Heilmann were in an extended confer­ence with ISA officials back on Earth. Nicole had not participated in any of the conversations, but it was not difficult for her to imagine their content. She realized that there was a very real possibility the mission would now be aborted. The hue and cry from the public might demand it. After all, they had witnessed one of the most gruesome scenes…

Nicole thought of Genevieve sitting in front of the television at Beauvois, watching while Cosmonaut Wilson was being methodically subdivided by the biots. She shuddered. Then she chastised herself for being self-centered. The real honor, she said to herself, must have been in Los Angeles.

She had met the Wilson family twice during the early parties right after the crew selections were announced. Nicole remembered the boy particu­larly. Randy was his name. He was seven or eight, wide-eyed and beautiful. He loved sports. He had brought Nicole one of his prized possessions, a program from the 2184 Olympics in nearly perfect condition, and had asked her to sign the page featuring the women’s triple jump. She had tousled his hair as he had thanked her with a huge smile.

The image of Randy Wilson watching his father die on television was too much for her. Several tears wedged themselves into the corners of her eyes. What a nightmare this year has been for you, little boy, she thought. The roller coaster of life. First the joy of having your father selected as a cosmo­naut. Then all the Francesca nonsense and the divorce. Now this terrible tragedy.

Nicole was becoming depressed and her mind was still too active for sleep. She decided that she wanted some company. She walked over to the next hut and knocked softly on the door.

“Is someone out there?” she heard from inside.

“Hot, Takagishi-san,” she replied. “It’s Nicole. May I come in?”

He walked over to the door and opened it. “This is an unexpected sur­prise,” he said. “Is the visit professional?”

“No,” she answered as she entered. “Strictly informal. I was not ready to sleep. I thought—”

“You are welcome to visit me any time,” he said with a friendly smile. “You do not need a reason.” He looked at her for several seconds. “I am deeply disturbed by what happened this afternoon. I feel responsible. I don’t think I did enough to stop—”

“Come on, Shigeru,” Nicole replied. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not to blame. At least you spoke up. I’m the doctor and I didn’t even say any­thing.”

Her eyes wandered aimlessly around Takagishi’s hut. Beside his cot, sitting on a small piece of cloth on the floor, Nicole saw a curious white figurine with black markings. She walked over to it and bent down on her knees, “What’s this?” she asked.

Dr. Takagishi was slightly embarrassed. He came over beside Nicole and picked up the tiny fat oriental man. He held it between his index finger and his thumb. “It’s a netsuke heirloom from my wife’s family,” he said. “It’s made from ivory.”

He handed the little man to Nicole. “He is the king of the gods. His companion, a similarly plump queen, rests on the table beside my wife’s bed in Kyoto. Back before elephants became endangered, many people collected figures like this. My wife’s family has a superb collection.”

Nicole studied the little man in her hand. He had a benign, serene smile on his face. She imagined the beautiful Machiko Takagishi back in Japan and for a few seconds she envied their marital bond. It would make events like Wilson’s death much easier to deal with, she thought.

“Would you like to sit down?” Dr. Takagishi was saying. Nicole positioned herself on a box next to the cot and they talked for twenty minutes. Mostly they shared memories of their families. They referred obliquely to the after­noon disaster several times, but they avoided detailed discussion of Rama and the Newton mission altogether. What they both needed were the com­forting images of their daily lives on Earth.

“And now,” Takagishi said, finishing his cup of tea and putting it on the end table beside Nicole’s, “I have a strange request for Dr. des Jardins. Would you please go over to your hut and bring back your biometry equip­ment? I would like to be scanned.”

Nicole started to laugh but noticed the seriousness in her colleague’s face. When she returned with her scanner several minutes later, Dr. Takagishi told her the reason for his request. “This afternoon,” he said, “I felt two very sharp pains in my chest. It was during the excitement, after Wilson crashed into the biots, and I realized…” He did not complete his sentence. Ni­cole nodded and activated the scanning instrument.

Neither of them said anything for the next three minutes. Nicole checked all the warning data, displayed graphs and charts of his cardiac performance, and shook her head regularly. When she was finished she faced her friend with a grim smile. “You’ve had a slight heart attack,” she said to Dr. Takagi­shi. “Maybe two very close together. And your heart has been irregular ever since.” She could tell that he had expected the news. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have some medicine with me that I can give you, but it’s only a stopgap measure. We must go back to the Newton immediately so we can treat this problem properly.”

“Well.” He smiled wanly. “If our predictions are correct, then it will be light again in Rama in about twelve hours. I assume we’ll go then.”

“Probably,” she answered. “I’ll talk to Brown and Heilmann about it right away. My guess is that you and I will leave first thing in the morning.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Thank you, Nicole,” he said.

She turned away. For the second time in an hour there were tears in the corners of her eyes. Nicole left Takagishi’s hut and headed for the edge of camp to talk to David Brown.

“Ah, it is you.” She heard Richard Wakefield’s voice in the dark. “I thought for certain you were asleep. I have some news for you.”

“Hello, Richard,” Nicole said as the figure holding the flashlight emerged from the darkness.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Too many grisly pictures in my head. So I decided to work on your problem.” He smiled. “It was even easier than I thought. Would you like to come to my hut for an explanation?”

Nicole was confused. She had been preoccupied with what she was going to say to Brown and Heilmann about Takagishi. “You do remember, don’t you?” Richard inquired. “The problem with the RoSur software and the manual commands.”

“You’ve been working on that?” she asked. “Down here?”

“Certainly. All I had to do was have O’Toole transmit the data that I needed. Come on, let me show you.”

Nicole decided seeing Dr. Brown could wait for a few more minutes. She walked beside Richard. He knocked on another hut as they went by. “Hey Tabori, guess what?” he shouted. “I found our lovely lady doctor wandering around in the dark. Do you want to join us?”

“I explained some of it to him first,” Richard said to Nicole. “Your hut was dark and I figured you were asleep.”

Janos stumbled out of his door less than a minute later and acknowledged Nicole with a smile. “All right, Wakefield,” he said, “but let’s not prolong it. I was finally drifting off.”

Back in Wakefield’s hut, the British engineer thoroughly enjoyed recount­ing what had happened to the robot surgeon when the Newton had experi­enced the unexpected torque. “You were right, Nicole,” he said, “that there were manual commands input to RoSur. And these commands did indeed shut down the normal fault protection algorithms. But none of them was input until during the Raman maneuver.”

Wakefield smiled and continued, watching Nicole carefully to ensure that she was following his explanation. “Apparently, when Janos fell and his fingers hit the control box, he generated three commands. At least that’s what RoSur thought; it was told that there were three manual commands in it’s queue. Of course they were all garbage. But RoSur had no way of know­ing this.

“Maybe now you can appreciate some of the nightmares that plague sys­tem software designers. There’s just no way anybody could ever anticipate all possible contingencies. The designers had protected against one inadvertent garbage command — someone brushing the control box during an operation, for example — but not several bad commands. Manual commands were essen­tially considered to be emergencies by the overall system design. Hence they had the highest priority in the interrupt structure of the RoSur software and were always processed immediately, The design acknowledged, however, that there could be a single “bad” manual command and had the capability of rejecting it and moving on to the next priority interrupts, which included fault protection.”

“Sorry,” said Nicole. “You’ve lost me. How could a design be structured to disregard a single bad command, but not several? I thought this simple processor operated in series.”

Richard turned to his portable computer and, working from notes, called up on the monitor a mass of numbers arrayed in rows and columns. “Here are the operations, instruction by instruction, that the RoSur software imple­mented after there were manual commands in its queue.”

“They repeat,” Janos observed, “every seven operations.”

“Exactly,” Richard replied. “RoSur tried three times to process the first manual command, was unsuccessful in each attempt, and then went on to the next command. The software operated exactly as it was designed—”

“But why,” Tabori asked, “did it go back to the first command after­ward?”

“Because the software designers never considered the possibility of multi­ple bad manual commands. Or at least never designed for the condition. The internal question the software asks after finishing with the processing of each command is whether or not there is another manual command in the buffer. If there is not, then the software rejects the first command and is free to handle another interrupt. If there is, however, the software is told to store the rejected command and process the next command. Now, if two com­mands in a row are rejected, the software assumes that the command proces­sor hardware is broken, swaps to the redundant hardware set, and tries again to process the same manual commands. You can understand the reasoning. Suppose one…”

Nicole listened for several seconds as Richard and Janos talked about redundant subsystems, buffered commands, and queue structures. She had very little training in either fault protection or redundancy management and could not follow the exchange. “Just a moment,” she interjected at length, “you’ve lost me again. Remember, I’m not an engineer. Can’t somebody give me a summary in normal English?”

Wakefield was apologetic. “Sorry, Nicole,” he said. “You know what an interrupt-driven software system is?” She nodded. “And you are familiar with the way priorities operate in such a system? Good. Then the explana­tion is simple. The fault protection interrupts based on the accelerometer and imaging data were lower priority than the manual commands inadver­tently entered by Janos when he was falling. The system became locked in a software loop trying to process the bad commands and never had a chance to heed the fault signals from the sensor subsystems. That’s why the scalpel kept cutting.”

For some reason Nicole was disappointed. The explanation was clear enough, and she had certainly not wanted the analysis to implicate Janos or any other member of the crew. But it was too simple. It had not been worth all her time and energy.

Nicole sat down on the cot in Richard Wakefield’s hut. “So much for my mystery,” she said.

Janos sat beside her. “Cheer up, Nicole,” he said. “This is good news. At least now we know for certain that we didn’t foul up the initialization pro­cess. There’s a logical explanation for what happened.”

“Great,” she replied sarcastically. “But General Borzov is still dead. And now Reggie Wilson is too.” Nicole thought about the American journalist’s erratic behavior over the last several days and remembered her earlier conver­sation with Francesca. “Say,” she said spontaneously, “did either of you ever hear General Borzov complain of headaches or any other discomfort? Espe­cially on the day of the banquet?”

Wakefield shook his head. “No,” said Janos. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I asked the portable diagnostician, based on Borzov’s biometry data, to give me the possible causes of his symptoms, given that the general was not having an appendicitis. The most likely cause was listed as drug reaction. Sixty-two percent probable. I thought that maybe he might have had an adverse reaction to some medication.”

“Really?” Janos said, his curiosity piqued. “Why have you never said anything about this to me before?”

“I was going to… several times,” Nicole answered. “But I didn’t think you were interested. Remember when I stopped by your room on the New­ton the day after General Borzov died? It was right after the crew meeting. From the way you responded I concluded that you didn’t want to rehash—”

“Goodness.” Janos shook his head. “How we humans fail to communi­cate. It was just a headache. Nothing more or less. I certainly didn’t mean to give you the impression that I was unwilling to talk about Valeriy’s death.”

“Speaking of communicating,” Nicole said as she rose wearily from the cot, “I must go to see Dr. Brown and Admiral Heilmann before I go to bed.” She looked at Wakefield. “Thanks a lot for your help, Richard. I wish I could say that I felt better now.”

Nicole walked over beside Janos. “Tm sorry, friend,” she said. “I should have shared my whole investigation with you. It probably would have been over much faster—”

^ “It’s fine,” Janos replied. “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled. “Come on, I’ll walk with you as far as my suite.”

Nicole could hear the loud conversation inside before she knocked on the door to the hut. David Brown, Otto Heilmann, and Francesca Sabatini were arguing about how to reply to the latest directions from Earth.

“They’re overreacting,” Francesca was saying. “And they’ll realize it as soon as they have some time to reflect. This is not the first mission to suffer a loss of human life. They didn’t cancel the American space shuttle when that schoolteacher and her crew were killed.”

“But they have ordered us to return to the Newton as soon as possible!” Admiral Heilmann protested.

“So tomorrow we’ll talk to them again and explain why we want to survey New York first. Takagishi says the sea will start to melt in another day or two and we’ll have to leave anyway. Besides, Wakefield and Takagishi and I did hear something that night, even if David doesn’t believe us.”

“I don’t know, Francesca,” Dr. Brown was starting to respond when he finally heard Nicole’s knock. “Who’s there?” he asked crossly.

“Cosmonaut des Jardins, I have some important medical information—”

“Look, des Jardins,” Brown interrupted quickly, “we’re very busy. Can’t it wait until morning?”

All right, Nicole said to herself. I can wait until morning. She wasn’t anxious to answer Dr. Brown’s questions about Takagishi’s heart condition anyway. “Roger,” she said out loud, laughing at herself for using the expres­sion.

Within seconds Nicole could hear the discussion start again behind her. She walked slowly back to her hut. Tomorrow has to be a better day, she said as she crawled onto her cot.