Rama 2 by Arthur C. Clarke and Gentry Lee

Reggie Wilson glanced around the room for support. “You’re logic-chop­ping again, Brown,” he said, his frustration obvious. “What you say always sounds logical on the surface. But I’m not the only member of this crew that found the coincidence unnerving. Look, here’s Irina Turgenyev. She’s the one who suggested the connection to me in the first place.”

Dr. Brown acknowledged the arrival of the two women. There was an authority in the way he was asking the questions that suggested he was in control of the gathering. “Is that right, Irina?” David Brown asked. “Do you feel, like Wilson, that Rama was trying to send us some specific message by performing its maneuver during the general’s operation?”

Irina and Hiro Yamanaka were the two cosmonauts who spoke the least during crew meetings. With all eyes turned toward her, Irina mumbled “No” very meekly.

“But when we were discussing it last night—” Wilson insisted to the Soviet pilot.

“That’s enough on that subject,” David Brown interrupted imperiously. “I think we have a consensus, shared by our mission control officers on Earth, that the Raman maneuver was coincidence and not conspiracy.” He looked at the fuming Reggie Wilson. “Now we have other more important issues to discuss. I would like to ask Admiral Heilmann to tell us what he has learned about the leadership problem.”

Otto Heilmann stood up on cue and read from his notes. “According to the Newton procedures, in the event of the death or the incapacity of the commanding officer, the crew is expected to complete all sequences then under way in accordance with previous directions. However, once those in-process activities are finished, the cosmonauts are supposed to wait for the Earth to name a new commanding officer.”

David Brown jumped back into the conversation. “Admiral Heilmann and I started discussing our situation about an hour ago and we quickly realized that we had valid reasons for being concerned. The ISA is wrapped up in their investigation of General Borzov’s death. They have not even begun to think about his replacement. Once they do start, it may take them weeks to decide. Remember, this is the same bureaucracy that was never able to select a deputy for Borzov, so they eventually decided that he didn’t need one.” He paused several seconds to allow the rest of the crew members to consider what he was saying.

“Otto suggested that maybe we should not wait for the Earth to decide,” Dr. Brown continued. “It was his idea that we should develop our own management structure, one that is acceptable to all of us here, and then send it to the ISA as a recommendation. Admiral Heilmann thinks they will accept it because it will avoid what could be a protracted debate.”

“Admiral Heilmann and Dr. Brown came to see me with this idea,” Janos Tabori now chimed in, “and emphasized how important it is for us to get started with our mission inside Rama. They even laid out a strawman organi­zation that made sense to me. Since none of us has the broad experience of General Borzov, they suggested that maybe we should now have two leaders, possibly Admiral Heilmann and Dr. Brown themselves. Otto would cover the military and spacecraft engineering issues; Dr. Brown would lead the Rama exploration effort.”

“And what happens when they disagree or their areas of responsibility overlap?” asked Richard Wakefield.

“In that case,” Admiral Heilmann responded, “we would submit the item in question to a vote of all the cosmonauts.”

“Isn’t this cute?” said Reggie Wilson. He was still angry. He had been taking notes on his keyboard but now he stood up to address the rest of the cosmonauts. “Brown and Heilmann just happened to be worrying about this critical problem and they just happened to have developed a new leadership structure in which all the power and responsibility are divided between them. Am I the only one here who smells something fishy?”

“Now come on, Reggie,” Francesca Sabatini said forcefully. She dropped her video camera to her side. “There is sound logic in the strawman pro­posal. Dr. Brown is our senior scientist. Admiral Heilmann has been a close colleague of Valeriy Borzov’s for many years. None of us has a solid overall command of all aspects of the mission. To split the duties would be—”

It was difficult for Reggie Wilson to argue with Francesca. Nevertheless, he did interrupt her before she was finished. “I disagree with this plan,” he said in a subdued tone. “I think we should have a single leader. And based on what I have observed during my time with this crew, there’s only one cosmo­naut that we could all easily follow. That’s General O’Toole.” He waved in the direction of his fellow American. “If this is a democracy, I nominate him as our new commanding officer.”

There was a general uproar as soon as Reggie sat down. David Brown tried to restore order. “Please, please,” he shouted, “let’s work one issue at a time. Do we want to decide our own leadership and then hand it to the ISA as a fait accompli? Once we handle that question, then we can settle who those leaders should be.”

“I had not thought about any of this before the meeting,” Richard Wake-field said. “But I agree with the idea of cutting the Earth out of the loop. They have not lived with us on this mission. More importantly, they are not onboard a spaceship affixed to an alien creation somewhere just inside the orbit of Venus. We are the ones who will suffer if a bad decision is made; we should decide our own organization.”

It was clear that everyone, with the possible exception of Wilson, pre­ferred the idea of defining the leadership structure and then presenting it to the ISA. “All right,” Otto Heilmann said a few minutes later, “we must now choose our leaders. One strawman proposal has been advanced, suggesting a leadership split between myself and Dr. Brown. Reggie Wilson has nomi­nated General Michael O’Toole as the new commanding officer. Are there any other suggestions or discussion?”

The room was silent for about ten seconds. “Excuse me,” General O’Toole then said, “but I would like to make a few observations.” Everyone listened to the American general. Wilson was correct. Despite O’Toole’s known preoccupation with religion (which he didn’t force anyone else to share), he had the respect of the entire cosmonaut crew. “I think we must be careful at this point not to lose the team spirit that we have worked so hard to develop during the past year. A contested election at this point could be divisive. Besides, it’s not all that important or necessary. Regardless of who becomes our nominal leader, or leaders, each of us is trained to perform a specific set of functions. We will do them under any circumstances.”

Heads were nodding in agreement around the lobby. “For myself,” Gen­eral O’Toole continued, “I must admit that I know little or nothing about the inside-Rama aspects of this mission. I have never trained to do anything except manage the two Newton spacecraft, assess any potential military threat, and act as a communications nexus onboard. I’m not qualified to be the commanding officer.” Reggie Wilson started to interrupt but O’Toole continued without a pause. “I’d like to recommend that we adopt the plan offered by Hetlmann and Brown and move on with our primary task— namely the exploration of this alien leviathan that has come to us from the stars.”

At the conclusion of the meeting the two new leaders informed the rest of the cosmonauts that a rough draft of the first sortie scenario would be ready for review the following morning. Nicole headed for her room. On the way she stopped and knocked on the door of Janos Tabori. At first there was no response. When she knocked a second time, she heard Janos yell, “Who is it?”

“It’s me—Nicole,” she answered.

“Come in,” he said.

He was lying on his back on the small bed with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Nicole asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Janos answered. “I just have a headache.”

“Did you take something?” Nicole inquired.

“No. It’s not that serious.” He still didn’t smile. “What can I do for you?” he asked in an almost unfriendly tone.

Nicole was puzzled. She approached her subject cautiously. “Well, I was rereading your report on Valeriy’s death—”

“Why were you doing that?” Janos interrupted brusquely.

“To see if there was anything we might have done differently,” Nicole responded. It was obvious to her that Janos did not want to discuss the subject. After waiting a few seconds, Nicole spoke again. “I’m sorry, Janos. I’m imposing on you. I’ll come back another time.”

“No. No,” he said. “Let’s get this over with now.”

That’s a curious way of putting it, Nicole was thinking as she formulated her question. “Janos,” she said, “nowhere in your report did you mention reaching for RoSur’s control box right before the maneuver. And I could have sworn I saw your fingers on the keyboard panel as I was being swept over against the wall.”