Rama II

Rama II

by Arthur C. Clarke and Gentry Lee

I never imagined, until a few years ago, that I would ever collaborate with an­other writer on a work of fiction. Non-fiction was different: I’ve been involved in no less than fourteen multi-author projects (two with the editors of Life, and you don’t get more multiplex than that). But fiction — no way! I was quite sure I would never let any outsider tamper with my unique brand of creativity…

Well, a fu

However, I groaned inwardly when Scott went on to say that Peter had a friend with a brilliant idea he’d like me to develop into a screenplay. I groaned, because there are no new ideas in s.f, and if it really was brilliant I’d have thought of it already.

Then Scott explained who the friend was, and I did a double-take. The project suddenly looked very exciting indeed, for reasons that had nothing to do with Peter Guber, but a lot to do with Stanley Kubrick.

Flashback. Twenty years earlier, in 2007: A Space Odyssey, Stanley and I had visited the moons of Jupiter, never dreaming that these completely unknown worlds would, in fact, be reco

Spectacular though the results of the 1979 missions were, it was confi­dently hoped that they would be quite surpassed within a decade. The Voy­ager spacecraft spent only a few hours in the vicinity of Jupiter, hurtling past the giant planet and its moons on the way to Saturn. But in May 1986, NASA pla

“Peter Guber wants to fly out to Sri Lanka, just for thirty-six hours, to introduce this guy to you. His name is Gentry Lee, and let me explain who he is. He works at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and he’s the chief engineer on Project Galileo. Have you heard of that?”

“Yes,” I said faintly.

“And before that, he was director of mission pla

“Enough!” I cried. “This man I have to meet. Tell Mr. Gabor to bring him here right away.”

“The name,” said Scott, “is Guber. Peter Guber.”

Well, it was agreed that the two of them would fly out to Sri Lanka, and if I liked Gentry’s idea (and, equally important, Gentry) I’d develop an outline — perhaps a dozen pages — which would give characters, locations, plot, and all the basic elements from which any competent script writer could gener­ate a screenplay.

They arrived in Colombo on February 12, 1986 — just two weeks after the Challenger disaster. 1986 was going to be the Big Year for Space, but now the entire NASA program was in total disarray. In particular, Galileo would be delayed for years. It would be 1995 before there could be any further news from the moons of Jupiter. I could forget about Odyssey Three — just as Gentry could forget about doing anything with Galileo except getting it back from the Cape and putting it in mothballs.

Happily, the Guber-Lee-Clarke Summit went well, and for the next few weeks I filled floppy disks with concepts, characters, backgrounds, plots — anything which seemed even remotely useful to the story we’d decided to call Cradle. Gentry liked my four-thousand-word outline and flew out to Sri Lanka again so that we could fill in the details. From then onward, we were able to collaborate by making frequent phone calls and flying yards of printout across the Pacific.

The writing took the best part of a year, though of course we were both involved in other projects as well. When I discovered that Gentry had a considerably better background in English and French literature than I did (by now I was immune to such surprises) I heroically resisted all attempts to impose my own style on him. This upset some longtime ACC readers, who when Cradle appeared under our joint names were put out by passages where I should have done a little more sanitizing. The earthier bits of dialogue, I explained, were the result of Gentry’s years with the hairy-knuckled, hard-drinking engineers and mathematicians of JPL’s Astrodynamics Division, where the Pasadena cops often have to be called in to settle bare-fisted fights over Bessel Functions and nonlinear partial differential equations.

Though I’d greatly enjoyed working with Gentry, when we’d finished rocking Cradle I had no plans for further collaboration — because Halley’s Comet was now dominating my life, as it had failed to dominate terrestrial skies. I realized that its next appearance, in 2061, would provide a splendid opportunity for a third Space Odyssey. (If the much-delayed Galileo does perform as hoped in 1995 and beams back megabytes of new information from the Jovian system, there may be a Final Odyssey. But I make no promises.)

By the summer of 1987, 2061: Odyssey Three was doing very nicely in the bookstores, thank you, and I was once again begi

Fifteen years earlier, the very last sentence of Rendezvous With Rama had read: “The Ramans do everything in threes.” Now, those words were a last-minute afterthought when I was doing the final revision. I had not — cross my heart — any idea of a sequel in mind; it just seemed the correct, open-ended way of finishing the book. (In real life, of course, no story ever ends.)

Many readers — and reviewers — jumped to the conclusion that I had pla

I quickly outlined a spectrum of possibilities, very much as I had done with Cradle, and in a remarkably short time Scott had sold a whole package to Bantam’s Lou Aronica. Rama II, The Garden of Rama, and Rama Re­vealed would be written and delivered during the 1989-91 period.