Imperial Earth

by Clarke, Arthur C.

  He was startled by a sudden, distant crash, altogether out of place on this idyllically peaceful morning. It came from somewhere out at sea, and Duncan spun around just in time to see a column of spray slowly falling back into the water. Surely no one would be allowed to set off submarine explosions in this area...

  Now there was a jet of vapor, which rose slanting from the sea, hung for a moment in the bright sunlight, and gradually dispersed.

  For a full minute, nothing else happened. And then—

  Duncan was paralyzed with astonishment. With unbelievable slowness, but with the inevitability of some continent rising from the primordial depths, a vast gray shape was soaring out of the sea. There was a flash of white, as monstrous flukes slammed against the waves and created another cloud of spray. And still that incredible bulk continued to climb, as if defying gravity, a moment above the blue ledge of the horizon. Then, still in slow motion, as if reluctant to leave an alien element, it fell back into the ocean and vanished beneath a final geyser of spray. The booming crash seemed to come ages later.

  Duncan had never imagined such a spectacle, but he had no need of any explanation. Moby Dick was one of the thousands of Terran classics he knew only through repute, but now he understood how Herman Melville must have felt when, for the first time, he saw the sea furrowed by a glistening back as large as an overturned ship, and conceived in the image of the white whale a symbol of the forces that lie behind the universe.

  He waited for many minutes, but the giant did not leap again, though from time to time there were brief spouts of vapor, becoming more and more distant until they vanished from sight.

  "Why did it do that?" he asked Dr. Todd, his voice still hushed by the lingering aura of departed majesty.

  "Nobody really knows. It may be pure joie de vivre. It may be to impress a lady friend. OR it may be merely to get rid of parasites — whales are badly infested with barnacles and lampreys."

  How utterly incongruous, thought Duncan. It seemed almost an outrage that a god should be afflicted with lice.

  Now the trimaran was slowing down, and the sheer strangeness and beauty of the underwater scene captured his attention so completely that Duncan forgot his remoteness from land. The fantastic shapes of the corals, and the colors of the fish that sported or sauntered among them, were a revelation. He had already been astounded by the variety of life on land; now he saw that it was far exceeded by the reckless profusion of the sea.

  Something like an antique jet plane went flapping slowly past, with graceful undulations of its spotted wings. None of the other fish took any notice. To Duncan's surprise, there was no sign of the carnage he had expected to witness, in this realm where everything fed on everything else. In fact, it was hard to imagine a more peaceful scene; the few fish that had been chasing others were obviously doing so merely to protect their territory. The impression he had gathered from books and films had been almost wholly misleading. Co-operation, not competition, seemed to rule the reef.

  The trimaran came to a halt, the anchor was thrown out — and was followed almost immediately by three rubber dinghies, four doctors, five nurses, and a mass of diving equipment. The scene appeared to Duncan to be one of utter confusion; actually, it was much better planned and disciplined than he realized. The swimmers promptly divided into groups of three, and each trio went off with one of the dinghies, heading in a purposeful manner toward spots that had obviously been chosen in advance.

  "If it's so safe," remarked Duncan after the last splashing had died away, "why are they all carrying knives, and those vicious-looking little spears?"

  The trimaran was now almost deserted, its only other occupants besides Duncan being the skipper — who had promptly fallen asleep in front of the wheel — the engineer, who had disappeared below deck, and Dr. Todd.

  "Those aren't weapons. They're gardening tools."

  "You must have rather ferocious weeds. I wouldn't care to meet them."

  "Oh," said Dr. Todd, "some of them put up a good fight. Why don't you go and have a look? You'll be sorry if you miss the chance."

  That was perfectly true, yet Duncan still hesitated. The water in which the trimaran was gently rocking was very shallow; indeed, it appeared no deeper than the swimming pool at the Centennial Hotel.

  "I'll go in with you. You can stand on the diving ladder, until you get the hang of the face mask — and snorkel-breathing should be easy to anyone who's used to a spacesuit."

  Duncan did not volunteer the information that he had never worn a genuine spacesuit; nevertheless, a Titan surface life-support system should be good training. And anyway, what could go wrong in a couple of meters of water? Why, there were places here where he could stand with his head above the surface. Sweeney Todd was right; he would never forgive himself if he turned down this opportunity of a lifetime.

  Ten minutes later, he was splashing inexpertly but steadily along the surface. Although it had seemed astonishing — and even indecent — to put on clothing when one entered the water, Todd had insisted that he dress from head to foot in a light, one-piece overall of some closely knit fabric. It scarcely affected his movements, but he wished he could do without it.

  "Some of these corals sting," the doctor had explained. "It could spoil your day if you backed into one — and you might have an allergic reaction."

  "Anything else you can think of?"

  "No, that's about it. Just watch me, and hang on to the rubber dinghy whenever you want a rest."

  He was now rapidly gaining confidence and beginning to enjoy himself thoroughly. There was obviously no danger whatsoever while he drifted along behind the dinghy, never letting go of the rope dangling in the water. And Dr. Todd, he was reassured to observe, always kept within arm's length; he was being almost ridiculously overcautious. Even if a shark came shooting up out of the depths, Duncan believed he could be aboard the dinghy in two seconds flat — notwithstanding Earth's gravity.

  Now that he had mastered the use of the snorkel tube, he kept his head under water all the time, and even essayed shallow dives which involved holding his breath for considerable periods. The panorama beneath was so fascinating that Duncan even occasionally forgot the need for air, and emerged sputtering foolishly.

  The first signboard was at a depth of five meters and said, in fluorescent yellow letters: NO UNAUTHORIZED VISITORS BEYOND THIS POINT. The second warning was a flashing holographic display in midwater, which must have been very perplexing to the fish. It announced ominously: THIS REEF IS MONITORED. Duncan could see no trace of the projectors; they had been very cunningly concealed.

  Todd was pointing ahead, to the line of divers working along the edge of the reef. So he had not been joking. They really were going through the unmistakable motions of gardeners digging up noxious weeds. And each one was surrounded by a small cloud of brilliantly colored fish, clearly benefitting from all this activity.

  The coral formations seemed to be changing shape. Even to Duncan's untrained eye, they looked strange — even abnormal. He had grown accustomed to the branching antlers of the staghorns, the convoluted labyrinths that looked like giant brains, the delicate mushrooms sometimes meters in diameter. They were still here, but now subtly distorted.

  Then he saw the first metallic glint — then another, and another. As he came closer, and the blue haze of distance no longer softened the details of the underwater world, Duncan realized why this reef was cherished and protected.

  Everywhere he looked, it glittered and sparkled with gold.

  * * * * *

  Two hundred years earlier, it had been one of the greatest triumphs of biological engineering, bringing world fame to its creators. Ironically, success had come when it was no longer required; what had been intended to fulfill a vital need had turned out to be no more than a technological cul-de-sac.

  It had been known for centuries that some marine organisms were able to extract, for the benefit of their own internal economies, elements present in seawater in unbelievably small pro
portions. If sponges and oysters and similar lowly creatures could perform such feats of chemical engineering with iodine or vanadium, the biologists of the 2100's had argued, why could they not be taught to do the same trick with more valuable elements?

  And so, by heroic feats of gene-manipulation, several species of coral had been persuaded to become gold miners. The most successful were able to replace almost ten percent of their limestone skeletons with the precious metal. That success, however, was measured only in human terms. Since gold normally plays no part in biochemical reactions, the consequences to the corals were disastrous; the auriferous reefs were never healthy, and had to be carefully protected from predators and disease.

  Only a few hundred tons of gold were extracted by this technique before large-scale transmutation made it uneconomic; the nuclear furnaces could manufacture gold as cheaply as any other metal. For a while, the more accessible reefs were maintained as tourist attractions, but souvenir hunters soon demolished them. Now only one was left, and Dr. Mohammed's staff was determined to preserve it.

  So, at regular intervals, the doctors and nurses took time off from their usual duties, and enjoyed an arduous working holiday on the reef. They dumped carefully selected fertilizers and antibiotics to improve the health of the living corals, and waged war against its enemies — particularly the spectacular crown of thorns starfish and its similar relative the spiny sea urchin. Duncan floated, perfectly relaxed, in the tepid water, lazily flippering from time to time so that he remained in the shadow of the dinghy. Now he understood the purpose of those sinister knives and spikes; the adversaries they had to deal with were well protected indeed.

  Only a couple of meters beneath him, one of the divers was jabbing at a colony of small black spheres, each at the center of a formidable array of needle-sharp spines. From time to time one of the spheres would be split open, and fish would dart in to grab the pieces of white meat that came floating out. It was a delicacy they could scarcely ever have enjoyed without human intervention; Duncan could not imagine that these spiky beasts had any natural enemies.

  The diver — one of the nurses — noticed the two spectators hovering overhead, and beckoned Duncan to join her. He had become so fascinated that he now obeyed automatically, without a second's thought. Taking several deep breaths, and partly exhaling on the last one, he hauled himself slowly down the line anchoring the dinghy to its small grapnel.

  The distance was greater than he had imagined —more like three meters than two, for he had forgotten the refractive effect of the water. Midway, his left ear gave a disconcerting ‘click,’ but Dr. Todd had warned him about this, and he did not check his descent. When he reached the anchor, and grabbed its shank, he felt a tremendous sense of achievement. He was a deep-sea diver — he had plumbed the fabulous depth of three meters! Well, at least two point five...

  The glitter of gold was all around him. There was never more than a tiny speck, smaller than a grain of sand, at any one spot — but it was everywhere; the entire reef was impregnated with it. Duncan felt that he was floating beside the chef-d’oeuvre of some mad jeweler, determined to create a baroque masterpiece regardless of expense. Yet these pinnacles and plates and twisted spires were the work of mindless polyps, not — except indirectly — the products of human intelligence.

  Reluctantly, he shot up to the surface for air. This was easy; he felt ashamed of his previous fears. Now he understood how visitors often reacted to Titan. Next time, when someone politely declined an invitation to take a pleasant jaunt outside, he would be a little more tolerant.

  "What are those black things?" he asked Dr. Todd, who was still hovering watchfully above him.

  "Long-spined sea urchin, Diadema something-or-other. When you see so many, it's a sign of pollution or an unbalanced ecology. They don't really damage the reef — unlike Acanthaster — but they're ugly, and a nuisance. If you back into one, the needles may take a month to work their way out. Are you going down again?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Don't overdo it. And watch out for those spines!"

  Duncan hauled himself down the anchor line once more, and the diver waved him a greeting as he approached. Then she offered him her deadly-looking knife, and pointed toward a small group of sea urchins. Duncan nodded, took the tapering metal blade by the proffered handle, and started jabbing away inexpertly, being careful to avoid those ominous black needles.

  Not until then did he realize, to his considerable surprise, that these lowly animals were aware of his presence, and were not relying merely on a static defense. The long spines were swinging toward him, orienting themselves in the direction of maximum danger. Presumably it was only a simple automatic reflex, but it made him pause for a moment. There was more here than met the eye — perhaps the first faint intimations of dawning consciousness.

  His knife was no longer than the sea urchin's spines, and he jabbed vigorously again and again. The carapace was surprisingly tough, but presently it gave way, and the waiting fish raced in to grab at the creamy white flesh that was suddenly exposed.

  And then, with growing discomfort, Duncan realized that his victim was not dying in silence. For some time he had been aware of faint sounds in the water around him — the hammering of the other divers on the reef, the occasional ‘clang’ of the anchor against the rocks. But his noise came from much closer at hand, and was most peculiar — even disturbing. It was a crackling, grinding sound; though the analogy was patently ridiculous, it could only be compared to the crunching of thousands of tiny teeth, clashing in rage and agony. Moreover, there was no doubt that it came from the eviscerated sea urchin.

  That faint, inhuman death rattle was so unexpected that Duncan checked his onslaught and remained hovering motionless in the water. He had completely forgotten the necessity for air, and the conscious part of his mind had dismissed the mounting symptoms of suffocation as irrelevant — to be dealt with later. But finally he could ignore them no longer, and shot gasping to the surface.

  With a profound sense of shock — even of shame — Duncan realized that he had just destroyed a living creature. He could never have imagined, before he left Titan, that such an experience would ever come his way.

  One could hardly feel much guilt over the murder of a sea urchin. Nevertheless, for the first time in his life, Duncan Makenzie was a killer.

  33

  Sleuth

  When Duncan returned to Washington, the second time bomb from Colin was ticking away in the Centennial Hotel. Once again, it was so cryptic that it would have been almost unintelligible, even to an outsider who had succeeded in decoding it.

  CONFIRM YOUR OLD FRIEND HAS UNAUTHORIZED ACCOUNT 65842 GENEVA BRANCH FIRST BANK OF ARISTARCHUS. BALANCE SEVERAL TENS OF THOUSANDS SOLARS. THIS INFORMATION NOT TO BE DISCLOSED ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. PRESUME FROM SALE OF TITANITE. MAKING INQUIRIES MNEMOSYNE. MEANWHILE SUGGEST YOU KEEP ALERT. REGARDS, COLIN.

  Duncan understood perfectly well why this information was "not be disclosed"; the Lunar banks guarded their secrets well, and heaven alone knew by what prodigies of persuasion or genteel blackmail Colin had managed to get hold of Karl's account number. Even so, he had been unable to obtain a figure for the balance — but it was obviously considerable. Ten thousand solars was far more than anyone would need for the purchase of a few Terran luxuries. And several times that was more than the Makenzies held in their own, perfectly legal accounts. Such an amount of money was more than a cause for envy; it was disturbing, especially if it was intended for some clandestine use.

  Duncan allowed himself a few moments of wistful daydreaming, imagining what he could do with twenty or thirty thousand solars. Then he put the seductive vision firmly aside and concentrated all his mind upon the problem. While Karl's involvement had been only a vague suspicion, he had been reluctant to waste time on a detailed analysis of how, when, and — above all — why. But now that speculation had congealed into certainty, he could no longer evade the issue.

  What a pity that the obvious line of approach was ou
t of the question! He could hardly call up the First Bank of Aristarchus and ask for a print-out of Account 65842. Not even the World Government could do that, unless fraud or crime had already been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. Even the most discreet inquiry would trigger an explosion; someone would certainly be fired, and Colin might be faced with most embarrassing questions.

  The only real problem in life, an ancient philosopher had once said, is what to do next. There was still no link with Calindy — or anyone else. Duncan did not relish playing a role in some sleazy, old-time spy or detective melodrama, and was not even sure how one got started on such an enterprise. Colin would have been much better at it; of the three Makenzies, he was the only one with any flair for subterfuge, indirection, and secrecy. He was probably enjoying himself — especially since he had never liked Karl, being one of the few people on Titan immune to his charms.

  But Colin, though he was doing a remarkable job, was more than a billion kilometers away, at the end of an expensive three-hour time-lag. There was no one on Earth in whom Duncan could confide. This was a private Titanian matter, and might yet turn out to be a storm in a teacup. However, if it was serious, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

  Duncan considered, and dismissed, the idea of talking to Ambassador Farrell. He might have to enter the picture later, but not now. Duncan had not been too impressed with Bob Farrell's discretion — and, of course, he was a Terran. Moreover, if the Embassy discovered that there was a large amount of masterless money floating around Earth, that would undoubtedly precipitate a tug-of-war. It was true that the rent on Wyoming Avenue had to be paid, but Titan's demands were even more urgent.