Imperial Earth

by Clarke, Arthur C.

  "At seven-fifteen I go down to breakfast. As there are only a dozen guests — the place won't get crowded until later in June — I have a table to myself. We nod politely to each other, but no one is very sociable at this time in the morning."

  "The food and service are excellent, and I'm going to miss both when I get home. Terrans know how to live comfortably — they've had enough time to practice — but it was several days before I realized that the hotel was unusual, maybe unique. It's been set up purely for the duration of the festivities, regardless of expense, just for us VIP guests. Staff has been brought from all over the world — some professional, some voluntary, like those academic clowns who met us when we arrived. (I still see them from time to time, and still can't understand a word they say. Because I'm darker than they are, I think they enjoy making a fool of me.)"

  "For breakfast — in fact, for all my meals — I try to have something new every day, and this has caused problems. I won't forget my first eggs..."

  "I asked for them boiled — because that was the first listing — and the waiter said, ‘How many minutes, sir?’ (I don't think I'll ever get used to being called ‘sir’ by people who are not trying to insult me.) Of course, I had no idea what to answer, so I said 'Medium rare', which was a phrase I'd picked up at dinner the night before. The waiter looked at me rather oddly, I thought."

  "He came back five minutes later with two eggs sitting in silver cups, and placed them in front of me. I just sat there looking at them; never having seen eggs before, I'd no idea what to do next. And incidentally, they were larger than I'd imagined."

  "I'm afraid I might have gone hungry if another guest a couple of tables away hadn't ordered the same thing. I watched him carefully, and discovered that you started by cutting off the top of the shell with a knife. I made a horrible mess of the first egg, but got it right the second time. Later, I found that they'll do this in the kitchen, which saves a lot of trouble. I'll never ask for eggs this way again, but I'm glad I did it once."

  "The taste — though not the texture — was perfectly normal. Our chemists have done a good job here, and I've never have known that it wasn't synthetic. I've since discovered that very few Terrans have ever tasted a real egg, and there are only two or three farms that still produce them. Hens are not very interesting animals, it appears."

  "I should have mentioned the menu — it's a most elaborate affair, beautifully printed, and changes every day. I'm keeping a set as a souvenir, though I don't recognize half the items — or understand many of the instructions. I suspect that some are jokes. What does ‘No Tipping’ mean? And ‘Gentlemen are requested to use the cuspidors provided’? What is a cuspidor? And why only gentlemen and not ladies? I must ask George."

  "After breakfast I go back to my room and deal with the overnight messages. Usually I spend the next two or three hours at the Comsole, talking to people, recording data, transferring items from the main memory to my Minisec, or vice versa."

  "Most of this is dull but important; I'm working through a list of contacts that every head of department on Titan has given me. I'm trying to be as tactful as possible, but I'm afraid I'm not going to be very popular by the time I've delivered all these complaints and apologies."

  "And I've run into something that complicates business on Earth to an incredible extent. I knew about it, but hadn't realized its full implications. It's the problem of Time Zones..."

  "There are some advantages in belonging to a corridor culture. We're not slaves of the sun, and can set all our clocks to the same time, all over Titan. But on Earth!"

  "There are four time zones — America, Africa, Asia, Oceania — six hours apart. So when you want to speak to anyone, or make an appointment, you have to know what zone he's in. And when you move from one zone to another, you have to put your watch ahead — or back — six hours."

  "It's very awkward and confusing, but it was even worse a couple of centuries ago; then there were twenty-four zones, one for every hour of the day! The development of global telecommunications made that situation impossible — not that it's very satisfactory even now. There's talk of going over to a single World Time — probably Absolute Ephemeris Time — and ignoring the day-night cycle, just as we do. But the arguments on both sides are nicely balanced, and no one expects a decision in a hurry. After all, it took several hundred years to get the World Calendar adopted, and that was because the Martian and Lunar administrations simply wouldn't put up with Earth's ridiculous months any longer..."

  "Where was I? Oh, the morning's business. By noon, I usually feel that I need a break, and I spend half an hour in the swimming pool. At first I did this merely to get away from gravity, but now I enjoy it for its own sake. I've even learned to swim, and feel quite confident in the water. When I get home, I'll be a regular visitor to the Oasis pool."

  "After that, I go for a quick walk in the hotel grounds. There are more flowers and trees here than I ever imagined, all beautifully kept. It reminds me a little of George's farm, though on a smaller scale. But Earth is a dangerous place, and there are things I'd not been warned about. Who would have guessed that there were plants with thorns on them — sharp enough to draw blood? I'm going to make very sure they never take me to any really wild places on this complicated old planet."

  "And even here in Washington, not everything is under control. Yesterday, just as I was going for a walk, it started to rain. Rain! In no time, the streets were wet and glistening; they looked so slippery I should have been afraid to walk on them, but from my window I could see people moving about as if nothing had happened. Some of them weren't even wearing protective clothing..."

  "After watching for a while, I went down to the lobby and stood under the portico. I had to fight off the bellboys — they tried to get me a car, and couldn't believe I merely wanted to watch the falling water from a safe place. Eventually I managed to make myself believe that it wasn't liquid ammonia, and stepped outside for a few seconds, all in the cause of science. Needless to say, I got wet very quickly, and I can't say I really enjoyed it."

  "Around thirteen hundred I go to lunch, usually with someone who wants to talk business or politics, or both. There are some wonderful restaurants here, and the great problem is not to eat too much. I've put on a couple of kilos since I arrived... One of the favorite dining places — I've been there several times — is called the Sans Souci, which means “without a care” in Greek or Latin, I'm not sure which. Apparently President Washington himself used to eat there, though I find that hard to believe. One would have thought they'd have had photographs to prove it — stupid! I keep forgetting—"

  "I met my first congressmen in the Sans Souci — Representative Matsukawa of Hawaii, Senator Gromeyko of Alaska. It was a purely social get-together; we had no business to discuss. But they were interested in Titan because they both felt that it had some points in common with their states, now temporarily back in the Union. They're quite right — Engineer Warren Mackenzie made the same point, aboard Sirius. To the people who explored the Pacific in canoes, the ocean must have seemed about as large as the Solar System. And the development of Alaska, in its time, must have been as tough a job as getting a foothold on Titan."

  "After lunch I do a little sightseeing, then get back to the hotel and carry on with the day's business, until dinnertime. By then, I'm too exhausted to think of anything but bed; the very latest I've been awake is twenty-one thirty. It's going to be quite embarrassing if I don't adapt soon to the local life style. Already I've had to turn down several party invitations because I couldn't afford to miss the sleep. That sort of thing isn't easy to explain, and I hope I've not offended any of the hostesses this city's famous for."

  "I have accepted one late engagement, because George stressed its importance. This is to speak — in person, not holovision — to a group called the Daughters of the Revolutions. They're mostly elderly ladies (“Queen dragons — but dears when you get to know them,” George said) and they're all over the place this Centennial year. Originally they were only concer
ned with the American Revolution, but later they became less exclusive. I'm told I'll meet direct descendants of Lenin and Mao and Balunga. What a pity Washington never had any children... I wonder why."

  "Because I've given priority to my official mission — I'm still working on that damn speech — I've had almost no time for personal or family business. About the only thing I've been able to do in this direction is to contact the bank and establish my credentials, so that I can use Malcolm's accumulated funds. Even if everything works out according to plan and our estimates are correct, the budget will be tight. My big fear is running out of money and having to go to Finance for more of our precious Terran solars. If that happens, the family will be under attack from all quarters, and it won't be easy to think of a good defense."

  "This is one reason why I've done no shopping — that, and the time factor. I won't know how much money I'll have until I'm almost ready to leave! But I have run some of the catalogs through the Comsole, and they're fascinating. You could spend a lifetime — and a million solars a day — sampling the luxuries of Earth. Every conceivable artifact has its tape stored somewhere, waiting to go into a replicator. Since manufacturing costs are essentially zero, I don't understand why some of the items are so expensive. The capital costs of the replicators must have been written off decades ago, one would have thought. Despite Colin's efforts, I don't really understand Terran economy."

  "But I'm learning many things, fast. For example, there are some smart operators around, on the lookout for innocents from space. Yesterday I was going through a display of Persian carpets — antique, not replicated — wondering if I could possibly afford to take a small one back to Marissa. (I can't.) This morning there was a message — addressed to me personally, correct room number — from a dealer in Tehran, offering his wares at very special rates. He's probably quite legitimate, and may have some bargains — but how did he know? I thought Comsole circuits were totally private. But perhaps this doesn't apply to some commercial services. Anyway, I didn't answer."

  "Nor have I acknowledged some even more personal messages from various Sex Clubs. They were very explicit, and I've stored them as mementos for my old age. After the carpet episode, I was wondering if any would be tailored to my psych profile, which must be on record somewhere — that would have made me mad. But it was very broad-band stuff, and the artwork was beautiful. Perhaps when I'm not so busy..."

  Duncan stopped talking; he was not quite sure why — and then he began to laugh at his hesitation. Could it be that, despite fairly heroic efforts, the Makenzies were puritanical after all? For he had just recalled that, only a kilometer or so from this very spot, a President of the United States had got into perfectly terrible trouble with a tape recorder.

  But whether it had been a Roosevelt or a Kennedy, he was not quite sure.

  23

  Daughters of The Revolutions

  George Washington had been right; they did look like dragons. Formidable, tight-lipped ladies, few of them under seventy, and they sported the most astonishing array of hats, in more shapes and sizes than Duncan would have believed possible. On Titan, hats were as rare as wigs, and even less useful. Not that there was any question of utility with most of this headgear; it was obviously designed to impress or intimidate. It certainly intimidated Duncan.

  So did the introductions, though he quickly lost track of all the names being thrown at him. Every one of these ladies, it appeared, boasted ancestors who had played some role in the great revolutions that had shaped the modern world. As he shook hands, and listened to the chairperson's brief comments, he felt that he was being presented with snapshots of history. Most of the audience, of course, traced its involvement back to the birth of United States, and he had heard vaguely of such places as Yorktown and Valley Forge. But he could only smile with feigned comprehension when hearing of revered ancestors who had fought in the hills with Castro, or accompanied Mao on the Long March, or shared the sealed train with Lenin, or fallen in the final assault on Cape Town...

  At last all the introductions — including his own — were completed. Feeling none too sure of himself, Duncan perched on the high chair overlooking his expectant audience.

  "Perhaps I should apologize," he began, "for addressing you from a seated position. But as you know, I've spent all my life on a world with only a fraction of Earth's gravity. Believe me, having five times normal weight isn't exactly enjoyable! How would you like it if you woke up one morning and found your scales registered — oh — three hundred and fifty kilograms?"

  There was a moment of shocked surprise as the audience confronted this startling vision, then a titter ran around the room. Fine, Duncan told himself — I've broken the ice. Then he realized that there was an undertone of something besides good-natured amusement in the sound, as if his listeners were laughing not with him, but at him.

  He glanced frantically around the audience; then, to his horror, saw that there was a perfectly enormous woman halfway back on the far left. She was the fattest person Duncan had ever seen — and the entire audience seemed to be carefully not looking in her direction.

  Well, thought Duncan, I've got nothing more to lose. It can only go uphill from here. He plunged into his prepared speech.

  "This history of my world goes back little more than halfway to the event we are all celebrating next month. The first manned ship touched down on Titan in 2015 — but the first permanent base wasn't established there until considerably later — 2046. Even then, it was only a scientific observation post, with the crews rotating back to Earth every few years. There was no thought, in those days, of a self-contained colony that might eventually develop its own culture, just as happened on this continent. In any case, the twenty-first century was too busy dealing with Mars and the Moon to have the energy, or the resources, for activities farther afield."

  Could that have been a yawn he spotted there, near the back of the hall? Surely not so soon! He was being morbidly sensitive; that seat of hats was getting him down. Most of the faces beneath them seemed to be reasonably attentive...

  But how to make these sleek and elegant matrons — not one of whom, probably, had ever been farther than the Moon — understand the harsh realities of his distant world? It was a challenge, and that was something no Makenzie could ever resist.

  "You may wonder why anyone would want to settle down in a place where the temperature never rises above a hundred below zero, where the atmosphere is poisoned by methane and ammonia, and the sun's so feeble that you can't detect its heat when it shines full on your face. Well, I won't pretend Titan is an attractive tourist resort — though we have some tourists, believe it or not. But it does have certain unique advantages, which is why it's become important in human affairs."

  "First of all, it's the only place, outside the Earth, where a man can move around on the surface without a full spacesuit. That may surprise you, after what I've just said about the conditions there! I don't deny that we need protection, but it's much less than required on the Moon, or even on Mars. The atmosphere is so dense it allows us to breathe with simple oxygen masks, though we have to be extremely careful to avoid any leaks. If you've ever smelled ammonia, you'll know why. And lightweight thermosuits can cope with the temperature, except in very bad weather."

  "Having an atmosphere — even a poisonous one! — makes life easier in dozens of ways. It means that we can use aircraft for long-distance transportation. It protects us from meteorites — not that there are many out there — and from the temperature extremes that a completely airless world would have. And, most important of all — we've got an atmosphere we can burn, and use as a source of energy."

  "It's just the opposite of the way things are here on Earth. Here, you burn hydrogen compounds, and the atmosphere supplies the oxygen. On Titan, we have to provide the oxygen, and we burn that in the hydrogen atmosphere. But the final result is the same —heat and energy, to warm ourselves and drive our vehicles."

  "That hydrogen-rich atmosphere is Titan's greatest asset,
and the reason men settled there in the first place. For without hydrogen, our spaceships cannot operate. Our chemical rockets burn it, and our fusion rockets — er — fuse it. Hydrogen is the key to the Solar System."

  "And there are only two places where it's easily obtainable. One is right here — in the oceans of Earth. But it's expensive, lifting it out into space against the huge gravity field of your world — the one that's keeping me pinned to this chair right now."

  Duncan paused hopefully, and got a few encouraging smiles.

  "The other place is Titan. It's a filling station, if you like, halfway to the stars. And because of it's low gravity, we can export hydrogen cheaply, to anywhere in the Solar System, using robot tankers carrying up to ten thousand tons. Without us, space travel would be at least four times as expensive as it is now, and interplanetary commerce would be crippled."

  "And how we get that hydrogen is interesting. We've been called ‘sky miners’ because of the way we take it out of the atmosphere. Specialized aircraft — ‘transcoops’ — fly at high altitude and ever-increasing velocity, collecting hydrogen and liquefying it, then jumping up to orbit when they have a full load. There they rendezvous with the space tankers, deliver the goods, and they go back into the atmosphere for more. They stay up for weeks on end, and land only when it's time for servicing, or a change of crew."

  Better not overdo the technicalities, Duncan told himself. It was a pity, but he'd be wise to omit the most dramatic part of the whole operation — the fall down to Saturn after the robot tanker had escaped from Titan, and the hairpin loop around the giant planet taking advantage of its gravitational field to launch the precious payload to the customer who was waiting one or two years in the future. And he certainly couldn't do justice to the most spectacular trip in the Solar System — the Saturn sleighride, as it had been aptly christened by one of the few men who had raced across the thousands of kilometers of spinning ice that formed the rings.