short pencils

"Fishing once more? "short pencils short pencilstshort pencilse 128 .In using this system, absentee voters wereshort pencils instructed to mark their ballots with number two pencils. The optical scanner rejected ballots whicespecially poignant memory of a rainy day during his
adolescence.
Kenji had walked over to her house as soon as his father had told him the news. A Chopin concerto had greeted his ears the moment he turned into the lane leading to her house. Mrs. Murosawa had answered the door and had addressed him sternly. "Keiko is practicing now," she had said to Kenji. "She won't be finished for over an hour.''
"Please, Mrs. Murosawa," the sixteen-year-oldshort pencils boy had said, "it's very important."
Her mother was about to close the door when Keiko herself caugshort pencilsht sight of Kenji through the window. She stopped playing and rushed over, her radiant smile sending a rush of joy through the young man. "Hi, Kenji," she said. "What's up?"
"Something very important," he replied mysteriously. "Can you come with me for a walk?"
Mrs. Murosawa had grumbled about the coming recital, but Keiko convinced her mother that she could afford to miss practice for one day. The girl grabbed an umbrella and joined Kenji in front of the house. As soon as they were out of view of her home, she slipped her arm through his, as she always did when they walked together.
"So, my friend," Keiko said as they followed their normal route toward the hills behind their section of Kyoto. "What's so very important?"
"I don't want to tell you now," Kenji answered. "Not here, anyway. I want to wait until we're in the right place."
Kenji and Keiko laughed and made small talk as they headed for Philosopher's Washort pencilslk, a beautiful path that wound for several kilometers along the bottom of the eastern hills. The route had been made famous by the twentieth century philosopher Nishida Kitaro, who supposedly took the walk every morning. It led past some of Kyoto's most famous scenic spots, including Ginkaku-ji (the Silver Pavilion) and Kenji's personal favorite, the old Buddhist temple called the Honen-In.
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
233
Behind and to the side of the Honen-In was a small cemetery with ashort pencilsbout seventy or eighty graves and tombstones. Earlier that year Kenji and Keiko, while adventuring on their own, had discovered that the cemetery housed die remains of some of Kyoto's most prominent citizens of the twentieth century, including the celebrated novelist Junichiro Tanizaki and the doctor/poet Iwao Matsuo. After their discovery, Kenji and Keiko made the cemetery men-regular meeting place. Once, after they had bom read The Makioka Sisters, Tanizaki's masterpiece of Osaka life in (he 1930s, they had laughingly argued for over an hour� while sitting beside the author's tombstone�about which of the Makioka sisters Keiko resembled the most.
On the day that Mr. Watanabe informed Kenji that the family was moving to America, it had already started to rain by the time Kenji and Keiko reached the Honen-In. There Kenji turned right onto a small lane and headed toward an old gate with a woven straw roof. As Keiko expected, they did not enter the temple, but instead climbed the steps leading to the cemetery. But Kenji did not stop at Tanizaki's tomb. He climbed up higher, to another grave site.
"This is where Dr. Iwao Matsuo is buried," Kenji said, pulling out his electronic notebook. "We are going to read a few of his poems."
Keiko sat close beside her friend, the two of them nestled under her umbrella in the light rain, while Kenji read three poems. "I have one final poem," Kenji then said, "a special haiku written by a friend of Dr. Matsuo's.
"One day in the month of June, After a cooling dish of ice cream, We bid each other farewell."
They were both silent for several seconds after Kenji recited the hashort pencilsiku from memory a second time. Keiko became alarmed and even a little frightened when Kenji's serious expression did not waver. "The poem talks of a parting," she said softly. "Are you telling me that�"
"Not by choice, Keiko," Kenji interrupted her. He hes-
234 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
itated for several seconds. "My father has been assigned to America," he continued at length. "We will move there next month."
Kenji had never seen such a forlorn look on Keiko's beautiful faceshort pencils. When she looked up at him with those terribly sad eyes, he thought his heart would tear apart. He held her tightly in the afternoon rain, both of them crying, and swore he would love only her forever.
4
T!
�he younger waitress, the one in the light blue kimono with the old-fashioned obi, pulled back the sliding screen and entered the room. She was carrying a tray with beer and sake.
"Osake onegai shimasu," Kenji's father said politely, holding up his sake cup as the lady poured.
Kenji took a drink of his cold beer. The older waitress now retushort pencilsrned, soundlessly, with a small plate of hors d'oeuvres. In the center was a shellfish of some kind, in a light sauce, but Kenji could not have identified either the mollusk or the sauce. He had not eaten more than a handful of these kaiseki meals in the seventeen years since he had left Kyoto.
"Campai," Kenji said, clinking his beer glass against his father's sake cup. "Thank you, Father. I am honored to be having dinner here with you."
Kicho was the most famous restaurant in the Kansai region, perhaps in all of Japan. It was also frighteningly expensive, for it preserved the full traditions of personal service, private eating rooms, and seasonal dishes with
236 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
short pencils only the highest quality ingredients. Every course was a delight to the eye as well as to the palate. When Mr. Watanabe had informed his son that they were going to dine alone, just the two of them, Kenji had never imagined that it would be at Kicho.
They had been talking about the expedition to Mars. "How many of the other colonists are Japanese?" Mr. Watanabe asked.
"Quite a few/' Kenji replied. "Almost three hundred, if I remember correctly. There were many top-quality applications from Japan. Only America has a larger contingent.''
"Do you know any of the others from Japan personally?"
short pencils "Two or three. Yasuko Horikawa was briefly in my class in Kyoto in junior high school. You may remember her. Very, very smart. Buck teeth. Thick glasses. She is, or was, I should say, a chemist with Dai-Nippon."
Mr. Watanabe smiled. "I think I do remember her," he said. "Did she come over to the house the night that Keiko played the piano?"
"Yes, I think so," Kenji said easily. He laughed. "But I have a hard time remembering anything other than Keiko from that night."
Mr. Watanabe emptied his sake cup. The younger attendant, who was sitting unobtrusively on her knees in a corner of the tatami mat room, came to the table to refill it. "Kenji, I'm concerned about the criminals," Mr. Watanabe said as the young lady departed.
"What are you talking about, Father?" Kenji said.
short pencils "I read a long story in a magazine that said die ISA had recruited several hundred convicts to be part of your Lowell Colony. The article stressed that all of the criminals had perfect records during their times of detention, as well as outstanding skills. But why was it necessary to accept convicts at all?"
Kenji took a swallow from his beer. "In truth, Father," he replied, "we have had some difficulty with the recruitment process. First, we had an unrealistic view of how many people would apply and we set up screening criteria that were far too tough. Second, the five-year minimum
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
237
time requirement was a mistake. To young people in particular, a decisioshort pencilsn to do anything for that long a period is an overwhelming commitment. Most importantly, the press seriously undermined the entire staffing process. At the time we were soliciting applications, there were myriad articles in magazines and 'specials' on television about the demise of the Martian colonies a hundred years ago. People were frightened that history might repeat itself and they too could be left permanently abandoned on Mars."
Kenji paused briefly, but Mr. Watanabe said nothing. "In addition, as you are well aware, the project has had recurring financial crises. It was during a budget squeeze last year that we first began to consider skilled, model convicts as a way of solving some of our personnel and budgetary difficulties. Although they would be paid only modest salaries, there were still plenty of inducements to cause the convicts to apply. Selection meant granting of full pardons, and therefore freedom, when they returned to Earth after the five-year term. In addition, the ex-prisoners would be full citizens of Lowell Colony like everyone else, and would no longer have to tolerate the onerous monitoring of their every activity�''
Kenji stopped as two small pieces of broiled fish, delicate and beautiful and sitting on a bed of variegated leaves, were placed upon the table. Mr. Watanabe picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks. "Oishii desu," he commented, without glancing at his son.
Kenji reached for his piece of fish. The discussion of the convicts in Lowell Colony had apparently ended. Kenji looked behind his father, where he could see the lovely garden for which the restaurant was so famous. A tiny stream dropped down polished steps and ran beside a half dozen exquisite dwarf trees. The seat facing the garden was always the position of honor for a traditional Japanese meal. Mr. Watanabe had insisted that Kenji should have the garden view during this last dinner.
"You were not able to attract any Chinese colonists?" his father asked after they had finished the fish.
Kenji shook his head. "Only a few from Singapore and Malaysia. Both the Chinese and Brazilian governments forbade their citizens to apply. The Brazilian decision was
238 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
short pencils expected�their South American empire is virtually at war with the COG�but we had hoped that the Chinese might soften their stand. I guess a hundred years of isolation doesn't die that easily."
"You can't really blame them," Mr. Watanabe commented. "Their short pencilsnation suffered terribly during the Great Chaos. All the foreign capital disappeared overnight and their economy immediately collapsed."
"We did manage to recruit a few black Africans, maybe a hundred altogether, and a handful of Arabs. But most of the colonists are from the countries that contribute significantly to the ISA. That's probably to be expected."
Kenji became suddenly embarrassed. The entire conversation since they had entered the restaurant had been about him and his activities. During the next few courses Kenji asked his father questions about his work at International Robotics. Mr. Watanabe, who was now the chief operating officer of the corporation, always glowed with pride when he talked about "his" company. It was the world's largest manufacturer of robots for the factory and the office. The annual sales of IR, as it was always called, placed it among the top fifty manufacturers in the world.
"I'll be sixty-two next year," Mr. Watanabe said, the many cups of sake making him unusually talkative, "and I had thought that I might retire. But Nakamura says that would be a mistake. He says that the company still needs me. ..."
Before the fruit arrived, Kenji and his father were again discussing the comshort pencilsing Martian expedition. Kenji explained mat Nai and most of the other Asian colonists who were traveling on either the Pinta or the Nina were already at the Japanese training site in southern Kyushu. He would join his wife there as soon as he left Kyoto and, after ten more days of training, they and the rest of the passengers on the Pinta would be transported to a LEO (low Earth orbit) space station, where they would undergo a week of weightlessness training. The final leg of their near-Earth journey would be a ride aboard a space tug from LEO to the geosynchronous space station at GEO-4, where the Pinta was currently being assembled while undergoing its final checks and being outfitted for the long trip to Mars.
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
239
The younger waitress brought them two glasses of cognac. "That wife of yours is really a magnificent creature," Mr. Watanabe said, taking a small sip of the liqueur. "I have always thought that the Thai women were the most beautiful in the world."
"She's also beautiful inside," Kenji hastily added, suddenly missishort pencilsng his new bride, "And she is quite intelligent as well."
"Her English is excellent," Mr. Watanabe remarked. "But your mother says her Japanese is awful."
Kenji bristled. "Nai tried to speak Japanese�which, incidentally, she has never studied�because Mother refused to speak English. It was deliberately done to make Nai feel ill at ease�"
Kenji caught himself. His remarks defending Nai were not appropriate for the occasion.
"Gomen nasai," he said to his father.
Mr. Watanabe took a long drink from his cognac. "Well, Kenji," he said, "this is the last time we will be alone together for at least five years. I have very much enjoyed our dinner and our conversation." He paused. "There is, however, one more item that I want to discuss with you."
Kenji shifted his position (he was no longer used to sitting cross-legged on the floor for four hours at a time) and sat up straight, trying to clear his mind. He could tell from his father's tone that the "one more item" was a serious one.
"My interest in the criminals in your Lowell Colony is not just idle curiosity," Mr. Watanabe began. He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Nakamura-san came into my office late last week, at the end of the business day, and told me that his son's second application for Lowell Colony had also been denied. He asked me if I would talk to you about looking into the matter."
The comment hit Kenji like a thunderbolt. He had never even been told that his boyhood rival had applied for Lowell Colony. Now here was his father�
"I have not been involved in the process of selecting the convict colonists," Kenji replied slowly. "That's an entirely different division in the project."
240 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
short pencils Mr. Watanabe did not say anything for several seconds. "Our connections tell us," he eventually continued, after finishing his cognac, "that the only real opposition to the application is coming from a psychiatrist, a Dr. Ridgemore from New Zealand, who has the opinion, despite Toshio's excellent record during his detention period, that Naka-mura's son still does not recognize that he did anything wrong. ... I believe that you were personally responsible for recruiting Dr. Ridgemore for the Lowell Colony team."
Kenji was staggered. This was no idle request his father was making. He had done extensive background research. But why? Kenji wondered. Why is he so interested?
"Nakamura-san is a brilliant engineer/' Mr. Watanabe said. "He has personally been responsible for many of the products that have established us as leaders in our field. But his laboratory has not been very innovative lately. In fact, its productivity began to drop around the time of his son's arrest and conviction."
Mr. Watanabe leaned toward Kenji, resting his elbows on the table. "Nakamura-san has lost his self-confidence. He and his wife must visit Toshio in that detention apartment once a month. It is a constant reminder to Nakamura of how his family has been disgraced. If the son could go to Mars, then perhaps�"
Kenji understood too well what his father was asking. Emotions that had loshort pencilsng been suppressed threatened to erupt. Kenji was angry and confused. He was going to tell his father that his request was "improper" when the elder Watanabe spoke again.
"It has been equally hard on Keiko and the little girl. Aiko is almost seven now. Every other weekend they dutifully ride the train to Ashiya. ..."
Try as he might, Kenji could not prevent the tears from forming in the comers of his eyes. The picture of Keiko, broken and dejected, leading her daughter inside the restricted area for the biweekly visit with her father, was more than he could bear.
"I talked to Keiko myself last week," his father added, "at Nakamura-san's request. She was very despondent. But she seemed to perk up when I told her that I was going to ask you to intercede on her husband's behalf."
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
241
Kenji took a deep breath and gazed at his father's emotionless face. He knew what he was going to do. He knew also that it was indeed "improper"�not wrong, just improper. But it made no sense to agonize over a decision that was a foregone conclusion.
Kenji finished his cognac. "Tell Nakamura-san that I will call Dr. Ridgemore tomorrow," he said.
What if his intuition was wrong? Then I will have wasted an hour, ninety mshort pencilsinutes at the most, Kenji thought as he excused himself from the family gathering with his sister Fumiko and her daughters and ran out into the street. He turned immediately toward the hills. It was about an hour before sunset. She'll be there, he said to himself. This will be my only chance to say good-bye.
Kenji went first to the small Anraku-Ji temple. He walked inside the hondo, expecting to find Keiko in her favorite spot, in front of the side wooden altar commemorating two twelfth century Buddhist nuns, formerly members of the court harem, who had committed suicide when Emperor Go-Toba had ordered them to repudiate the teachings of St. Honen. Keiko was not there. Nor was she outside where the two women were buried, just at the edge of the bamboo forest. Kenji began to think that he had been mistaken. Keiko has not come, he thought. She feels that she has lost too much face.
His only other hope was that Keiko was waiting for him in the cemetery beside the Honen-In, where seventeen years earlier he had informed her that he was moving away from Japan. Kenji's heart skipped a beat as he walked up the lane leading to the temple. Off in the distance to his right he could see a woman's figure. She was wearing a simple black dress and was standing beside the tomb of Junichiro Tanizaki.
Although her body was facing away from him and he could not see clearly in the fading twilight, Kenji was certain that the woman was Keiko. He raced up the steps and into the cemetery, finally stopping about five meters away from the woman in black-
"Keiko," he said, catching his breath. "I'm so glad�"
"Watanabe-san," the figure said formally, turning
242 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
around with her head low and her eyes on the ground. She bowed very deeply, as if she were a servant. ' 'Domo arrigato gozaimasu," she repeated twice. Finally she rose, but she still did not look up at Kenji.
"Keiko/' he said softly. "It's only Kenji. I'm alone. Please looshort pencilsk at me."
"I cannot," she answered in a voice that was scarcely audible. "But I can thank you for what you have done for Aiko and me." Again she bowed. "Domo arrigato gozaimasu," she said.
Kenji bent down impulsively and put his hand under Keiko's chin. He gently raised her head until he could see her face. Keiko was still beautiful. But Kenji was shocked to see such sadness permanently carved into those delicate features.
"Keiko," he murmured, her tears cutting into his heart like tiny knives.
"I must go," she said. "I wish you happiness." She pulled away from his touch and bowed again. Then she rose, without looking at him, and walked slowly down the path in the twilight shadows.
Kenji's eyes followed her until she disappeared in the distance. It was only then that he realized he had been leaning on Tanizaki's tombstones. He stared for several seconds at the two Kanji characters, Ku and Jaku, on the gray markers. One of them said EMPTINESS; the other
SOLITUDE.
5
wi
fhen the message from Rama was relayed to Earth from the tracking satellite system in 2241, it caused immediate consternation. Nicole's video was quickly classified top secret, of course, while the International Intelligence Agency (IIA), the security arm of the Council of Governments (COG), struggled to comprehend what it was all about. A dozen of the finest agents were soon assigned to the secure facility in Novosibirsk to analyze the signal mat had been received from deep space and to develop a master plan for the COG response.
Once it was ascertained that neither the Chinese nor the Brazilians cosshort pencilshort pencilsuld have decoded the signal (their technological capabilities were not yet on a par with the COG), the requested acknowledgment was transmitted in the direction of Rama, thereby precluding any future replays of Nicole's video. Then the superagents focused on the detailed contents of the message itself.
They began by doing some historical research. It was widely accepted, despite some suggested (but discredited) evidence to the contrary, mat the Rama II spacecraft had
244 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
been destroyed by the barrage of nuclear missiles in April of 2200. Nicole des Jardins, the putative human being in the video, had been presumed dead before the Newton science ship had even left Rama. Certainly she, or what was left of her, must have been annihilated in the nuclear devastation. So the speaker could not actually be she.
But if the person or thing speaking in the television segment was a robot imitation or simulacrum of Madame des Jardins, it was vastly superior to any artificial intelligence designs on Earth. The preliminary conclusion, therefore, was that the Earth was again dealing with an advanced civilization of unbelievable capability, one that was consistent with the technological levels exhibited by the two Rama spacecraft.
There was no question about the implied threat in the message either, about that the superagents were unanimous. If there was indeed another Rama vehicle on its way to the solar system (although none had yet been detected by the pair of Excalibur stations), the Earth could certainly not ignore the message. Of course, there was some possibility that the entire thing was an elaborate hoax, concocted by the brilliant Chinese physicists (they were definitely the prime suspects), but until that was a confirmed fact, the COG needed to have a definitive plan.
Fortunately a multinational project had already been approved to establish a modest colony on Mars in the mid 2240s. During the two previous decades, a half dozen exploration missions to Mars had rekindled interest in the great idea of terra forming the red planet and making it habitable for the human species. Already there were unmanned scientific laboratories on Mars that were conducting experiments that were either too dangerous or too controversial to be performed on Earth. The easiest way to meet the intent of the Nicole des Jardins video�and not alarm the populace of the planet Earth�would be to announce and fund a considerably larger colony on Mars. If the entire affair turned out subsequently to be a hoax, men the size of the colony could be scaled back to the original proposed size.
One of the agents, an Indian named Ravi Srinivasan,
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
245
carefully researched the massive ISA data archives from the year 2200 short pencilsand became convinced that Rama II had not been destroyed by the nuclear phalanx. "It is possible," Mr. Srinivasan said, "that this video is legitimate and that the speaker is really the esteemed Madame des Jardins."
"But she would be seventy-seven years old today," another of the agents countered.
"There is nothing in the video that indicates when it was made," Mr. Srinivasan argued. "And if you compare the photographs of Madame des Jardins taken during the mission with the pictures of the woman in the transmission we received, they are decidedly different. Her face is older, maybe by as much as ten years. If the speaker in the video is a hoax or a simulacrum, then it is an amazingly clever one."
Mr. Srinivasan agreed, however, that the plan eventually developed by the HA was the proper one even if me video was indeed presenting the truth. So it was not that important that he convince everyone that his point of view was correct. What was absolutely necessary, the superagents all agreed, was that a bare minimum of people know about the existence of the video.
The forty years since the beginning of the twenty-third century had seen some marked changes on the planet Earth. Following the Great Chaos, the Council of Governments (COG) had emerged as a monolithic organization controlling, or at least manipulating, the politics of the planet. Only China, which had retreated into isolation after its devastating experience during the Chaos, was outside the sphere of influence of the COG. But after 2200, there were signs mat the unchallenged power of the COG was beginning to erode.
First came the Korean elections of 2209, when the people of that nation, disgusted with successive regimes of corrupt politicians who had grown rich at the expense of the populace, actually voted to federate with the Chinese. Of the major countries of the world, only China had a significantly different kind of government from the regulated capitalism practiced by the wealthy nations of North America, Asia, and Europe. The Chinese government was
246 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
a kind of socialist democracy based on the humanist principles espoused by the canonized twenty-second century Italian Catholic, St. Michael of Siena.
The COG, and indeed the entire world, was dumbfounded by the stunning election results in Korea. By the time the HA was able to foment a civil war (2211-2212), the new Korean government and their Chinese allies had already captured the hearts and minds of the people. The rebellion was easily quashed and Korea became a permanent part of the Chinese federation.
The Chinese openly acknowledged that they had no intention of exportingshort pencils their form of government by military action, but the rest of the world did not accept their word. The COG military and intelligence budgets doubled between 2210 and 2220 as political tension returned to the world scene.
Meanwhile, in 2218, the three hundred and fifty million Brazilians elected a charismatic general, Joao Pereira, to head their nation. General Pereira believed that South America was mistreated and undervalued by the COG (he was not wrong) and he demanded changes in the COG character that would correct the problems. When the COG refused, Pereira galvanized South American regionalism by unilaterally abrogating the COG charter. Brazil seceded, in effect, from the Council of Governments, and over the next decade most of the rest of the South American nations, encouraged by the massive military strength in Brazil that successfully opposed the COG peacekeeping forces, followed suit. What emerged was a third player in the world geopolitical scene, a kind of Brazilian empire, energetically led by General Pereira.
At first the embargoes by the COG threatened to return Brazil and the rest of South America to the destitution that had ravaged the region in the wake of the Great Chaos. But Pereira fought bade. Since the advanced nations of North America, Asia, and Europe would not buy his legal exports, he decided that he and his allies would export illegal products. Drugs became the primary trade of the Brazilian empire. It was an immensely successful policy. By 2240 there was a massive flow of all kinds and types of drugs from South America to the rest of the world.
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
247
It was in this political environment that Nicole's video was received on Earth. Although some cracks had appeared in the COG control of the planet, the organization still represented almost seventy percent of the population and ninety percent of the Earth's material wealth. It was natural that the COG and its implementing space agency, the ISA, should take the responsibility for managing the response. Carefully following the security criteria defined by the HA, a fivefold increase in the number of people going to Mars as part of the Lowell Colony was announced in February 2242. Earth departure was scheduled for the late summer or early autumn of 2245.
The other four people in the room, all blond and blue-eyed and members of the same family from Malmo, Sweden, filed out the door, leaving Kenji and Nai Watanabe alone. She continued to gaze down at the Earth thirty-five thousand kilometers below her. Kenji joined her in front of the huge observation window.
"I never fully realized," Nai said to her husband, "justshort pencils what it meant to be in geosynchronous orbit. The Earth doesn't move from here. It looks suspended in space."
Kenji laughed. "Actually we're both moving�and very fast. But since our orbital period and the Earth's rotation period are the same, the Earth always presents us with the same picture."
"It was different at that other space station," Nai said, shuffling away from the window in her slippers. "There the Earth was majestic, dynamic, much more impressive."
"But we were only three hundred kilometers from the surface. Of course it was�"
' 'Shit,'' they heard a voice shout from the other side of the observation lounge. A husky young man in a plaid shut and blue jeans was flailing in the air, slightly more than a meter off the floor, and his frantic motion was causing him to tumble sideways. Kenji crossed over and helped (he newcomer to stand upright on his feet.
"Thanks," the man said. "I forgot to keep one foot on the floor at all times. This weightlessness is fucking weird for a farmer."
He had a heavy southern accent. "Oops, I'm sorry
248 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
about the language, ma'am. I've lived among cows and pigs too long." He extended his hand to Kenji. "I'm Max Puckett from De Queen, Arkansas."
Kenji introduced himself and his wife. Max Puckett had an open face ashort pencilsnd a quick grin. "You know," Max said, "when I signed up to go to Mars, I never realized we would be weightless for the whole goddamn trip. . . . What's going to happen to the poor hens? They'll probably never lay another egg."
Max walked over to the window. "It's almost noon at my home down there on that funny planet. My brother Clyde probably just opened a bottle of beer and his wife Winona is making him a sandwich." He paused for several seconds and then turned to the Watanabes. "What are you two going to do on Mars?"
"I'm the colony historian," Kenji replied. "Or at least one of mem. My wife Nai is an English and French teacher."
"Shit," said Max Puckett. "I was hoping you were one of the farming couples from Vietnam or Laos. I want to learn something about rice."
"Did I hear you say something about hens?" Nai asked after a short silence. "Are we going to have chickens on the Pinta?"
"Ma'am," Max Puckett replied, "there are fifteen thousand of Puckett's finest packed in cages in a cargo tug parked at the other end of mis station. The ISA paid enough for those chickens that Clyde and Winona could rest for a whole damn year if they wanted. ... If those hens are not going with us, I'd like to know what the hell they're going to do with them."
"Passengers only occupy twenty percent of the space on the Pinta and the Santa Maria," Kenji reminded Nai. "Supplies and other cargo elements take up the rest of the space. We will only have a total of three hundred passengers on the Pinta, most of them ISA officials and other key personnel necessary to initialize the colony�"
"E-nish-ul-eyes the colony?" Max interrupted. "Shit, man, you talk like one of them robots." He grinned at Nai. "After two years with one of those talking cultiva-
THE GARDEN OF RAMA
249
tors, I threw the son of a bitch away and replaced him with one of tshort pencilshose earlier silent versions."
Kenji laughed easily. "I guess I do use a lot of ISA jargon. I was one of the first civilians selected for New Lowell, and I managed the recruiting in the Orient."
Max had put a cigarette in his mouth. He glanced around in the observation lounge. "1 don't see a smoking sign anywhere," he said. "So I guess if I light up I'll set off all the alarms." He put the cigarette behind his ear. "Winona hates it when me and Clyde smoke. She says only fanners and whores smoke anymore."
Max chuckled. Kenji and Nai laughed as well. He was a funny man. "Speaking of whores," Max said with a twinkle, "where's all those convict women I saw on television? Whoo-eee, some of them were mighty fine. Damn sight better looking than my chickens and pigs."
"All the colonists who had been held in detention on Earth are traveling on the Santa Maria," Kenji said. "We'll arrive about two months before them."
"You know an awful lot about this mission," Max said. "And you don't speak garbled English like the Japs I've met in Little Rock and Texarkana. Are you somebody special?''
"No," Kenji replied, unable to suppress anomer laugh. "As I told you, I'm just the lead colony historian."
Kenji was about to tell Max that he had lived in the United States for six years�which explained why his English was so good�when the door to the lounge opened and a dignified elderly gentleman in a gray suit and dark tie entered. "Pardon me," he said to Max, who had again placed the unlighted cigarette in his mouth, "have I mistakenly ended up in the smoking room?"
"No, Pops," Max answered. "This room is the observation lounge. It's much too nice to be the smoking area. Smoking is probably confined to a small room, without windows, near the bathrooms. My ISA interviewer told me�"
The elderly gentleman was staring at Max as if the man were a biologshort pencilsist and Max was a rare but unpleasant species. "My name, young man," he interrupted, "is not 'Pops.' It's Pyotr. Pyotr Mishkin, to be exact."
250 ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
"Glad to know you, Peter," Max said, sticking out his hand. "I'm Max. This couple here's the Wabanyabes. They're from Japan."
"Kenji Watanabe," Kenji said in correction. "This is my wife Nai, who is a citizen of Thailand."
"Mr. Max," Pyotr Mishkin said formally, "my first name is Pyotr, not Peter. It is bad enough that I must speak English for five years. Surely I can ask that my name at least retain its original Russian sound."
"Okay, Pee-yot-ur," Max said, again grinning. "What do you do, anyway? No, let me guess . . . you're the colony undertaker."
For a fraction of a second Kenji was afraid that Mr. Mishkin was going to explode in anger. Instead, however, the smallest of smiles began to form upon his face. "It is apparent, Mr. Max," he said slowly, "that you have a certain comic gift. I can see where that might be a virtue on a long and boring space trip." He paused for a moment. "For your information, I am not the undertaker. I was trained in the law. Until two years ago, when I retired of my own volition to seek a 'new adventure,' I was a member of the Soviet Supreme Court."
"Holy shit," Max Puckett exclaimed. "Now I remember. I read about you in Time magazine. . . . Hey, Judge Mishkin, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you�"
"Not at all," Judge Mishkin interrupted, an amused smile spreading across his face. "It was fascinating to be unknown for a moment and to be taken for an undertaker. Probably the practiced judge's mien is very close to the proper dour expression of the funeral attendant. By the way, Mr. ..."
"Puckett, sir."
short pencils es, pencils are a perfect teacher gift. Quality no 2 pencil, plus erasers that erase! Any 1-line message, up to 36 letters and spaces will be stamped in gold with your name, slogan or special imprint. "The rewards help students remember short pencilsthe d 2b pencil often as well." short pencils