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"Fishing once more? "graphite pencils graphite pencilstgraphite pencilse 128 .In using this system, absentee voters weregraphite pencils instructed to mark their ballots with number two pencils. The optical scanner rejected ballots which were marked withgraphite 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 graphite 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 'It's a crackpot movement,' explained Sir Robert, with
as much embarrassment as a diplomat was ever likely to
show, 'which is convinced that Rama is a grave potential
danger. A box that shouldn't be openedgraphite pencils, you know.' He
doubted if the Hermian did know: classical studies were
not encouraged on Mercury.

'Pandora - paranoia,' snorted Conradgraphite pencils Taylor. 'Oh, of
course, such things are conceivable, but why should any
intelligent race want to play childish tricks?'

'Well, even ruling out such unpleasantness,' Sir Robert
continued, 'we still have the much more ominous possi-
bility of an active, inhabited Rama. Then the situation is
one of an encounter between two cultures - at very diff-
erent technological levels. Pizzaro and the Incas. Peary
and the Japanese. Europe and Africa. Almost invariably,
the consequences have been disastrous - for one or both
parties. I'm not making any recommendations: I'm mere-
ly pointing out precedents.'

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'Thank you, Sir Robert,' replied Dr Bose. It was a mild
nuisance, he thought, having two 'Sirs' on one small com-
mittee; in these latter days, knighthood was an honour
which few Englishmen escaped. 'I'm sure we've all
thought of these alarming possibilities. But if the creat-
ures inside Rama are - er - malevolent - will it really
make the slightest difference what we do?'

'They might ignore us if we go away.'

'What - after they've travelled billions of miles and
thousands of years?'

The argument had reached the take-off point, and was
now self-sustaining. Dr Bose sat back in his chair, said
very little, and waited for the consegraphite pencilsnsus to emerge.

It was just as he had predicted. Everyone agreed that,
once he had opened the first door, it was inconceivable
that Commander Norton should not open the second.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Two Wives

If his wives ever compared his videograms, Commander
Norton thought with more amusement than concern, it
would involve him in a lot of extra work. Now, he could
make one long 'gram and dupe it, adding only brief- per-
sonal messages and endearments before shooting the al-
most identical copies off to Mars and Earth.

Of course, it was highly unlikely that his wives ever
would do such a thing; even at the graphite pencils rates
allowed to spacemen's families, it would be expensive.
And there would be no point in it; his families were on
excellent terms with each other, and exchanged- the usual
greetings on birthdays and anniversaries. Yet, on -the
whole, perhaps it was just as well that the girls had never
met, and probably never would. Myrna had been born on
Mars and so could not- tolerate the high gravity of Earth.
And Caroline hated even the twenty-five minutes of the
longest possible terrestrial journey.

'Sorry I'm a day late with this transmission,' said the
Commander after he had finished the general-purpose
graphite pencils last thirty hours, believe it or not. . . -

'Don't be alarmed - everything is under control, going
perfectly. It's taken us two days, but we're almost through
the airlock complex. We could have done it in a couple of
hours, if we'd known what we do now. But we took no
chances, sent remote cameras ahead, and cycled all the
locks a dozen times to make sure they wouldn't seize up
behind us - after we'd gone through...

'Each lock is a simple revolving cylinder with a slot on
graphite pencils inder round a hundred and eighty degrees - and the slot
then matches up with another door so that you can step
out of it. Or float, in this case.

'The Ramans really made sure of things. There are
three of these cylinder-locks, one after the other just in-
side the outer hull and below the entry pill-box. I can't
imagine how even one would fail, unless someone blew it
up with explosives, but if it did, there would be a second
back-up, and then a third...

'And that's only the beginning. The final lock opens
into a straight corridor, almost half a kilometre long. It
looks clean and tidy, like everything else wgraphite pencilse've seen;
- every few metres there are small ports that probably held
lights, but -now everything is completely black and, I
don't mind telling you, scary. There are also two parallel
slots, about a centimetre wide, cut in the walls and run-
ning the whole length of the tunnel. We suspect that
some kind of shuttle runs inside these, to tow equipment
- or people - back and forth. It would save us a lot of
trouble if we could get it working...

'I mentioned that the tunnel was half a kilometre long.
Well, from our seismic soundings we knew that's about
the thickness of the shell, so obviously we were almost
through it. And at the end of the tunnel we were'nt sur-
prised to find another of those cylindrical airlocks.

'Yes, and another. And another. These people seem to
have done everything in threes. We're in thegraphite pencils final lock
chamber now, awaiting the OK from Earth before we go
through. The interior of Rama is only a graphite pencilsfew metres away.
I'll be a lot happier when the suspense is over.

'You know Jerry Kirchoff, my Exec, who's got such a
library of real books that he can't afford to emigrate from
Earth? Well, Jerry told me about a situation just like
this, back at the beginning of the twenty-first - no, twen-
tieth century. An archaeologist found the tomb of an
Egyptian king, the first one that hadn't been looted by
robbers. His workmen took months to dig their way in,
chamber by - chamber, until they came tographite pencils the final wall.
Then they broke through the masonery, and he held out
a lantern and pushed his head inside. He found himself
looking into a whole roomful of treasure - incredible
stuff gold and jewels ...

'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 ngraphite pencilsormal. 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 graphite pencilslay beyond this
final seal was at least a million times greater. And as for
the treasure it might hold - that was beyond imagina-
tion.

No one had spoken over the radio circuits for at least
five minutes; the well-trained team had not even re-
ported 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 real-
ized 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 totalv 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 tgraphite pencilshis 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 ter-
races 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 consider-
able 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 thgraphite pencilsat 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 compan-
ions, then added: 'I'm sending out the flare - two min-
utes 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 esgraphite pencilstimating time; ht
was only two seconds off when the world exploded with
light. And this time there was no cause for disappoint-
ment.

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 ti-
tanic 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 graphite pencils 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 graphite pencilsslopes 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 him-
self to a new system of coordinates.

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