Francesca was filming the capture sequence from a distance of about ten meters. After the last three biots, including the leader, had released their grips on the target crab and fallen onto the Raman soil, she leaned back to record the helicopter as it headed for the banks of the Cylindrical Sea with its prey. It took her two or three seconds to realize that everyone was shouting at her.
The lead biot and its final two companion crabs had not crumbled into a heap when they had hit the ground. Although slightly damaged, they were active and on the move within moments after landing. While Francesca was filming the departure of the helicopter, the lead biot sensed her presence and headed toward her. The other two followed a step behind.
They were only four meters away when Francesca, still filming, finally understood that she was now the prey. She turned around and started to run. “Run to the side,” Richard Wakefield screamed into the communicator, “they can only go in straight lines.”
Francesca zigged and zagged but the biots continued to follow her. Her original burst of adrenaline enabled her to extend the distance separating her from the crabs to ten meters. Later, however, as she began to tire, the relentless biots were closing in on her. She slipped and almost fell. By the time Francesca regained her stride the lead biot was no more than three meters away.
Reggie Wilson had raced toward the rover as soon as it was clear that the biots were chasing Francesca. Once he was at the controls of the vehicle, he headed for her rescue at top speed. He had originally intended to pick her up and move her out of the way of the biot onslaught. They were too close to her, however, so Reggie decided to smash into the three crabs from the side. There was a crash of metal on metal as the lightweight vehicle rammed the biots. Reggie’s plan worked. The momentum of the crash carried Reggie and the crabs several meters to the side. The threat to Francesca was over.
But the biots were not incapacitated. Far from it. Despite the fact that one of the follower crabs had lost a leg and the lead biot had a slightly damaged claw, within seconds all three of them were at work in the wreckage. They started slicing the rover into chunks with their claws, and then they used their fearful collection of probes and rasps to tear the chunks into still smaller pieces.
Reggie was momentarily stunned by the impact of the rover against the biots. The alien crabs had been heavier than he had anticipated and the damage to his vehicle was severe. As soon as he realized that the biots were still active, he started to jump out of the rover. But he couldn’t. His legs were wedged underneath the collapsed dashboard.
His unmitigated terror lasted no longer than ten seconds. There was nothing anyone could do. Reggie Wilson’s horrified shrieks echoed through the vastness of Rama as the biots chopped him apart exactly as if he were part of the rover. It was accomplished swiftly and systematically. Both Francesca and the automatic camera in the helicopter filmed the final seconds of his life. The pictures were transmitted live back to the Earth.
30
POSTMORTEM II
Nicole sat quietly in her hut at the Beta campsite. She could not erase from her mind the horrible image of Reggie Wilson’s face, contorted in terror as he was being hacked to pieces. She tried to force herself to think of something else. So what now, she wondered. What will happen to the mission now?
Outside it was dark again in Rama. The lights had vanished abruptly three hours before, after a period of illumination thirty-four seconds less than during the previous Raman day. The disappearance of the lights should have prompted much discussion and speculation. But it didn’t. None of the cosmonauts wanted to talk about anything. The awful memory of Wilson’s death weighed too heavily on everyone.
The normal crew meeting after dinner had been postponed until morning because David Brown and Admiral Heilmann were in an extended conference with ISA officials back on Earth. Nicole had not participated in any of the conversations, but it was not difficult for her to imagine their content. She realized that there was a very real possibility the mission would now be aborted. The hue and cry from the public might demand it. After all, they had witnessed one of the most gruesome scenes…
Nicole thought of Genevieve sitting in front of the television at Beauvois, watching while Cosmonaut Wilson was being methodically subdivided by the biots. She shuddered. Then she chastised herself for being self-centered. The real honor, she said to herself, must have been in Los Angeles.
She had met the Wilson family twice during the early parties right after the crew selections were announced. Nicole remembered the boy particularly. Randy was his name. He was seven or eight, wide-eyed and beautiful. He loved sports. He had brought Nicole one of his prized possessions, a program from the 2184 Olympics in nearly perfect condition, and had asked her to sign the page featuring the women’s triple jump. She had tousled his hair as he had thanked her with a huge smile.
The image of Randy Wilson watching his father die on television was too much for her. Several tears wedged themselves into the corners of her eyes. What a nightmare this year has been for you, little boy, she thought. The roller coaster of life. First the joy of having your father selected as a cosmonaut. Then all the Francesca nonsense and the divorce. Now this terrible tragedy.
Nicole was becoming depressed and her mind was still too active for sleep. She decided that she wanted some company. She walked over to the next hut and knocked softly on the door.
“Is someone out there?” she heard from inside.
“Hot, Takagishi-san,” she replied. “It’s Nicole. May I come in?”
He walked over to the door and opened it. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he said. “Is the visit professional?”
“No,” she answered as she entered. “Strictly informal. I was not ready to sleep. I thought—”
“You are welcome to visit me any time,” he said with a friendly smile. “You do not need a reason.” He looked at her for several seconds. “I am deeply disturbed by what happened this afternoon. I feel responsible. I don’t think I did enough to stop—”
“Come on, Shigeru,” Nicole replied. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not to blame. At least you spoke up. I’m the doctor and I didn’t even say anything.”
Her eyes wandered aimlessly around Takagishi’s hut. Beside his cot, sitting on a small piece of cloth on the floor, Nicole saw a curious white figurine with black markings. She walked over to it and bent down on her knees, “What’s this?” she asked.
Dr. Takagishi was slightly embarrassed. He came over beside Nicole and picked up the tiny fat oriental man. He held it between his index finger and his thumb. “It’s a netsuke heirloom from my wife’s family,” he said. “It’s made from ivory.”
He handed the little man to Nicole. “He is the king of the gods. His companion, a similarly plump queen, rests on the table beside my wife’s bed in Kyoto. Back before elephants became endangered, many people collected figures like this. My wife’s family has a superb collection.”
Nicole studied the little man in her hand. He had a benign, serene smile on his face. She imagined the beautiful Machiko Takagishi back in Japan and for a few seconds she envied their marital bond. It would make events like Wilson’s death much easier to deal with, she thought.
“Would you like to sit down?” Dr. Takagishi was saying. Nicole positioned herself on a box next to the cot and they talked for twenty minutes. Mostly they shared memories of their families. They referred obliquely to the afternoon disaster several times, but they avoided detailed discussion of Rama and the Newton mission altogether. What they both needed were the comforting images of their daily lives on Earth.