This time, he was about to go over the top, in one of the early twentieth-century wars; Mercer was the sergeant, leading a three-man patrol on a night raid into a no man's land. It was not too difficult to imagine that they were at the bottom of an immense crater, though one that had somehow become neatly tailored into a series of ascending terraces. The crater was flooded with light from three widely spaced plasma arcs, which gave an almost shadowless illumination over the whole interior. But beyond that, over the rim of the most distant terrace, were darkness and mystery.
In his mind's eye, Calvert knew perfectly well what lay there. First there was the flat circular plain over a kilometer across. Trisecting it into three equal parts, and looking much like broad railroad tracks, were three wide ladders, their rungs recessed into the surface so that they would provide no obstruction to anything sliding over them. Since the arrangement was completely symmetrical, there was no reason to choose one ladder rather than another; that nearest to air lock Alpha had been selected purely as a matter of convenience.
Though the rungs of the ladders were uncomfortably far apart, that presented no problem. Even at the rim of the hub, half a kilometer from the axis, gravity was sill barely one-thirtieth of Earth's. Although they were carrying almost a hundred kilos of equipment and life-support gear, they would be able to move easily hand over hand.
Commander Norton and the back-up team accompanied them along the guide ropes that had been stretched from air lock Alpha to the rim of the crater. Then, beyond the range of the floodlights, the darkness of Rama lay before them. All that could be seen in the dancing beams of the helmet lights was the first few hundred meters of the ladder, dwindling away across a flat and otherwise featureless plain.
And now, Mercer told himself, I have to make my first decision. Am I going up that ladder, or down it?
The question was not a trivial one. They were still essentially in zero gravity, and the brain could select any reference system it pleased. By a simple effort of will, Mercer could convince himself that he was looking out across a horizontal plain or up the face of a vertical wall or over the edge of sheer cliff. Not a few astronauts had experienced grave psychological problems by choosing the wrong coordinates when they started a complicated job.
Mercer was determined to go head-first, for any other mode of locomotion would be awkward. Moreover, that way he could more easily see what was in front of him. For the first few hundred meters, therefore, he would imagine he was climbing upward; only when the increasing pull of gravity made it impossible to maintain the illusion would be switch his mental directions one hundred and eighty degrees.
He grasped the first rung and gently propelled himself along the ladder. Movement was as easy as swimming along the sea bed -- easier, in fact, for there was no backward drag of water. It was so easy that there was a temptation to go too fast, but Mercer was much too experienced to hurry in a situation as novel as this.
In his earphones he could hear the regular breathing of his two companions. He needed no other proof that they were in good shape, and wasted no time in conversation. Though he was tempted to look back, he decided not to risk it until they had reached the platform at the end of the ladder.
The rungs were spaced a uniform half-meter apart, and for the first portion of the climb Mercer missed the alternate ones. But he counted them carefully, and at around two hundred noticed the first distinct sensations of weight. The spin of Rama was starting to make itself felt.
At rung four hundred, he estimated that his apparent weight was about five kilos, or about eleven pounds. This was no problem, but it was getting hard to pretend that he was climbing when he was being firmly dragged upward.
The five hundredth rung seemed a good place to pause. He could feel the muscles in his arms responding to the unaccustomed exercise, even though Rama was now doing all the work and he merely had to guide himself.
``Everything OK, Skipper,'' he reported. ``We're just passing the halfway mark. Joe, Will, any problems?''
``Same here,'' added Myron, ``But watch out for the Coriolis force. It's starting to build up.''
So Mercer had already noticed. When he let go of the rungs, he had a distinct tendency to drift off to the right. He knew perfectly well that this was merely the effect of Rama's spin, but it seemed as if some mysterious force was gently pushing him away from the ladder.
Perhaps it was time to start going feet-first, now that ``down'' was beginning to have a physical meaning. He would run the risk of a momentary disorientation.
``Watch out -- I'm going to swing around.''
Holding firmly to the rung, he used his arms to twist himself around a hundred and eighty degrees, and found himself momentarily blinded by the lights of his companions. Far above them -- and now it really was above -- he could see a fainter glow along the rim of the sheer cliff. Silhouetted against it were the figures of Norton and the back-up team, watching him intently. They seemed very small and far away, and he gave them a reassuring wave.
He released his grip and let Rama's still-feeble pseudo-gravity take over. The drop from one rung to the next required more than two seconds; on Earth, in the same time, a man would have fallen thirty meters.
The rate of fall was so painfully slow that he hurried things up a trifle by pushing with his hands, gliding over spans of a dozen rungs at a time, checking himself with his feet whenever he felt he was traveling too fast.
At rung seven hundred, he came to another halt and swung the beam of his helmet lamp downward. As he had calculated, the beginning of the stairway was only fifty meters below.
A few minutes later, they were on the first step. It was a strange experience, after months in space, to stand upright on a solid surface, and to feel it pressing against one's feet. Their weight was still less than ten kilograms, but that was enough to give a feeling of stability. When he closed his eyes, Mercer could believe that he once more had a real world beneath him.
The ledge or platform from which the stairway descended was about ten meters wide, and curved upward on each side until it disappeared into the darkness. Mercer knew that it formed a complete circle and that if he walked along it for five kilometers, he would come right back to his starting point, having circumambulated Rama.
At the fractional gravity that existed here, however, real walking was impossible; one could only bound along in giant strides. And therein lay danger. The stairway that swooped down into the darkness, far below the range of their lights, would be deceptively easy to descent. But it would be essential to hold on to the tall handrail that flanked it. Too bold a step might send an incautious traveler arching far out into space. He would hit the surface again perhaps a hundred meters lower down. The impact would be harmless, but its consequences might now be, for the spin of Rama would have moved the stairway off to the left. And so a falling body would fit against the smooth curve that swept in an unbroken arc to the plain almost seven kilometers below.
That, Mercer told himself, would be a hell of a toboggan ride. The terminal speed, even in this gravity, could be several hundred kilometers an hour. Perhaps it would be possible to apply enough friction to check such a headlong descent; if so, this might even be the most convenient way to reach the inner surface of Rama. But some very cautious experimenting would be necessary first.
``Skipper,'' reported Mercer. ``there were no problems getting down the ladder. If you agree, I'd like to continue toward the next platform. I want to time our rate of descent on the stairway.''
Norton replied without hesitation. ``Go ahead,'' He did not need to add, ``Proceed with caution.''
It did not take Mercer long to make a fundamental discovery. It was impossible, at least at this one-twentieth-of-a-gravity level, to walk down the stairway in the normal manner. Any attempt to do so resulted in a slow-motion dreamlike movement that was intolerably tedious. The only practical way was to ignore the steps and use the handrail to pull oneself downward.
Calvert had come to the same conclusion. ``This stairway was built to walk up, not down!'' he exclaimed. ``You can use the steps when you're moving against gravity, but they're just a nuisance in this direction. It may not be dignified, but I think the best way down is to slide along the handrail.''
``That's ridiculous,'' protested Myron. ``I can't believe the Ramans did it that way.''
``I doubt if they ever used this stairway. It's obviously only for emergencies. They must have had some mechanical transport system to get up here. A funicular, perhaps. That would explain those long slots running down from the hub.''
``I always assumed they were drains -- but I suppose they could be both. I wonder if it ever rained here?''
``Probably,'' said Mercer. ``But I think Joe is right, and to hell with dignity. Here we go.''
The handrail -- presumably it was designed for something like hands -- was a smooth flat metal bar supported by widely spaced pillars a meter high. Mercer straddled it, carefully gauged the braking power he could exert with his hands, and let himself slide.
Sedately, slowly picking up speed, he descended into the darkness, moving in the pool of light from his helmet lamp. He had gone about fifty meters when he called the others to join him.
None of them would admit it, but they all felt like boys again, sliding down the banisters. In less than two minutes, they had made a kilometer descent in safety and comfort. Whenever they felt they were going too fast, a tightened grip on the handrail provided all the braking that was necessary.
``I hope you enjoyed yourselves,'' Norton called when they stepped off at the second platform. ``Climbing back won't be quite so easy.''
``That's what I want to check,'' replied Mercer, who was walking experimentally back and forth, getting the feel of the increased gravity. ``It's already a tenth of a gee here. You really notice the difference.''
He walked -- or, more accurately, glided -- to the edge of the platform and shone his helmet light down the next section of the stairway. As far as his beam could reach, it appeared identical with the one above -- careful examination of photos had shown that the height of the steps steadily decreased with the rising gravity. The stair had apparently been designed so that the effort required to climb it was more or less constant at every point in its long curving sweep.
Mercer glanced up toward the hub of Rama, now almost two kilometers above him. The little glow of light, and the tiny figures silhouetted against it, seemed horribly far away. For the first time he was glad that he could not see the whole length of this enormous stairway. Despite his steady nerves and lack of imagination, he was not sure how he would react if he could see himself like an insect crawling up the face of a vertical saucer more than sixteen kilometers high -- and with the upper half hanging above him. Until this moment, he had regarded the darkness as a nuisance; now he almost welcomed it.
``There's no chance of temperature,'' he reported to Norton. ``Still just below freezing. But the air pressure is up, as we expected -- around three hundred millibars. Even with this low oxygen content, it's almost breathable; farther down, there will be no problems at all. That will simplify exploration enormously. What a find -- the first world on which we can walk without breathing gear! In fact, I'm going to take a sniff.''
Up on the hub, Norton stirred a little uneasily. But Mercer, of all men, knew exactly what he was doing. He would already have made enough tests to satisfy himself.
Mercer equalized pressure, unlatched the securing clip of his helmet, and opened it a crack. He took a cautious breath; then a deeper one.
The air of Rama was dead and musty, as if from a tomb so ancient that the last trace of physical corruption had disappeared ages ago. Even Mercer's ultrasensitive nose, trained through years of testing life-support systems to and beyond the point of disaster, could detect no recognizable odors. There was a faint metallic tang, and he suddenly recalled that the first men on the Moon had reported a hint of burned gunpowder when they repressurized the lunar module. Mercer imagined that the moon-dust-contaminated cabin of Eagle must have smelled rather like Rama.
He sealed the helmet again and emptied his lungs of the alien air. He had extracted no sustenance from it; even a mountaineer acclimatized to the summit of Evert would die quickly here. But a few kilometers farther down, it would be a different matter.
What else was there to do here? He could think of nothing, except the enjoyment of the gentle, unaccustomed gravity. But there was no point in growing used to that, since they would be returning immediately to the weightlessness of the hub.
``We're coming back, Skipper,'' he reported. ``There's not reason to go farther -- until we're ready to go all the way.''
``I agree. We'll be timing you, but take it easy.''
As he bounded up the steps, three or four at a stride, Mercer agreed that Calvert had been perfectly correct; these stairs were built to be walked up, not down. As long as one did not look back, and ignored the vertiginous steepness of the ascending curve, the climb was a delightful experience. After about two hundred steps, however, he began to feel some twinges in his calf muscles, and decided to slow down. The others had done the same; when he ventured a quick glance over his shoulder, they were considerably farther down the slope.
The climb was wholly uneventful, merely an apparently endless succession of steps. When they stood once more on the highest platform, immediately beneath the ladder, they were barely winded, and it had taken them only ten minutes. They paused for another then, then started on the last vertical kilometer.
Jump -- catch hold of a rung -- jump -- catch -- jump -- catch . . . It was easy, but so boringly repetitious that there was danger of becoming careless. Halfway up the ladder they rested for five minutes. By this time their arms as well as their legs had begun to ache. Once again Mercer was glad they they could see so little of the vertical face on which they were clinging. It was not too difficult to pretend the ladder extended only a few meters beyond their circle of light, and would soon come to an end.
Jump -- catch a rung -- jump -- then, quite suddenly, the ladder really ended. They were back in the weightless world of the axis, among their anxious friends. The whole trip had taken under an hour, and they felt a sense of modest achievement.
But that was much too soon to feel pleased with themselves. For all their efforts, they had traversed less than an eighth of that Cyclopean stairway.
Back to the Eclectic Quotation Index.19.03.17 / Garth Huber