Rendezvous with Rama

20. Book of Revelation

When one of his crew called him “Commander”, or, worse still “Mister Norton”, there was always something serious afoot. He could not recall that Boris Rodrigo had ever before addressed him in such a fashion, so this must be doubly serious. Even in normal times, Lieut-Commander Rodrigo was a very grave and sober person.

“What’s the problem, Boris?” he asked when the cabin door closed behind them.

“I’d like permission, Commander, to use Ship Priority for a direct message to Earth.”

This was unusual, though not unprecedented. Routine signals went to the nearest planetary relay—at the moment, they were working through Mercury—and even though the transit time was only a matter of minutes, it was often five or six hours before a message arrived at the desk of the person for whom it was intended. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, that was quite good enough; but in an emergency more direct, and much more expensive, channels could be employed, at the captain’s discretion.

“You know, of course, that you have to give me a good reason. All our available bandwidth is already clogged with data transmissions. Is this a personal emergency?”

“No, Commander. It is much more important than that. I want to send a message to the Mother Church.”

Uh-uh, said Norton to himself. How do I handle this?

“I’d be glad if you’ll explain.”

It was not mere curiosity that prompted Norton’s request—though that was certainly present. If he gave Boris the priority he asked, he would have to justify his action.

The calm, blue eyes stared into his. He had never known Boris to lose control, to be other than completely self-assured. All the Cosmo-Christers were like this; it was one of the benefits of their faith, and it helped to make them good spacemen. Sometimes, however, their unquestioning certainty was just a little annoying to those unfortunates who had not been vouchsafed the Revelation.

“It concerns the purpose of Rama, Commander. I believe I have discovered it.”

“Go on.”

“Look at the situation. Here is a completely empty, lifeless world—yet it is suitable for human beings. It has water, and an atmosphere we can breathe. It comes from the remote depths of space, aimed precisely at the solar system—something quite incredible, if it was a matter of pure chance. And it appears not only new; it looks as if it has never been used.”

We’ve all been through this dozens of times, Norton told himself. What could Boris add to it?

“Our faith has told us to expect such a visitation though we do not know exactly what form it will take. The Bible gives hints. If this is not the Second Coming, it may be the Second Judgement; the story of Noah describes the first. I believe that Rama is a cosmic Ark, sent here to save those who are worthy of salvation.”

There was silence for quite a while in the Captain’s cabin. It was not that Norton was at a loss for words; rather, he could think of too many questions, but he was not sure which ones it would be tactful to ask.

Finally he remarked, in as mild and noncommittal a voice as he could manage: “That’s a very interesting concept, and though I don’t go along with your faith, it’s a tantalizingly plausible one.” He was not being hypocritical or flattering; stripped of its religious overtones, Rodrigo’s theory was at beast as convincing as half a dozen others he had heard. Suppose some catastrophe was about to befall the human race, and a benevolent higher intelligence knew all about it? That would explain everything, very neatly. However, there were still a few problems…

“A couple of questions, Boris. Rama will be at perihelion in three weeks; then it will round the sun and leave the solar system just as fast as it came in. There’s not much time for a Day of Judgement or for shipping across those who are, er, selected—however that’s going to be done.”

“Very true. So when it reaches perihelion, Rama will have to decelerate and go into a parking orbit—probably one with aphelion at Earth’s orbit. There it might make another velocity change, and rendezvous with Earth.”

This was disturbingly persuasive. If Rama wished to remain in the solar system it was going the right way about it. The most efficient way to slow down was to get as close to the sun as possible, and carry out the braking manoeuvre there. If there was any truth in Rodrigo’s theory—or some variant of it—it would soon be put to the test.

“One other point, Boris. What’s controlling Rama now?”

“There is no doctrine to advise on that. It could be a pure robot. Or it could be—a spirit. That would explain why there are no signs of biological life forms.”

The Haunted Asteroid; why had that phrase popped up from the depths of memory? Then he recalled a silly story he had read years ago; he thought it best not to ask Boris if he had ever run into it. He doubted if the other’s tastes ran to that sort of reading.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Boris,” said Norton, abruptly making up his mind. He wanted to terminate this interview before it got too difficult, and thought he had found a good compromise.

“Can you sum up your ideas in less than—oh, a thousand bits?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, if you can make it sound like a straightforward scientific theory, I’ll send it, top priority, to the Rama Committee. Then a copy can go to your Church at the same time, and everyone will be happy.”

“Thank you, Commander, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’m not doing this to save my conscience. I’d just like to see what the Committee makes of it. Even if I don’t agree with you all along the line, you may have hit on something important.”

“Well, we’ll know at perihelion, won’t we?”

“Yes. We’ll know at perihelion.”

When Boris Rodrigo had left, Norton called the bridge and gave the necessary authorization. He thought he had solved the problem rather neatly; besides, just suppose that Boris was right.

He might have increased his chances of being among the saved.