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"Fishing once more? "big pencils big pencilstbig pencilse 128 .In using this system, absentee voters werebig pencils instructed to mark their ballots with number two pencils. The optical scanner rejected ballots which were marked withbig pencils instruments other than number two pencil. 2006, Barbara Slater Stern, curriculum and teaching dialogue: V. 8, page 33."Mrs. Landry, I forgot to bring my number two pencils! Does that mean I flunk this test?" Big tears filled Joey's eyes. A standard, ordinary number 2 pencil, one which is not colored or mechanical or big pencilsin We are professional number2 pencil manufacturer of China, making any kind of 2b pencil for our customers worldwide. Our number two pencil and 2b pencil is of high quality and low price. We offer "Somebody has." Richard quickly keyed in a diagnostic security subroutine and studied one of the monitors. "At least five times in the last three weeks. You're certain that it wasn't you?"
"Yes, Richard," Nicole said emphatically. "But you're still trying to change the subject. I want you to tell me what this is all about."
Richard set Prince Hal down on the floor in front of him and looked up at Nicole. "I'm not quite ready to tell you, darling," he said after a moment's hesitation. "Please give me a couple of days."
Nicole was puzzled. At length, however,big pencils her face brightened. "All right, darling. If it's a wedding present for Ellie, then I'll gladly wait."
Richard returned to his work. Nicole plopped down in the only chair in the room that was not cluttered. As she watched her husband, she realized how tired she was. She convinced herself that her fatigue must have caused her to imagine the shriek. And the visits from Simone and Genevieve.
"Darling," Nicole said softly a minute or two later.
"Yes," he answered, glancing up at her from the floor.
"Do you ever wonder what's really going on here in New Eden? I mean, why have we been left so utterly alone by the creators of Rama? Most of the colonists go about their lives with hardly a thought about the fact that
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they're traveling in an interstellar spaceship constructed by extraterrestrials. How can this be possible? Why doesn't the Eagle or some other equally marvelous manifestation of their superior alien technology suddenly appear? Then maybe our petty problems"
Nicole stopped when Richard started laughing. "What is it?" she said.
"This reminds me of a conversation that I had once with Michael O'Toole. He was frustrated because I would not accept on faith the eyewitness reports of the apostles. He then told me that God should have known that we were a species of doubting Thomases and should have scheduled frequent return visits from the resurrected Christ."
"But that situation was entirely different," Nicole argued.
"Was it?" Richard replied. "What the early Christians reported about Jesus could not have been any harder to accept than our description of the Node and our long, time-dilating journey at relativistic velocities. . . . It's far more comforting for the other colonists to believe that this spaceship was created as an experiment by the ISA. Very few of them understand science well enough to know that Rama is way beyond our technological capability."
Nicole was silent for a moment. "Then is mere nothing we can do to convince them"
She was interrupted by the triple buzz that indicated an incoming phone call was urgent. Nicole big pencilsstumbled across the floor to answer it. Max Puckett's concerned face appeared on the monitor.
"We have a dangerous situation here outside the detention compound," he said. "There's an angry mob, maybe seventy or eighty people, mostly from Hakone. They want access to Martinez. They've already terminated two Garcia biots and attacked three others. Judge Mishkin is trying to reason with them, but they're in a nasty mood. Apparently Mariko Kobayashi committed suicide about two hours ago. Her whole family is here, including her father."
Nicole was dressed in a sweat suit in less than a minute. Richard tried vainly to argue with her. "It was my deci-
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sion," she said as she climbed on her bicycle. "I should be the one to deal with the consequences."
She eased down the lane to the main bicycle path and then began to pedal furiously. At top speed she would be at the administrative center in four or five minutes, less than half the time it would take her by train at this time of night. Kenji was wrong, Nicole thought. We should have had a press conference this morning. Then I could have explained the decision.
Almost a hundred colonists were gathered in the main square of Central City. They were milling around in front of the New Eden detention complex where Pedro Martinez had been held since he was first indicted for the rape of Mariko Kobayashi. Judge Mishkin was standing at the top of the steps in front of the detention center. He was speaking to the angry crowd through a megaphone. Twenty biots, mostly Garcias but with a couple of Lincolns and Tiassos in the group, had locked arms in front of Judge Mishkin and were preventing the mob from climbing the stairs to reach the judge.
"Now, folks," the gray-haired Russian was saying, "if Pedro Martinez is indeed guilty, then he will be convicted. But our constitution guarantees him a fair trial"
"Shut up, old man," someone shoutedbig pencils from the audience.
"We want Martinez," another voice said.
Off to the left, in front of the theater, six young Orientals were finishing a makeshift scaffold. There was a cheer from the crowd as one of them tied a thick rope with a noose over the crossbar. A burly Japanese man in his early twenties pushed to the front of the crowd. "Move out of the way, old man," he said. "And take these mechanical dolts with you. Our quarrel is not with you. We are here to secure justice for the Kobayashi family."
"Remember Mariko," a young woman shouted. There was a crashing sound as a red-haired boy struck one of the Garcias in the face with an aluminum baseball bat. The Garcia, its eyes destroyed and its face disfigured beyond recognition, made no response but did not give up its place in the cordon.
"The biots will not fight back," Judge Mishkin said into the megaphone. "They are programmed to be paci-
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fists. But destroying them serves no purpose. It is senseless, inane violence."
Two runners coming from Hakone arrived in the square and there was a momentary change in the focus of the crowd. Less than a minute later, the unruly mob cheered the appearance of two huge logs, carried by a dozen youths each. "Now we will remove the biots that are protecting that murderer Martinez," the young Japanese spokesman said. "This is your last chance, old man. Move out of the way before you are hurt."
Many individuals in me crowd ran over to take positions on the logs they intended to use as battering rams. At that moment Nicole Wakefield arrived in the square on her bicycle.
She jumped down quickly, walked through the cordon, and raced up the steps to stand beside Judge Mishkin. "Hiro Kobayashi," she shouted into the megaphone before the crowd had recognized her. "I have come to explain to you why there will be no jury trial for Pedro Martinez. Will you come forward so that I can see you?"
The elder Kobayashi, who had been standing off to the side of the square, walked slowly over to the bottom of the steps in front of Nicole.
"Kobayashi-san," Nicole said in Japanese, "I was very sorry to hear about the death of your daughter"
"Hypocrite," someone shouted in English, and the crowd began to buzz.
"... As a parent myself," Nicole continued in Japanese, "I can imagine how terrible it must be to experience the death of a child.
"Now," she said, switching to English and addressing the crowd, "Jbig pencilset me explain my decision today to all of you. Our New Eden constitution says that each citizen shall have a 'fan- trial.' In all other cases since this colony was originally settled, criminal indictments have led to a trial by jury. In the case of Mr. Martinez, however, because of all the publicity, I am convinced that no unbiased jury can be found."
A chorus of whistles and boos briefly interrupted Nicole. "Our constitution does not define," she continued, "what should be done to ensure a 'fair trial' if no jury of
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big pencils peers is to be involved. However, our judges, have supposedly been selected to implement the law and are trained to decide cases on the basis of the evidence. That is why I have assigned the Martinez indictment to the jurisdiction of the New Eden Special Court. There all the evidence some of which has never heretofore been made public will be carefully weighed."
"But we all know the boy Martinez is guilty," a distraught Mr. Kobayashi cried in response. "He has even admitted he had sex with my daughter. And we also know he raped a girl in Nicaragua, back on Earth. . . . Why are you protecting him? What about justice for my family?"
"Because the law" Nicole started to answer, but was drowned out by the crowd.
"We want Martinez. We want Martinez." The chant swelled as the huge logs, which had beebig pencilsn laid on the pavement soon after Nicole's appearance, were again hoisted by the people in the square. As the mob struggled to set up a battering ram, one of the logs inadvertently crashed into the monument marking the celestial location of Rama. The sphere shattered and electronic parts that had indicated the nearby stars tumbled out onto the pavement. The small blinking light that had been Rama itself broke into hundreds of pieces.
"Citizens of New Eden," Nicole shouted into the megaphone, "hear me out. There is something about this case that none of you know. If you will just listen"
"Kill the nigger bitch," shouted the red-haired boy who had struck the Garcia biot with the baseball bat.
Nicole glared at the young man with fire in her eyes. "What did you say?" she thundered.
The chanting suddenly ceased. The boy was isolated. He glanced around nervously and grinned. "Kill the nigger bitch," he repeated.
Nicole was down the steps in an instant. The crowd moved aside as she headed straight for the red-haired boy. "Say it one more time," she said, her nostrils flaring, when she was less than a meter away from her antagonist.
"Kill" he started.
She slapped his cheek hard with her open hand. The smack resounded through the square. Nicole turned around
402 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
big pencils abruptly and started toward the steps, but hands grabbed her from all sides. The shocked boy doubled up his fist
At that moment two loud booms shook the square. As everyone tried to ascertain what was happening, two more blasts were detonated in the sky over the heads of the crowd. "That's just me and my shotgun," Max Puckett said into the megaphone. "Now, if you folks will just let the lady judge pass . . . there, that's better . . . and then head on home, we'll all be better off."
Nicole broke free from the hands that were holding her, but the crowd did not disperse. Max raised the gun, aimed it at the thick knot of rope above the noose on the makeshift scaffold, and fired again. The rope exploded into pieces, parts of it falling into the crowd.
"Now, folks," Max said. "I'm a lot more ornery than these two judges. And I already know I'm going to spend some time in this here detention center for violating the colony's gun laws. I'd sure as hell hate to have to shoot some of you as well."
Max pointed his gun at the crowd. Everyone instinctively ducked. Max fired blanks over their heads and laughed heartily as the people began to scurry out of the square.
Nicole could not sleep. Over and over again she replayed the same scene. She kept seeing herself walking into the crowd and slapping the red-haired boy. 'Which makes me no better than he is, she thought.
"You're still awake, aren't you?" Richard said.
"Umm-hm."
"Are you all right?"
There was a short silence. "No, Richard," Nicole answered. "I'm not. . . . I'm extremely upset with myself for striking that boy."
"Hey, come on," he said. "Stop beating yourself up. He deserved it. He insulted you in the worst way. People like that don't understand anything but force."
Richard reached over and began rubbing Nicole's back. "My God," he said, big pencils"I've never seen you so tense. You're in knots from one end to the other."
"I'm worried," Nicole said. "I have a terrible feeling
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that the whole fabric of our life here in New Eden is about to come unraveled. . . . And that everything I have done or am doing is absolutely useless."
"You have done your best, darling. I must confess that Tarn amazed by how hard ycu have tried." Richard continued to rub Nicole's back very gently. "But you must remember you're dealing with human beings. You can transport them to another world and give them a paradise, but they still pome equipped with their fears and insecurities and cultural predilections. A new world could only really be new if all the humans involved began with totally empty minds, like new computers with no software and no operating systems, just loads of untapped potential."
Nicole managed a smile. "You're not very optimistic, darling."
"Why should I be? Nothing I have seen here in New Eden or on Earth suggests to me that humanity is capable of achieving harmony in its relationship with itself, much less with any other living creatures. Occasionally there is an individual, or even a group, that is able to transcend the basic genetic and environmental drawbacks of the species. . . . But these people are miracles, certainly not the norm."
"I don't agree with you," Nicole said softly. "Your view is too hopeless. I believe that most people desperately want to achieve that harmony. We just don't know how to do it. That's why we need more education. And more good examples."
"Even that red-haired boy? Do you believe he could be educated out of his intolerance?"
"I have to think so, darling," Nicole said. "Otherwise ... I fear I would simply give up."
Richard made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
"What is it?" Nicole asked.
"I was just wondering," Richard said, "if Sisyphus ever deluded himself into believing that maybe the next time the boulder would not roll down the hill again."
Nicole smiled. "He had to believe there was some chance the boulder would stay at the summit, or he could not have labored so hard. ... At least that's what I think."
9
A;
big pencils Is Kenji Watanabe descended from the train at Hakone, it was impossible for him not to recall another meeting with Toshio Nakamura, years before, on a planet billions of kilometers away. He had telephoned me that time too, Kenji thought. He had insisted that we talk about Keiko.
Kenji stopped in front of a shop window and straightened his tie. In the distorted reflection he could easily imagine himself aS an idealistic Kyoto teenager on his way to a meeting with a rival. But that was long ago, Kenji thought to himself, with nothing at stake except our egos. Now the entire fate of our little world . . .
His wife Nai had not wanted him to meet with Nakamura at all. She had encouraged Kenji to call Nicole for another opinion. Nicole also had been opposed to any meeting between the governor and Toshio Nakamura. "He's a dishonest, power-crazy megalomaniac," Nicole had said. "Nothing good can come from the meeting. He just wants to find your weaknesses."
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"But he has said that he can reduce tension in the colony."
"At what price, Kenji? Watch out for the terms. That man never offers to do something for nothing."
So why did you come? a voice inside Kenji's head asked him as he stared at the huge palace his boyhood associate had built for himself. I'm not certain exactly, another voice answered. Maybe honor. Or self-respect. Something deep in my heritage.
Nakamura's palace and the surrounding homes were built of wood in the classic Kyoto style. Blue tile roofs, carefully manicured gardens, sheltering trees, immaculately clean walkwayseven the smell of the flowers reminded Kenji of his home city on a faraway planet.
He was met at the door by a lovely young girl in sandals and kimono, who bowed and said, "Ohairi kudasai," in the very formal Japanese way. Kenji left his shoes on the rack and put on sandals himself. The girl's eyes were always on the floor as she guided him through the few Western rooms of the palace into the tatami mat area where, it was said, Nakamura spent most of his free time gamboling with his concubines.
After a short walk the girl stopped and pulled aside a paper screen decorated with cranes inbig pencils flight. ' 'Dozo,'' she said, gesturing inside. Kenji walked into the six-mat room and sat cross-legged on one of the two cushions in front of a shiny black lacquer table. He will be late, Kenji thought. That's all part of the strategy.
A different young girl, also pretty, self-effacing, and dressed in a lovely pastel kimono, came noiselessly into the room carrying water and Japanese tea. Kenji sipped the tea slowly while his eyes roamed around the room. In one corner was a wooden screen with four panels. Kenji could tell from his distance of a few meters that it was exquisitely carved. He rose from nis cushion to take a closer look.
The side facing toward him featured the beauty of Japan, one panel for each of the four seasons. The winter picture showed a ski resort in the Japanese Alps smothered in meters of snow; the spring panel depicted the cherry
406 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
trees in blossom along the Kama River in Kyoto. Summer was a pristine clear day with Mount Fuji's snowcapped summit rising above the verdant countryside. The autumn panel presented a riot of color in the trees surrounding the Tokugawa family shrine and mausoleum at Nikko.
All this amazing beauty, Kenji thought, suddenly feeling deeply homesick. He has tried to recreate the world we have left behind. But why? Why does he spend his sordid money on such magnificent art? He is a strange, inconsistent man.
The four panels on the backside of the screen told of another Japan. The rich colors displayed the battle of Osaka Castle, in the early seventeenth century, after which leyasu Tokugawa was virtually unopposed as shogun of Japan. The screen was covered with human figuressamurai warriors in battle, male and female members of the court scattered throughout the castle grounds, even the Lord Tokugawa himself, larger than the rest and looking supremely content with his victory. Kenji noticed with amusement that the carved shogun bore more than a passing resemblance to Nakamura.
Kenji was about to sit back down on the cushion when the screen opened and his adversary entered. "Omachido sama deshita," Nakamura said, bowing slightly in his direction.
Kenji bowed back, somewhat awkwardly because he could not take his eyes off his countryman. Toshio'.Nakamura was dressed in a complete samurai outfit, including the sword and dagger! This is all part of some psychological ploy, Kenji told himself. It is designed to confuse or scare me.
"Ano, hajememashoka," Nakamura said, sitting down on the cushion opposite Kenji. "Kocha ga, oishii desu, ne?"
"Totemo oishii desu," Kenji replied, taking another sip. The tea was indeed excellent. But he is not my shogun, Kenji thought. / must change this atmosphere before any serious discussion starts.
"Nakamura-san, we are both busy men,"big pencils Governor Watanabe said in English. "It is important to me that we dispense with the formalities and cut straight to the heart
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of the matter. Your representative told me on the phone this morning that you are 'disturbed' about the events of the last twenty-four hours and have some 'positive suggestions* for reducing the current tension in New Eden. This is why I have come to talk to you."
Nakamura's face showed nothing; however, the slight hiss as he was speaking indicated his displeasure with Kenji's directness. "You have forgotten your Japanese manners, Watanabe-san. It is grievously impolite to start a business discussion before you have complimented your host on the surroundings and inquired about his well-being. Such impropriety almost always leads to unpleasant disagreement, which can be avoided"
"I'm sorry," Kenji interrupted with a trace of impatience, "but I don't need a lesson from you, of all people, on manners. Besides, we are not in Japan, we are not even on Earth, and our ancient Japanese customs are about as germane now as the outfit you are wearing"
Kenji had not intended to insult Nakamura, but he could not have had a better strategy for causing his adversary to reveal his true intentions. The tycoon rose to his feet abruptly. For a moment the governor thought Nakamura was going to draw his samurai sword.
"AH right," said Nakamura, his eyes implacably hostile, "we will do this your way. . . . Watanabe, you have lost control of the colony. The citizens are very unhappy with your leadership and my people tell me there is widespread talk of impeachment and/or insurrection. You have botched the environmental and RV-41 issues, and now your black woman judge, after innumerable delays, has announced that a nigger rapist will not be subject to a trial by jury. Some of the more thoughtful of the colonists, knowing that you and I have a common background, have asked me to intercede, to try to convince you to step aside before there is widespread bloodshed and chaos."
This is incredible, Kenji thought as he listened to Nakamura. The man is absolutely out of his mind. The governor resolved to say very little in the conversation.
"So you believe I should resign?" Kenji asked after a protracted silence.
"Yes," answered Nakamura, his tone growing more
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