And why? The increased humidity was no problem; the startling rise in oxygen was much more difficult to explain.
As he recommenced the descent, Mercer began a whole series of mental calculations. He ‘had not arrived at any satisfactory result by the time they entered the cloud layer.
It was a dramatic experience, for the transition was very abrupt. At one moment they were sliding downwards in clear air, gripping the smooth metal of the handrail so that they would not gain speed too swiftly in this quarter-of-a-gravity region. Then, suddenly, they shot in-to a blinding white fog, and visibility dropped to a few metres. Mercer put on the brakes so quickly that Calvert almost bumped into him – and Myron did bump into Calvert, nearly knocking him off the rail.
‘Take it easy,’ said Mercer. ‘Spread out so we can just see each other. And don’t let yourself build up speed, in case I have to stop suddenly.’
In eerie silence, they continued to glide, downwards through ‘the fog. Calvert could just see Mercer as a vague shadow ten metres ahead, and ‘when he looked back, ‘Myron was at the same distance behind him. In some ways, this was even spookier than descending in the complete darkness of the Raman night; then, at least, the searchlight beams had shown them what lay ahead. But’ this was like diving in poor visibility in the open sea.
It was impossible to tell how far they had travelled, and Calvert guessed they had almost reached the fourth level when Mercer suddenly braked again. When they had bunched together, he whispered: ‘Listen! Don’t you hear something?’
‘Yes,’ said Myron, after a minute. ‘It sounds bike the wind.’
Calvert was not so sure. He turned his head back and forth, trying to locate the direction of the very faint murmur that had come to them through the fog, then abandoned the attempt as hopeless.
They continued the slide, reached the fourth level, and started on towards the fifth. All the while the sound grew louder – and more hauntingly familiar. They were halfway down the fourth stairway before Myron called out: ‘Now do you recognize it?’
They would have identified it bong ago, but it was not a sound they would ever have associated with any world except Earth. Coming out of the fog, from a source whose distance could not be guessed, was the steady thunder of falling water.
A few minutes later, the cloud ceiling ended as abruptly as it had begun. They shot out into the blinding glare of the Raman day, made more brilliant by the bight reflected from the low-hanging clouds. There was the familiar curving plain – now made more acceptable to mind and senses, because its full circle could no longer be seen. It was not too difficult to pretend that they were booking along a broad valley, and that the upward sweep of the Sea was really an outward one.
They halted at the fifth and penultimate platform, to report that they were through the cloud cover and to make a careful survey. As far as they could tell, nothing had changed down there on the plain; but up here on the Northern dome, Rama had brought forth another won-der.
So there was the origin of the sound they had heard. Descending from some hidden source in ‘the clouds three or four kilometres away was a waterfall, and for long minutes they stared at it silently, almost unable to believe their eyes. Logic told them that on this spinning world no falling object could move in a straight line, but there was something horribly unnatural about a curving waterfall that curved sideways, to end many kilometres away from the point directly below its source…
‘If Galileo had been born in this world,’ said Mercer at length, ‘he’d have gone crazy working out the laws of dynamics.’
‘I thought I knew them,’ Calvert replied, ‘and I’m going crazy anyway. Doesn’t it upset you, Prof?’
‘Why should it?’ said Sergeant Myron. ‘It’s a perfectly straightforward demonstration of the Coriolis Effect. I wish I could show it to some of my students.’
Mercer was staring thoughtfully at the globe-circling band of the Cylindrical Sea.
‘Have you noticed what’s happened to the water?’ he said at last.
‘Why – it’s no longer so blue. I’d call it pea-green. What does that signify?’
‘Perhaps the same thing that it does on Earth. Laura called the Sea an organic soup waiting to be shaken into life. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happened.’
‘In a couple of days! It took millions of years on Earth.’
‘Three hundred and seventy-five million, according to the latest estimate. So that’s where the oxygen’s come from. Rama’s shot through the anerobic stage and has got to photosynthetic plants – in about forty-eight hours. I wonder what it will produce tomorrow?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – To Sail the Cylindrical Sea
When they reached the foot of the stairway, they had another shock. At first, it appeared that something had gone through the camp, overturning equipment, even collecting smaller objects and carrying them away. But after a brief examination, their alarm was replaced by a rather shame-faced annoyance.
The culprit was only the wind; though they had tied down all loose objects before they left, some ropes must have parted during exceptionally strong gusts. It was several days before they were able to retrieve all their scattered property.
Otherwise, there seemed no major changes. Even the silence of Rama had returned, now that the ephemeral storms of spring were over. And out there at the edge of the plain was a calm sea, waiting for the first ship in a million years. ‘Shouldn’t one christen a new boat with a bottle of cham-pagne?’
‘Even if we had any on board, I wouldn’t allow such a criminal waste. Anyway, it’s too bate. We’ve already launched the thing.’
‘At least it does float. You’ve won your bet, Jimmy. I’ll settle when we get back to Earth.’
‘It’s got to have a name. Any ideas?’
The subject of these unflattering comments was now bobbing beside the steps beading down into the Cylindrical Sea. It was a small raft, constructed from six empty storage drums held together by a light metal framework. Building it, assembling it at Camp Alpha and hauling it on demountabbe wheels across more than ten kilometres of plain had absorbed the crew’s entire energies for several days. It was a gamble that had better pay off.
The prize was worth the risk. The enigmatic towers of New York, gleaming there in the shadowless bight five kilometres away, had taunted them ever since they had entered Rama. No one doubted that the city – or whatever it might be – was the real heart of this world. If they did nothing else, they must reach New York.
‘We still don’t have a name. Skipper – what about it?’
Norton laughed, then became suddenly serious.
‘I’ve got one for you. Call it Resolution.’
‘Why?’
‘That was one of Cook’s ships. It’s a good name – may she live up to it.’
There was a thoughtful silence; then Sergeant Barnes, who had been principally responsible for the design, asked for three volunteers. Everyone present held up a hand.
‘Sorry – we only have four life-jackets. Boris, Jimmy, Pieter – you’ve all done some sailing. Let’s try her out.’
No one thought it in the least peculiar that an Executive Sergeant was now taking charge of the proceedings. Ruby Barnes had the only Master’s Certificate aboard, so that settled the matter. She had navigated racing tri-marans across the Pacific, and it did not seem likely that a few kilometres of dead-calm water could present much of a challenge to her skills.
Ever since she had set eyes upon the Sea, she had been determined to make this voyage. In all the thousands of years that man had had dealings with the waters of his own world, no sailor had ever faced anything remotely like this. In the last few days a silly little jingle had been running through her mind, and she could not get rid of it. ‘To sail the Cylindrical Sea…’ Well, that was precisely what she was going to do.
Her passengers took their places on the improvised bucket seats, and Ruby opened the throttle. The twenty-kilowatt motor started to whirr, the chain-drives of the reduction gear blurred, and Resolution surged away to the cheers of the spectators.
Ruby had hoped to get fifteen kph with this load, but would settle for anything over ten. A half-kilometre course had been measured along the cliff, and she made the round trip in five and a half minutes. Allowing for turning time, this worked out at twelve kph; she was quite happy with that.
With no power, but with three energetic paddlers helping her own more skilful blade, Ruby was able to get a quarter of this speed. So even if the motor broke down, they could get back to shore in a couple of hours. The heavy-duty power cells could provide enough energy to circumnavigate the world; she was carrying two spares, to be on the safe side. And now that the fog had completely burned away, even such a cautious mariner as Ruby was prepared to put to sea without a compass.