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"Fishing once more? "charcoal pencils charcoal pencilstcharcoal pencilse 128 .In using this system, absentee voters werecharcoal pencils instructed to mark their ballots with number two pencils. The optical scanner rejected ballots which were marked withcharcoal 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 charcoal 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 pencil OEM, ODM service to our customers and provide pencils wholesale to traders worldwide at low price! The charcoal pencilsmost economical form of advertising. High lacquer finish, non-toxic paint, Pink rubber eraser. Degree of Lead Guide: no 2 pencil is Recommended for 2 pencil. no 2 pencil shipped unless otherwise specified. number 2 pencil Makes semi-heavy line. No. 3*- HARD-Not recommended for general writing. Makes a fine, thin line. Standard size number 2 pencil l for quick and easy scoring. Writes on paper or disposable acetate sheets. number two pencil is available in your choi170 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
vacant imitations we saw inside Rama. People would be terrified if they couldn't tell the difference between a human and a machine."
"So we'll limit the number of varieties," Richard responded. "And they'll be easily classified by primary function. Does that satisfy your concern? It would be a shame not to take advantage of this incredible technology."
"That might work," Nicole said, "providing that one short briefing could easily familiarize everyone with the different types. We must absolutely ensure that there are no problems of misidentification."
After several weeks of intense effort, most of the critical design decisions had been made and the work load dropped for Richard and Nicole. They were able to resume a more or less normal life with the children and Michael. One evening the Eagle dropped by and informed the family that New Eden was in its final test period, primarily verifying the ability of the new algorithms to monitor and control the environment over the wide range of possible conditions.
"Incidentally," the Eagle continued, "we've inserted gas exchange devices, or GEDs, in all the placesSherwood Forest, the parks, along the shores of the lake and the sides of the mountainwhere plants coming from Earth wiil eventually be growing. The GEDs act like plants, absorbing carbon dioxide and producing oxygen, and are quantitatively equivalent as well. They prevent the buildup of atmospheric carbon dioxide, which over a long period of time would undermine the efficacy of the weather algorithms. Operating the GEDs requires some power, so we've slightly reduced the wattage available for human consumption during the early days of the colony. However, once the plants are flourishing the GEDs can be removed and there will be abundant power for any reasonable purpose."
"Okay, Mr. Eagle," Katie said when he was finished. "What we all want to know is when we are going to depart."
"I was going to tell you on Christmcharcoal pencilsas," the Eagle replied, the small wrinkle that passed for a smile forming
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at the corner of his mouth, "and that's still two days away."
"Tell us now, oh, please, Mr. Eagle," Patrick said.
"Well ... all right," their alien companion replied. "Our target date for finishing with Rama in the Hangar is January 11. We expect to load you in the shuttle and depart from the Node two days later, on the morning of January 13."
That's only three weeks, Nicole thought, her heart skipping a beat as the reality of their departure sunk in. There is still so much to do. She glanced across the room, where Michael and Simone were sitting beside each other on the couch. Among other things, my beautiful daughter, I must prepare you for your wedding.
"So we'll be married on your birthday, Mama," Simonecharcoal pencils said. "We've always said the ceremony would be one week before the rest of the family left."
Tears crept involuntarily into Nicole's eyes. She lowered her head so that the children would not see. / am not ready to say good-bye, Nicole thought. / cannot bear to think that I will never see Simone again.
Nicole had chosen to leave the family parlor game that was going on in the living room. She had given, as her excuse, that she had some final design data to develop for the Eagle, but in reality she desperately needed a few moments alone to organize the last three weeks of her life at the Node. All during dinner she had been thinking of all the things she needed to do. She had been close to panic. Nicole feared that there wasn't enough time, or that she would forget something critica! altogether. Once she had made a thorough list of her remaining tasks, however, along with a timetable for accomplishing them, Nicole relaxed somewhat. It was not an impossible list.
One of the items that Nicole had entered in her electronic notebook, in all capital letters, was "BENJY??" As she sat on the side of her bed, thinking about her retarded eldest son and chastising herself for not having addressed the issue earlier, Nicole heard a loud knock on her open door. It was an astonishing coincidence.
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"Mom-my," Benjy said very slowly with his wide,charcoal pencils innocent smile, "can I talk to you?" He thought for a moment. "Now?" he added.
"Of course, darling," Nicole answered. "Come in and sit beside me on the bed."
Benjy came over next to his mother and gave her a big hug. He looked down at his lap and spoke haltingly. His emotional struggle was obvious. "You and Rich-ard and the other chil-dren are go-ing a-way soon for a ve-ry long time," he said.
"That's right," Nicole replied, trying to be cheerful.
"Dad-dy and Si-mone will stay here and be mar-ried?"
This was more of a question. Benjy had lifted his head and was waiting for Nicole to corroborate his statement. When she nodded, tears rushed instantly into his eyes and his face contorted. "What about Ben-jy?" he said. "What will hap-pen to Ben-jy?"
Nicole pulled his head to her shoulder and cried with her son. His entire body shook with his sobs. Nicole was now furious with herself for having procrastinated so long. He's known all along, she thought. Ever since that first conversation. He's been waiting. He thinks nobody wants him.
"You have a choice, darling," Nicole managed to say when she had collected her own emotions. "We would love to have you come with us. And your father and Simone would be delighted if you stayed here with them."
Benjy stared at his mother as if he did not believe her. Nicole repeated her statements very slowly. "You are telling me the truth?" he asked.
Nicole nodded vigorously.
Benjy smiled for a second and then looked away. He was silent for a long time. "There will be no-bo-dy to play with here," he said at length, still staring at the wall. "And Simone will need to be with Dad-dy."
Nicole was astonished at how concisely Benjy had summarized his considerations. He seemed to be waiting. "Then come with us," Nicole said softly. "Your Uncle Richard and Katie and Patrick and Ellie and I all love you very much and want to have you with us."
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charcoal pencils Benjy turned to look at his mother. Fresh tears were running down his cheeks. "I will come with you, Mommy," he said, and put his head on her shoulder.
He had already made up his mind, Nicole thought, holding Benjy against her body. He's smarter than we think. He only came in here to make certain he was wanted.
7
nd dear Lord, let me properly cherish this wonderful young girl that I am about to marry. Let us share Thy gift of love and let us grow together in our knowledge of Thee. ... I ask these things in the name of Thy son, whom Thou sent to Earth to show Thy love and to redeem us for bur sins. Amen."
Michael Ryan O'Toole, seventy-two years of age, unclasped his hands and opened his eyes. He was sitting at the desk in his bedroom. He checked his watch. Only two more hours, he thought, until I will marry Simone. Michael glanced briefly at the picture of Jesus and the small bust of St. Michael of Siena in front of him on his desk. And then later tonight, after the meal that is both wedding feast for us and birthday dinner for Nicole, I will hold that angel in my arms. He could not stop the next thought from coming. Dear Lord, please do not let me disappoint her.
Michael reached into his desk and pulled out a small Bible. It was the only real book he owned. All the rest of his reading material was in the form of small data cubes
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that he inserted into his electronic notebook. His Bible was very special, a memento of a life once lived on a planet far away.
During his childhood and adolescence thcharcoal pencilsat Bible had gone everywhere with him. As Michael turned the small black book over in his hands, he was flooded with memories. In his first recollection he was a small boy, six or seven years old. His father had come into his bedroom at home. Michael had been playing a baseball game on his personal computer and was somewhat embarrassedhe always felt ill at ease when his serious father found him engaging in play.
"Michael," his father had said, "I want to give you a present. Your very own Bible. It is a true book, one that you read by turning the pages. We've put your name on the cover."
His father had extended the book and little Michael had accepted it with a soft "Thank you." The cover was leather and felt good to his touch. "Inside that volume," his father had continued, "is some of the best teaching that human beings will ever know. Read it carefully. Read it often. And govern your life by its wisdom."
That night I put the Bible under my pillow, Michael recalled. And it stayed there. All through my childhood. Even through high school. He remembered his machinations when his high school baseball team had won the city championship and was going to Springfield for the state tournament. Michael had taken his Bible with him, but he didn't want his teammates to see it. A Bible wasn't "cool" for a high school athlete, and the young Michael O'Toole did not yet have enough self-esteem to overcome his fear of the laughter of his peers. So he designed a special compartment for his Bible in the side of his toiletry bag and stored the book there, enclosed in protective wrap. In his hotel room in Springfield he waited until his roommate took a bath. Then Michael removed the Bible from its hiding place and put it under his pillow.
/ even took it on our honeymoon. Kathleen was so understanding. As she always was with everything. A brief memory of the bright sun and the white sand outside their suite in the Cayman Islands was quickly followed by a
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powerful feeling of loss. "How are you doing, Kathleen?" Michael said out loud. "Where has life taken you?" He could see her in his mind's eye, puttering around their brownstone condominium on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston. Our grandson Matt must be a teenager by now, he thought. Are there others? How many altogether?
The heartache deepened as he imagined his family Kathleen, his daughter Colleen, his son Stephen, plus all the grandchildrengathered around the long table for a Christmas feast without him. In his mental image a light snow was falling outside on the avenue. / guess Stephen would give the family prayer now, he thought. He was always the most religious of the children.
Michael shook his head, returning to the present, and opened the Bible to the first page. A beautiful script writing of the word Milestones appeared at the top of the sheet. The entries were sparse, a total of eight altogether, the chronicle of major events in his life.
7-13-67 Married Kathleen Murphy in Boston, Massachusetts
1-30-69 Birth of son, Thomas Murphy O'Toole, in Boston
charcoal pencils 4-13-70 Birth of daughter, Colleen Gavin O'Toole,
in Boston
12-27-71 Birth of son, Stephen Molloy O'Toole, in Boston
2-14-92 Death of Thomas Murphy O'Toole in Pasadena, Calif.
Michael's eyes stopped there, at the death of his first-bom son, and they quickly filled with tears. He recalled vividly that terrible St. Valentine's Day many years before. He had taken Kathleen out to dinner at a lovely seafood restaurant on Boston Harbor. They had been almost finished with their meal when they first heard the news. "I'm sorry I'm late showing you the desserts," apologized the young man who was their waiter. "I've been watching the news in the bar. There has just been a devastating earthquake in Southern California."
Their fear had been immediate. Tommy, their pride and
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joy, had won a scholarship in physics at Cal Tech after graduating as the valedictorian at Holy Cross. The O'Tooles had abandoned what was left of their meal and rushed into the bar. There they had learned that the earthquake had struck at 5:45 in the evening, Pacific time. The giant San Andreas fault had ripped apart near Cajon Pass and the poor people, cars, and structures within a hundred miles of the epicenter had been tossed about on the surface of the Earth like hapless boats at sea during a hurricane.
Michael and Kathleen had listened to the news all night long, alternately hoping and fearing, as the full magnitude of the nation's worst disaster of the twenty-second century had become better understood. The quake had been a fearsome 8.2 on the Richter scale. Twenty million people had been left without water, electricity, transportation, and communications. Fifty-foot-deep cracks in the Earth had engulfed entire shopping centers. Virtually all the roads had become impassable. The damage was worse, and more widespread, than if the Los Angeles metropolitan area had been hit with several nuclear bombs.
Early in the morning, before dawn even, the Federal Emergency Administration had issued a telephone number to call for inquiries. Kathleen O'Toole gave the message machine all the information they knewthe address and phone number at Tommy's apartment, the name and address of the Mexican restaurant where he worked to earn spending money, and his girlfriend's address and phone number.
We waited all day and into the night, Michael remembered. Then Cheryl called. She had managed somehow to drive to her parents' home in Poway.
"The restaurant collapsed, Mr. O'Toole," Cheryl had said through her tears. "Then it caught fire. I talked to one of the other waiters, one who survived because he was out on the patio when the quake hit. Tommy had been working the closest station to the kitchen"
Michael O'Toole took a deep breatcharcoal pencilsh. This is wrong, he said to himself, struggling to force the painful memories of his son's death out of his mind. This is wrong, he repeated. This is a time for joy, not sorrow. For Simone's sake I must not think of Tommy now.
178 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
He closed the Bible and wiped his eyes. He stood up at his desk and walked into the bathroom. First he shaved, slowly and deliberately, and then he stepped into the hot shower.
Fifteen minutes later, when he opened his Bible again, this time with pen in hand, Michael O'Toole had exorcised the demons of his son's death. With a flourish he wrote an additional entry on the Milestones page, pausing when he was finished to read the final four lines.
10-31-97 Birth of grandson, Matthew Arnold Rinaldi,
in Toledo, Ohio 8-27-06 Birth of son, Benjamin Ryan O'Toole, in
Rama
3-7-08 Birth of son, Patrick Erin O'Toole, in Rama 1-6-15 Marriage to Scharcoal pencilsimone Tiasso Wakefield
You are an old man, O'Toole, he said to himself, looking at his thin gray hair in the mirror. He had closed his Bible several minutes earlier and returned to the bathroom to brush his hair one final time. Too old to be getting married again. He remembered his first wedding, forty-seven years earlier. My hair was thick and blond then, he recalled. Kathleen was beautiful. The service was magnificent. I cried the moment I saw her at the end of the aisle.
His picture of Kathleen in her wedding dress, holding on to her father's arm at the other end of the aisle in the cathedral, faded into another memory of her, this one also shrouded in tears. In this second image the tears belonged to his wife. She had been sitting beside him in the family room at Cape Kennedy when the time had come for him to check in for the flight to LEO-3 to join the rest of the Newton crew. "Be careful," she had said, in a surprisingly emotional farewell. They.had hugged. "I'm so proud of you, darling," she had whispered in his ear. "And I love you very much."
"Because I love you very much," Simone had also said when Michael had asked her if she really, really wanted to marry him and, if so, why. A soft image of Simone came into his mind as his memory of his final good-bye
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with Kathleen gently faded awaycharcoal pencils. You are so innocent and trusting, Simone, Michael mused, thinking of his young bride-to-be. Back on Earth you wouldn't even be dating yet. You'd still be considered just a girl.
The thirteen years in Rama flashed through his mind in an instant. Michael recalled first the struggle of Simone's birth, including the glorious moment when she had finally cried and he had laid her gently on her mother's stomach. His next image was of a very young Simone, a serious girl of six or so, earnestly studying her catechism under his tutelage. In another picture Simone was skipping rope with Katie and singing a joyous song. The final fleeting image was a scene of the family picnicking beside the Cylindrical Sea in Rama. There was Simone, standing proudly beside Benjy as if she were his guardian angel.
She was already a young woman when we arrived at the Node, General Michael O'Toole thought to himself, his mind moving to a more recent sequence of images. Extremely devout. Patient and selfless with the younger children. And nobody has ever made Benjy smile like Simone.
There was a common theme to all these pictures of Simone. In Michael's mind, they were bathed in the unusual love that he felt for his child bride. It was not the kind of love that a man normally feels for the woman he is going to marryit was more like an adoration. But it was love, nevertheless, and that love had forged a powerful bond between the unlikely pair.
I am a very lucky man, Michael thought as he finished adjusting his clothing. God has seen fit to show me His wonders in many ways.
In the master suite at the other end of the apartment, Nicole was helping Simone with her dress. It was not a wedding dress in the classical sense, but it was white and full with small straps over the shoulders. It was certainly not the casual attire that all of the family were accustomed to wearing on an everyday basis.
Nicole carefully placed the combs in her daughter's long black hair and studied Simone in the mirror. "You look beautiful," Nicole said.
180 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
She glanced at her watch. They had ten more minutes. And Simone was completely ready except for the shoes. Good. Now we can talk, Nicole thought fleetingly. "Darling," she started, her voice surprisingly catching in her throat.
"What is it, Mother?" Simone said pleasantly. She was sitting on thecharcoal pencils bed beside her mother, carefully putting the black shoes on her feet.
"When we had that talk last week about sex," Nicole began again, "there were several topics that we didn't discuss." Simone looked up at her mother. Her attention was so complete that Nicole momentarily forgot what she was going to say. "Did you read those books I gave you . . . ?" she eventually stammered.
Simone's wrinkled brow revealed her puzzlement. "Yes, of course," she replied. "We discussed that yesterday."
Nicole took her daughter's hands. "Michael is a wonderful man," she said. "Kind, considerate, lovingbut he is older. And when men are older"
"I'm not sure I'm following you, Mother," Simone gently interrupted. "I thought there was something you wanted to tell me about sex."
"What I'm trying to say," Nicole said after taking a deep breath, "is that you may need to be very patient and tender with Michael in bed. Everything might not work right away."
Simone stared at her mother for a long time. "I had suspected that," she said quietly, "both from your nervousness about the subject and some unspoken anxiety that I have read in Michael's face. Don't worry, Mother, I do not have unreasonable expectations. In the first place, we are not marrying because of a desire for sexual gratification. And since I have no experience of any kind, except for holding hands occasionally during this last week, whatever pleasure I feel will be new and therefore wonderful."
Nicole smiled at her amazingly mature fourteen-year-old daughter. "You are a jewel," she said, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Thank you," Simone replied, hugging her mother. "Remember," she added, "my marriage to Michael is
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blessed by God. Whatever problems we encounter, we will ask God to help us with. We will be fine."
A sudden heartache devastated Nicole. Onecharcoal pencils more week, a voice inside her said, and you will never see this beloved girl again. She continued to embrace Simone until Richard knocked on the door and told them that everyone was ready for the ceremony.
8
charcoal pencils G
Iood morning,'' Simone said with a soft smile. The rest of the family were all seated at the table having breakfast when she and Michael walked in, hand in hand.
"Good mor-ning," Benjy replied. His mouth was stuffed with buttered toast and jam. He rose from his seat, walked slowly around the table, and hugged his favorite sister.
Patrick was right behind him. "Are you going to help me with my math today?" he asked Simone. "Mother says that now that we're going back I have to be serious about my studies."
Michael and Simone sat down at the table after the boys had returned to their seats. Simone reached for the coffeepot. She was like her mother in one respect. She didn't function well in the morning until she had had her coffee.
"Well, is the honeymoon finally over?" Katie asked in her usual irreverent manner. "After all, it's been three
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charcoal pencils nights and two days. You must have listened to every piece of classical music in the charcoal pencilsdata base."
Michael laughed easily. "Yes, Katie," he said, smiling warmly at Simone. "We've taken the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the door. We want to do whatever we can to help everyone pack for the voyage."
"We're actually in pretty good shape," Nicole commented, delighted to see Michael and her daughter so comfortable together after their long seclusion. / needn't have worried, she thought quickly. In some ways Simone is more adult than I am.
"I wish the Eagle would give us more specifics about our return trip," Richard complained. "He won't tell us how long the journey will take or whether or not we'll sleep all the way or anything definite."
"He says he doesn't know for certain," Nicole reminded her husband. "There are 'uncontrollable' variables that could result in many different scenarios."
"You always believe him," Richard countered. "You are the most trusting"
The doorbell interrupted their conversation. Katie went to the door and returned a few moments later with the Eagle. "I hope I'm not disturbing your breakfast," the birdman apologized, "but we have much to accomplish today. 1 will need for Mrs. Wakefield to come with me."
Nicole took the final sip of her coffee and looked quizzically at the Eagle. "Alone?" she said. She was aware of a vague fear inside her. She had never left the apartment by herself with the Eagle during their sixteen-month stay at the Node.
"Yes," the Eagle replied. "You'll be coming with me alone. There is a special task that only you can perform."
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