Imperial Earth

by Clarke, Arthur C.

  Duncan bravely resisted these temptations. He had best stick to history and politics — even though, in this case, both were largely by-products of technology.

  "One could make a very interesting comparison," he continued, "between the settlement of Titan and the opening up of this continent, three or four hundred years earlier. I'm sure it took the same kind of pioneering spirit, and in our case we're lucky because we have films and tapes and cassettes of the whole period. More than that — some of our pioneers are still around, ready to reminisce at the drop of a hat. In fact, quicker than that, because hats drop slowly on Titan..."

  That was rather neat, Duncan told himself, though it was undoubtedly inspired by the view in front of him. Why did they wear the damn things indoors? Obviously, they were trying to outdo each other. Most of these creations were not merely useless; they looked as if they would take off in the slightest wind.

  A flicker of movement caught Duncan's eye. I don't believe it, he thought. Then he stole another quick glance, hoping his interest would be unobserved.

  Either he had taken leave of his senses, which was an acceptable working hypothesis, or there was a live fish swimming around in the third row. It was orbiting in a tiny crystal globe, surrounded by a tasteful display of corals and seashells, on the head of an intense, middle-aged lady who, unluckily, was staring straight at him with popeyed concentration.

  Duncan gulped, gave a sickly smile, and stumbled on. He tried to push to the back of his mind the baffling problem of the fish's life-support system. If he stopped to worry about that, he would be tripping over his tongue in no time at all. Where was he? OH, back with the pioneers, difficult though it was to focus on them in this lavishly decorated and slightly overheated room.

  "I'm sure many of you have read Professor Prescott's famous book With Axe and Laser: A Study of Two Frontiers. Though he draws his parallels between America and Mercury, everything that he says is also applicable to Titan."

  "As I recall, Prescott argues that Man's conquest of the wilderness on this planet was based on three things: the axe, the plow, and fire. He uses these symbolically rather than literally; the axe stands for all tools, the plow for agriculture, and fire for all forms of power generation."

  "The axe cut down the forests, shaped homes and furniture. More refined tools manufactured all the other necessities of civilized living, from cups and saucers to aircraft and computers."

  "The axe wasn't much use on the Moon, or Mercury — or Titan. What took its place was the power laser. That was the tool that carved out our homes and, later, cities. And it opened up the mineral resources, buried kilometers down in the rocks."

  "Of course, we were luckier than the old pioneers, because we did not have to spend endless man-hours making every single object that we needed. All the artifacts of civilization were already stored in the memories of our replicators. As long as we fed in the raw materials, anything we needed — no matter how complex — would be produced automatically in a matter of seconds, and in any quantity we needed. I know we take the replicator for granted, but it would have seemed like magic to our ancestors."

  "As for the plow, that too had no place on our world. But by the twenty-second century, it had no place on yours either; we simply took your food technology to the planets. And on Titan, it was easy, much easier than anywhere else in the Solar System. We have enormous deposits of hydrocarbons — waxes, oils, and so forth. Who knows — perhaps one day we may be feeding Earth!"

  "Finally, the third item — fire. Occasionally, we still use it, though, as I explained, we have to provide the oxygen. But, again as on Earth, we get all the power we need for nuclear fusion. We're already heating large areas of Titan and are thinking about major changes to its climate. But as some of these may be irreversible, we're proceeding very cautiously. We don't want to repeat the mistakes that have been made — elsewhere."

  Duncan nearly said “on Earth,” but tactfully changed gear just in time. He did a swift scan of the audience, carefully avoiding the fish in the third row. The ladies still seemed to be with him, though one or two hats were nodding suspiciously.

  "Yet despite their sophisticated tools, the first generation of our pioneers probably had as tough a time as your Pilgrim Fathers. What they lacked in hostile Indians was more than made up for by a hostile environment. Deaths by accident were common; anyone who was careless did not live long on Titan in the early days..."

  "But, slowly and painfully, we managed to convert our first primitive bases, which had no more than the bare necessities for survival, into fairly comfortable towns, then cities... like Meridian, Carbonville, Oasis. True, the largest has a population of only fifty thousand — there are still fewer than a quarter of a million of us on Titan — but, as we all know, quality is more important than quantity."

  There were a few smiles at this strikingly original remark, and Duncan felt encouraged to continue, but then he saw something that almost stopped him dead in his tracks.

  The smallest member of his audience was showing obvious signs of distress. Back there in the third row, that infernal fish was swimming round and round at an acute angle to the rest of the world. Since Duncan had noticed no alteration in the force of gravity, he could only assume that something had happened to its sense of balance. Even as he watched, it flipped over on its side...

  Very close at hand, somebody was talking, using Duncan's voice. Whether the words made any sense, he could not even guess. He was elsewhere, struggling with a problem of life and death.

  Should he stop talking and warn Miss Fishbowl of the impending tragedy of which she was obviously unaware? Perhaps there was still time for her to rush to the nearest animal hospital. That creature might be the last of its species — the only one in the world, doomed to extinction owing to his negligence.

  Alas, it was too late. With a final convulsive wriggle, the fish turned belly up and floated motionless in its crystal globe. Duncan had never received a more obvious hint. As quickly as possible he brought his peroration to a close. To his astonishment the applause seemed perfectly genuine.

  He hoped he was not mistaken, but in any event he was quite sure of one thing. After this ordeal, speaking to the Congress of the United States would be child's play.

  24

  Calindy

  The package had been delivered to Duncan's room while he was lecturing. It was a small, neatly wrapped cylinder, about fifteen centimeters high and ten across, and he could not imagine what it contained.

  He hefted it in his hand a few times; it was fairly heavy, but not heavy enough to be metal. When he tapped it, there was merely a dull, unreverberant thud.

  He abandoned futile speculation and tore open the envelope taped around the cylinder.

  Mount Vernon Farm

  Dear Duncan,

  Sorry about the delay, but we had a little accident. Charlemagne managed to walk into the hives one night. Luckily — or not, depending on the point of view — our bees don't sting. However, production was badly affected.

  Remembering your reaction last time, Clara and I thought you might like this souvenir of your visit.

  Best,

  George

  How kind of them, Duncan told himself. When he got through the wrappings, he found a transparent plastic jar, full of golden liquid. The locking mechanism on the screw-top lid baffled him for a moment — it had to be pushed down and tightened before it could be opened — but after a few frustrating minutes he had it off.

  The smell was delicious, and once again there was that haunting sense of familiarity. Like a small boy, he could not resist dipping in a finger, then savoring the tip with his tongue.

  Some delayed-action circuit was operating: deep in the recesses of memory, the most primitive — and potent — of all senses was opening doors that had been locked for years.

  His body remembered before his mind. As he relaxed contentedly in a warm glow of sheer animal lust, everything came back to him.

  Honey tasted like Calindy...


  * * * * *

  Sooner or later, of course, he would have contacted her. But he wanted time to adjust, and to feel as much at home on Earth as he could ever be. So he had told himself; but that was not the only reason.

  The logical part of his mind had no wish for him to be sucked back into the whirlpool that had engulfed him as a boy. But in matters of the heart, logic was always defeated. In the long run, it could do no more than say: "I told you so..." and by then it was too late.

  He had known Calindy's body, but he had been too young to know her love. Now he was a man — and there was nothing that Karl could do to stop him.

  The first task was to locate Calindy. He felt some disappointment that she had not already contacted him, for the news of his arrival had been well publicized. Was she indifferent — even embarrassed? He would take that chance.

  Duncan walked to the Comsole, and the screen became alive as his fingers brushed the ON pad. Now it was a miracle beyond the dreams of any poet, a charmed magic casement, opening on all seas, all lands. Through his window could flow everything that Man had ever learned about his universe, and every work of art he had saved from the dominion of Time. All the libraries and museums that had ever existed could be funneled through this screen and the millions like it scattered over the face of the Earth. Even the least sensitive of men could be overwhelmed by the thought that one could operate a Comsole for a thousand lifetimes — and barely sample the knowledge stored within the memory banks that lay triplicated in their widely separated caverns, more securely guarded than any gold. There was an appropriate irony in the fact that two of these buried complexes had once been control centers for nuclear missiles.

  But now Duncan was not concerned with the heritage of mankind; he had a more modest objective in view. His fingers tapped out the word INFO, and the screen instantly displayed:

  PLEASE SPECIFY CATEGORY

  01. General

  02. Science

  03. History

  04. Arts

  05. Recreation

  06. Geography

  07. Earth Directory

  08. Moon Directory

  09. Planet Directory

  and so on for more than thirty subject headings.

  As his fingers tapped out 07, Duncan could not help recalling his very first confrontation with the Terran Comsole System. The categories were almost the same as on Titan, but ACTIVATE was on the left-hand side of the keyboard, and the unfamiliar position had made him forget to press it. So nothing happened for a good five seconds; then a really beautiful girl had appeared on the screen and said sweetly, in a voice to which Duncan could have listened forever: "You seem to be having some difficulty. Have you remembered to press ACTIVATE?"

  He had stared at her until she faded out, leaving a dazzling smile that, like the Cheshire Cat, lingered in his memory. Though he had promptly repeated the same mistake five times in a row, she never came back. It was a different girl each time. Oh well, he told himself, they had probably all been dead for years...

  When EARTH DIRECTORY came up, he was requested to give Family Name, Given Names, Personal Number, and Last Known Address — Region, Country, Province, Postal Code. But that was the problem — he had not heard from Calindy for five years, and had never known her personal number. It had even been hard to recall her family name; if it had been Smith or Wong or Lee the task would have been hopeless.

  He typed out ELLERMAN, CATHERINE LINDEN, and a string of DON'T KNOWS. The Comsole shot back: WHAT INFORMATION DO YOU WANT? Duncan answered: ADDRESS AND VIDDY NUMBER: ACTIVATE

  Suppose Calindy had changed her name? Unlikely; she was not the sort of woman who would let herself be dominated by any man, even if she established a long-term relationship with one. Duncan could imagine the man changing his name, rather than the other way around...

  He had barely completed this thought when, to his surprise, the screen announced:

  ELLERMAN, CATHERINE LINDEN

  North Atlan

  New York

  New York

  Personal: 373:496:000:000

  Viddy: 99:373:496:000:000

  The speed with which the system had located Calindy was so amazing that it was several seconds before two even more surprising facts registered in Duncan's mind.

  The first was that Calindy had managed to secure a — quite literally — one-in-a-million personal identification. The second was that she had been able to get it incorporated into her viddy number. Duncan would not have believe it possible; Karl had once tried to do the same thing, and even he had failed. Calindy's powers of persuasion had always been remarkable, but he realized that he had underestimated them.

  So here she was, not only on this planet, but on this continent — a mere five hundred kilometers away. He had only to tap out that number, and he could look once more into the eyes that had so often smiled at him for the bubble stereo.

  He knew that he was going to do it; of that there was never any question. Yet still he hesitated, partly savoring the moment of anticipation, partly wondering just what he was going to say. He had still not decided this when, almost impulsively, he tapped out the fourteen digits that opened up the road to the past.

  Duncan would never have recognized her had they met in the street; he had forgotten what years of Earth gravity could do. For long seconds he stared at the image, unable to speak. Finally she broke the silence, with a slightly impatient: "Yes? What is it?"

  Before he could answer, Duncan found it necessary to start breathing again.

  "Calindy," he said, "don't you remember me?"

  The expression in those lustrous eyes changed imperceptibly. Then there was the trace of a smile, though a wary one. Be reasonable, Duncan told himself; she can't possibly recognize you, after fifteen years. How many thousands of people has she met in that time, on this busy, crowded world? (And how many lovers, since Karl?)

  But she surprised him, as usual.

  "Of course, Duncan — how lovely to see you. I knew you were on Earth, and had been wondering when you'd call."

  He felt a little embarrassed, as perhaps he was intended to do.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I was incredibly busy. The Centennial celebrations, you know."

  As he stared into the screen, the remembered features slowly emerged from the stranger looking back at him. The impact of the years was not as great as he had supposed; much of the unfamiliarity was purely artificial. She had changed the color of her hair so that it was no longer black, but brown, shot with flecks of gold. The oval of the face was the same, the ivory skin still flawless. When he forgot that image in the bubble stereo, he could see that she was still Calindy — more mature, and even more desirable.

  He could also see that she was sitting in a crowded office, with shadowy figures coming and going all around her, and occasionally handing her sheafs of documents. Somehow, he had never imagined Calindy as a busy executive, but he was quite sure that if she had set her heart on the role, she would be a great success. It was obvious, however, that this was no time for tender endearments. The best that he could hope for was to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.

  He had come all the way from Saturn; it should not be difficult to span the extra distance between Washington and New York. But, it seemed, there were problems. He even got the impression that there was some hesitation, even reluctance, on Calindy's part. She consulted a very complicated diary, threw several dates at him, and appeared slightly relieved when Duncan found that they clashed with his own appointments.

  He was becoming quite disheartened when she suddenly exclaimed: "Wait a minute — are you free next Thursday — and Friday?"

  "I think so — yes, I could manage." It was almost a week ahead; he would have to be patient. But two days — that sounded promising.

  "Wonderful." A slow, mischievous smile spread over her face, and for a moment the old Calindy looked back at him.

  "And it's perfect — so very appropriate... I couldn't have arranged it better if I'd tried."

  "A
rranged what? " asked Duncan.

  "Contact the van Hyatts at this number — they're just outside Washington — and do exactly what they tell you. Say that Enigma's asked them to bring you along as my personal guest. They're nice people and you'll like them. Now I really must break off — see you next week." She paused for a moment, then said carefully: "I'd better warn you that I'll be so busy we won't have much time, even then. But I promise you — you'll really enjoy the experience."

  Duncan looked at her doubtfully. Notwithstanding that assurance, he felt disappointed; he also hated to be involved in something over which he had no control. Makenzies organized other people, for their own good, of course, even if the victim did not always agree. This reversal of standard procedure made him uncomfortable.

  "I'll come," he said, taking the plunge. "But at least tell me what this is all about."

  Calindy gave that stubborn little moue which he remembered so well.

  "No," she replied firmly. "I'd be violating the motto of my own organization, and even the executive vice-president can't do that."

  "What organization?"

  "Really?" she said, with a smile of pure delight. "I thought Enigma was rather well known, but this makes it even better. Anyone on Earth will tell you our slogan..." She broke off for a second to collect some documents from another harried assistant.

  "Good-bye, Duncan — I have to rush. See you soon."

  "Your slogan!" he almost yelled at her.

  She blew him a dainty kiss.

  "Ask the van Hyatts. Lots of love."

  The screen was blank.

  Duncan did not immediately contact the van Hyatts; he waited for a few minutes, until he had emotionally decompressed, then called his host and general adviser.

  "George," he said, "have you heard of Enigma Associates?"

  "Yes, of course. What about them?"

  "Do you know their slogan?"