‘Perhaps this place is also a tomb; it seems more and more -likely. Even now, there’s still not the slightest sound, or hint of any activity. Well, tomorrow we should know.’
Commander Norton switched the record to HOLD. What else, he wondered, should he say about the work before he began ‘the separate personal messages to his families? Normally, he never went into so much detail, but these circumstances were scarcely normal. This might be the last ‘gram he would ever send to those he loved; he owed it to them to explain what he was doing.
By the time they saw these images, and heard these words, he would be inside Rama – for better or for worse.
CHAPTER EIGHT – Through the Hub
Never before had Norton felt so strongly his kinship with that long dead Egyptologist. Not since Howard Carter had first peered into the tomb of Tutankhamen could any man have known a moment such as this – yet the comparison was almost laughably ludicrous.
Tutankhamen had been buried only yesterday – not even four thousand years ago; Rama might be older than mankind. That little tomb in the Valley of the Kings could have been lost in the corridors through which they had already passed, yet the space that lay beyond this final seal was at least a million times greater. And as for the treasure it might hold – that was beyond imagination.
No one had spoken over the radio circuits for at least five minutes; the well-trained team had not even reported verbally when all the checks were complete. Mercer had simply given him the OK sign and waved him towards the open tunnel. It was as if everyone realized that this was a moment for History, not to be spoiled by unnecessary small-talk. That suited Commander Nor-ton, for at the moment he too had nothing to say. He flicked on the beam of his flashlight, triggered his jets, and drifted slowly down the short corridor, trailing his safety line behind him. Only seconds later, he was inside.
Inside what? All before him was total darkness; not a glimmer of light was reflected back from the beam. He bad expected this, but he had not really believed it. All the calculations had shown that the far wail was tens of kilometres away; now his eyes told him that this was in-deed the truth. As he drifted slowly into that darkness, he felt a sudden need for the reassurance of his safety line, stronger than any he had ever experienced before, even on his very first EVA. And that was ridiculous; he had looked out across the light-years and the megaparsecs without vertigo; why should he be disturbed by a few cubic kilometres of emptiness?
He was still queasily brooding over this problem when the momentum damper at the end of the line braked him gently to a halt, with a barely perceptible rebound. He swept the vainly-probing beam of the flashlight down from the nothingness ahead, to examine the surface from which he had emerged.
He might have been hovering over the centre of a small crater, which was itself a dimple in the base of a much larger one. On either side rose a complex of terraces and ramps – all geometrically precise and obviously artificial – which extended for as far as the beam could reach. About a hundred metres away he could see the exit of the other two airlock systems, identical with this one.
And that was all. There was nothing particularly ex-otic or alien about the scene: in fact, it bore a considerable resemblance to an abandoned mine. Norton felt a vague sense of disappointment; after all this effort, there should have been some dramatic, even transcendental revelation. Then he reminded himself that he could see only a couple of hundred metres. The darkness beyond his field of view might yet contain more wonders than he cared to face.
He reported briefly to his anxiously-waiting companions, then added: ‘I’m sending out the flare – two minutes delay. Here goes.’ –
With all his strength, he threw the little cylinder straight upwards – or outwards – and started to count seconds as it dwindled along the beam. Before he had reached the quarter minute it was out of sight; when he had got to a hundred be shielded his eyes and aimed the camera. He had always been good at estimating time; ht was only two seconds off when the world exploded with light. And this time there was no cause for disappointment.
Even the millions of candlepower of the flare could not light up the whole of this enormous cavity, but now he could see enough to grasp its plan and appreciate its titanic scale. He was at one end of a hollow cylinder at least ten kilometres wide, and of indefinite length. From his viewpoint at the central axis he could see such a mass of detail on the curving walls surrounding him that his mind could not absorb more than a minute fraction of it.; he was looking at the landscape of an entire world by a single flash of lightning, and he tried by a deliberate effort of will to freeze the image in his mind.
All round him, the terraced slopes of the ‘crater’ rose up until they merged into the solid ‘wall that rimmed the sky. No – that impression was false; he must discard the instincts both of earth and of space, and reorientate himself to a new system of coordinates.
He was not at the lowest point of this strange, inside-out world, but the highest. From here, all directions were down, not up. If he moved away from this central axis, towards the curving wall which he must no longer think of as a wall, gravity would steadily increase. When he reached the inside surface of the cylinder, he could stand upright on it at any point, feet towards the stars and head towards the centre of the spinning drum. The concept was familiar enough; since the earliest dawn of spaceflight, centrifugal force had been used to simulate gravity. It was only the scale of this application which was so overwhelming, so shocking. The largest of all space-stations, Syncsat Five, was less than two hundred metres in diameter. It would take some little while to grow accustomed to one a hundred times that size.
The tube of landscape which enclosed him was mottled with areas of light and shade that could have been forests, fields, frozen lakes or towns; the distance, and the fading illumination of the flare, made identification impossible. Narrow lines that could be highways, canals, or well-trained rivers formed a faintly visible geometrical network; and far along the cylinder, at the very limit of vision, was a band of deeper darkness. It formed a complete circle, ringing the interior of this world, and Nor-ton suddenly recalled the myth of Oceanus, the sea which, the ancients believed, surrounded the Earth.
Here, perhaps, was an even stranger sea – not circular, but cylindrical. Before it became frozen in the inter- – stellar night, did it have waves and tides and currents – and fish?
The flare guttered and died; the moment of revelation was over. But Norton knew that as long as he lived these images would be burned on his mind. Whatever discoveries the future might bring, they could never erase this first impression. And History could never take from him the privilege of being the first of all mankind to gaze upon the works of an alien civilization.
CHAPTER NINE – Reconnaissance
‘We have now launched five long-delay flares down the axis of the cylinder, and so have a good photo-coverage of its full length. All the main features are mapped; though there are very few that we can identify, we’ve given them provisional names.
‘The interior cavity is fifty kilometres long and sixteen wide. The two ends are bowl-shaped, with rather complicated geometries. We’ve called ours the Northern Hemisphere and are establishing our first base here at the axis.
‘Radiating away from the central hub, 120 degrees apart, are three ladders that are almost a kilometre long. They all end at a terrace or ring-shaped plateau, that runs right round the bowl. And leading on from that, continuing the direction of the ladders, are three enormous stairways, which go all the way down to the plain. If you imagine an umbrella with only three ribs, equally spaced, you’ll have a good idea of this end of Rama.
‘Each of those ribs is a stairway, very steep near the axis and then slowly flattening out as it approaches the plain below. The stairways – we’ve called them Alpha, Beta, Gamma – aren’t continuous, but break at five more circular terraces. We estimate there must be between twenty and thirty thousand steps … presumably they were only used for emergencies, since it’s inconceivable that the Ramans – or whatever we’re going to call them – had no better way of reaching the axis of their world.