Rama 2 by Arthur C. Clarke and Gentry Lee

“She would still have his biometry records,” Francesca countered. “That’s where the prime evidence is. You would have to be an absolute genius to take the data from the operation itself and deduce anything.” She sat down and cradled Dr. Brown’s head against her chest. “Our big mistake was not when we failed to destroy the files. That would have aroused suspicion at the ISA. Our error was in underestimating Nicole des Jardins.”

Dr. Brown shook free from the embrace and stood up. “Dammit, Fran­cesca, it’s your fault. I never should have let you talk me into it. I knew at the time—”

“You knew at the time,” Francesca sharply interrupted, “that you, Dr. David Brown, were not going on the first sortie into Rama. You knew at the time that your future millions as the hero and perceived leader of this expedi­tion would be seriously compromised if you stayed onboard the Newton.” Brown stopped pacing and faced Francesca. “You knew at the time,” she continued more softly, “that I too had a vested interest in your going on the sortie. And that I could be counted on to provide you with support.”

She took his hands and pulled him back toward the cot. “Sit down, David,” Francesca said. “We’ve been over and over this. We did not kill General Borzov. We simply gave him a drug that created the symptoms of an appendicitis. We made the decision together, If Rama had not maneu­vered and the robot surgeon had not malfunctioned, then our plan would have worked perfectly. Borzov would be on the Newton today, recovering from his appendectomy, and you and I would be here leading the exploration of Rama.”

David Brown removed his hands from hers and started to wring them. “I feel so … so unclean,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I mean, whether we like it or not, we are partially responsible for Borzov’s death. Maybe even for Wilson’s as well. We could be indicted.” He was shaking his head again. There was a forlorn expression on his face. “I’m supposed to be a scientist,” he said. “What has happened to me? How did I get mixed up in these things?”

“Spare me your righteousness,” Francesca said harshly. “And don’t try to kid yourself. Aren’t you the man who stole the decade’s most important astronomical discovery from a woman graduate student? And then married her to keep her quiet forever? Your integrity was compromised a long long time ago.”

“That’s unfair,” Dr. Brown said petulantly. “I have mostly been honest. Except—”

“Except when it was important and worth a lot to you, What a pile of shit!” Francesca now stood up and paced around the hut herself. “You men are so damn hypocritical. You preserve your lofty self-images with amazing rationalizations. You never admit to yourselves who you really are and what you really want. Most women are more honest. We acknowledge our ambi­tions, our desires, even our basest wants. We admit our weaknesses. We face ourselves as we are, not as we would like to be.”

She returned to the cot and took David’s hands in hers again. “Don’t you see, darling?” she said earnestly. “You and I are soulmates. Our alliance is based on the strongest bond of all—mutual self-interest. We are both moti­vated by the same goals of power and fame.”

“That sounds awful,” he said.

“But it’s true. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. David, darling, can’t you see that your indecisiveness comes from your failure to acknowledge your true nature? Look at me. I know exactly what I want and am never confused about what to do. My behavior is automatic.”

The American physicist sat quietly beside Francesca for a long time. At length he turned and put his head on her shoulder. “First Borzov, now Wilson,” he said with a sigh. “I feel whipped. I wish none of this had happened.”

“You can’t give up, David,” she said, stroking his head- “We’ve come too far. And the big prize is now within our reach.”

Francesca reached across him and started to remove his shirt. “It’s been a long and trying day/’ she said soothingly. “Let’s try to forget it.” David Brown closed his eyes as she caressed his face and chest.

Francesca bent over and kissed him slowly on the lips. A few moments later she abruptly stopped. “You see,” she said, slowly removing her own clothes, “as long as we are in this together, we can derive strength from each other.” She stood up in front of David, forcing him to open his eyes.

“Hurry,” he said impatiently, “I was already—”

“Don’t worry so much about it,” Francesca replied, lazily pulling down her pants, “you’ve never had a problem with me.” Francesca smiled again as she pushed his knees apart and pressed his face against her breasts. “Remember,” she said, tugging easily at his shorts with her free hand, “I’m not Elaine.”

She studied David Brown as he slept beside her. The strain and anxiety that had dominated his face just minutes before had been replaced by the carefree smile of a boy. Men are so simple, Franceses was thinking. Orgasm is the perfect pain reliever. I wish it were that easy for us.

She slipped off the small cot and put her clothes on again. Francesca was very careful not to disturb her sleeping friend. But you and I still have a real problem, she said to herself as she finished dressing, which we need to address quickly. And it will be more difficult because we are dealing with a woman.

Francesca walked outside her hut, into the black of Rama. There were a few lights near the supplies at the other end of the camp, but otherwise the Beta campsite was dark. Everyone else was asleep. She switched on her small flashlight and walked away in a southerly direction, toward the Cylindrical Sea.

What is it that you want, Madame Nicole des jardins? she thought as she walked along. And where’s your weakness, your Achilles’ heel? For several minutes Francesca flipped through her entire memory bank on Nicole, at­tempting to find any personality or character flaw that could be exploited. Money’s not the answer. Sex. isn’t either, at least not with me. She laughed involuntarily. And certainly not with David. Your dislike for him is obvious.

What about blackmail!’ Francesca asked herself as she drew near to the banks of the Cylindrical Sea. She remembered Nicole’s strong reaction to her question about Genevieve’s father. Maybe, she thought, if I knew the answer to that question . . . But I don’t

Francesca was temporarily stumped. She could not figure out any way to compromise Nicole des Jardins. By this time the lights from the campsite behind her were barely visible. Francesca extinguished her flashlight and very cautiously sat down to dangle her feet over the edge of the cliff.

Having her legs suspended above the frozen ice of the Cylindrical Sea brought back a suite of poignant memories from her childhood in Orvieto. At the age of eleven, despite the barrage of health warnings that assaulted her from every direction, the precocious Francesca had decided to start smoking cigarettes. Every day after school she would wind her way down the hill to the plain below the town and sit on the bank of her favorite creek. There she would smoke in silence, an act of solitary rebellion. On those lazy afternoons she would inhabit a fantasy world of castles and princes, millions of kilometers away from her mother and stepfather.

The memory of those adolescent moments produced an irresistible desire to smoke in Francesca. She had been taking her nicotine pills throughout the mission, but they satisfied only the physical addiction. She laughed at herself and reached into one of the special pockets of her flight suit. Francesca had hidden away three cigarettes in a special container that would preserve them in fresh condition. She had told herself before leaving the Earth that the cigarettes were there “in case of an emergency” . . .

Smoking a cigarette inside an extraterrestrial space vehicle was even more outrageous than smoking at the age of eleven. Francesca wanted to hoot with delight when she threw back her head and expelled the smoke into the Raman air. The act made her feel free, liberated. Somehow the threat repre­sented by Nicole des Jardins did not seem so serious.

While she was smoking, Francesca recalled the acute loneliness of that young girl stealing down the slopes of old Orvieto. She also remembered the terrible secret that she had kept locked forever in her heart. Francesca had never told anyone about her stepfather, certainly not her mother, and she rarely thought about it anymore. But as she sat on the banks of the Cylindri­cal Sea, the anguish of her childhood appeared to her in sharp relief.

It began right after my eleventh birthday, she thought, plunging back into the details of her life eighteen years before. / had no idea what the bastard wanted at first She took another deep drag from her cigarette. Even after he started bringing me gifts for no reason.