Imperial Earth

by Clarke, Arthur C.

  "I think I may have it, and I'll be obliged if you don't attribute this to me. But just consider the following wild speculation...

  "Every organism has defense mechanisms to protect itself. You've just encountered one — part of the security system of Earth. This particular group, whatever its responsibilities may be, probably consists of a fairly small number of important people. I expect I know most of them — in fact, one voice... never mind...

  "You could call a watchdog committee. Such a committee has to have a name for itself — a secret name, naturally. In the course of my duties, I occasionally hear of such things, and carefully forget them..."

  "Now, Argus was a watchdog. So what better name for such a group? Mind you, I'm still not asserting anything. But imagine the acute embarrassment of a secret organization that happens to find its name carefully spelled out in highly mysterious circumstances."

  It was a very plausible theory, and Duncan was sure that the Ambassador would not have advanced it without excellent reasons. But it did not go even halfway.

  "That's all very well, and I'm prepared to accept it. But what the devil has all this to do with a drawing of a sea urchin? I feel like I'm going slowly mad."

  The shuttle was now gliding to a halt in front of them, and the Ambassador waved him into it.

  "If it's any consolation, Duncan, be assured that you're in very good company. I'd sacrifice a fair share of my modest retirement benefits if I could eavesdrop now on Under Secretary Smith and his invisible friends."

  39

  Business And Desire

  There was no way of telling, as Duncan stood at the window of Calindy's apartment, that he was not looking down at the busy traffic of 57th Street on a crisp winter night, when the first flakes of snow were drifting down, to melt at once as they struck the heated sidewalks. But this was summer, not winter; and even President Bernstein's limousine was not as old as the cars moving silently a hundred meters below. He was watching the past, perhaps a hologram from the late twentieth century. Yet though Duncan knew that he was actually far underground, there was nothing he could do to convince his senses of this fact.

  He was alone with Calindy at last, though in circumstances of which he could never have dreamed only a few days ago. How ironic that, now the opportunity had come, he felt barely the faintest flicker of desire!

  "What is that?" he asked suspiciously, as Calindy handed him a slim crystal goblet containing a few centimeters of blood-red liquid.

  "If I told you, the name would mean nothing. And if I said what it cost, you'd be scared to drink it. Just taste it slowly; you'll never have another chance, and it will do you good."

  It was good — smooth, slightly sweet, and, Duncan was quite certain, charged with several megatons of slumbering energy. He sipped it very slowly indeed, watching Calindy as she moved around the room.

  He had not really known what to expect, yet her apartment had still been something of a surprise. It was almost stark in its simplicity, but large and beautifully proportioned, with dove-gray walls, a blue vaulted ceiling like the sky itself, and a green carpet that gave the impression of a small sea of grass lapping against the walls. There were fewer than a dozen pieces of furniture: four deeply cushioned chairs, two divans, a closed writing desk, a glass cabinet full of delicate chinaware, a low table upon which were lying a small box and a splendid book on twenty-second-century primitives — and, of course, the ubiquitous Comsole, its screen now crawling with abstract art that was very far from primitive.

  Even without the force of gravity to remind him, there was no danger that Duncan would forget he was on Earth. He doubted if a private home on any other planet could show a display like this; but he would not like to live here. Everything was a little too perfect and displayed altogether too clearly the Terran obsession with the past. He suddenly remembered Ambassador Farrell's remark: "We aren’t decadent, but our children will be." That would include Calindy's generation. Perhaps the Ambassador was right...

  He took another sip, staring at Calindy in silence as she orbited the room. Clearly ill at ease, she moved a chair through an imperceptible fraction of an inch, and gave the picture an equally invisible adjustment. Then she came back to the divan and sat down beside him.

  A little more purposefully now, she leaned across the low coffee table and picked up the box lying upon it..

  "Have you seen one of these?" she asked, as she opened the lid.

  Lying in a nest of velvet was something that looked like a large, silver egg, about twice the size of the real eggs that Duncan has encountered in the Centennial Hotel.

  "What is it?" he asked. "A piece of sculpture?"

  "Pick it up — but be careful not to drop it."

  Despite this warning, that was very nearly what he did. The egg was not particularly heavy, but it seemed alive — even squirming in his hand, though it showed no sign of any visible movement. However, when he looked at it more carefully, he could see faint opalescent bands flowing over the surface and momentarily blurring the mirror finish. They looked very much like waves of heat, yet there was no sensation of warmth.

  "Cup it in both hands," Calindy instructed him, "and close your eyes."

  Duncan obeyed, despite an almost irresistible impulse to see what was really happening to the extraordinary object he held. He felt completely disoriented, because it seemed that the sense of touch — the most reliable of all man's messengers from the external universe — was betraying him.

  For the very texture of the egg was constantly changing. It no longer felt like metal; unbelievably, it was furry. He might have been fondling some small woolly animal — a kitten, perhaps...

  But only for seconds. The egg shivered, became hard and rough — it was made of sandpaper, coarse enough to grate the skin...

  ... the sandpaper became satin, so smooth and silky that he wanted to caress it. There was barely time to obey the impulse when...

  ... the egg was liquefying and becoming gelatinous. It seemed about to ooze through his fingers, and Duncan had to force himself not to drop it in disgust. Only the knowledge that this could not really be happening gave him strength to control the reflex...

  ... it was made of wood; there was no doubt of that, for he could even feel the grain...

  ... before it dissolved into myriads of separate bristles, each so sharp and distinct that he could feel them prickling his skin...

  And there were sensations that he could not even name, some delightful, most neutral, but some so unpleasant that he could scarcely control his revulsion. At last, when within his cupped palms Duncan felt the unique, the incomparable touch of human skin, curiosity and amazement got the better of him. He opened his hands; the silver egg was completely unchanged, though now it felt as if it were carved from soap.

  "What in heaven's name is it?" he cried.

  "It's a tactoid. You haven't heard of them?"

  "No."

  "Fascinating, isn't it? It doest to the sense of touch what a kaleidoscope does to vision. No, don't ask me how it works — something to do with controlled electrical stimulation."

  "What's it used for?"

  "Must everything have a purpose? It's just a toy — a novelty. But I had a very good reason for showing it to you."

  "Oh, I know. ‘The latest from Earth.’"

  Calindy gave a wistful smile; she recognized that old catch phrase. It brought back vividly to both of them those days together on Titan, a lifetime ago.

  "Duncan," she said, so quietly that he could barely hear the words, "do you think it was all my fault?"

  They were now sitting two meters apart on the divan, and he had to twist his body to face her. The woman he saw now was no longer the self-assured executive and impresario he had met on the Titanic, but an unhappy and uncertain girl. He wondered how long the mood of contrition would last, but for the moment it was genuine enough.

  "How can I answer that?" he replied. "I'm still completely in the dark. I don't know what Karl was doing on Earth, or why he c
ame here."

  This was only partially true; Karl's Minisec had begun to reveal its secrets. But Duncan was not yet prepared to discuss those with anybody, least of all with Calindy.

  She looked at him with an air of faint surprise and answered: "Do you mean to say that he never told you — in fifteen years?"

  "Told me what? " said Duncan.

  "What happened on that last night aboard Mentor."

  "No," replied Duncan, with painful slowness. "He never talked about it." After all these years, that betrayal was still a bitter memory. He knew now, of course, that it was absurd for two young adults like Karl and Calindy, obsessed by their own grief, to have given any thought to the feelings of the boy who adored them both. He could not blame them now; but in his heart he had never forgiven them.

  "So you didn't know that we used a joy machine."

  "Oh, no! "

  "I'm afraid so. It wasn't my idea. Karl insisted, and I didn't know any better. But at least I had sense enough not to use it myself. Well, only at very low power..."

  "They were illegal even in those days. How did one get aboard Mentor? "

  "There were a lot of things on Mentor that no one ever knew about."

  "I'm sure of that. What happened?"

  Calindy got to her feet again and began to pace nervously to and for. She avoided Duncan's eyes as she continued.

  "I don't like to think about it. Even now, it frightens me, and I can understand why people get hopelessly addicted. I'm sure your fingers have never touched anything as — well, I suppose palpable is the only word — as that tactoid. The joy machine is just the same; it makes real life seem pale and thin — and Karl, remember, used it at full power. I told him not to, but he laughed. He was confident that he could handle it..."

  Yes, thought Duncan, that would be just like Karl. Though he had never seen an emotion amplifier, one was kept under proper supervision at the Oasis Central Hospital. It was a very valuable psychiatric tool, but when the simple, portable versions quickly christened ‘joy machines’ had become available around the midcentury, they had spread like a plague over the inhabited worlds. No one would ever know how many immature young minds had been ruined by them. "Brain burning" had been a disease of the sixties, until the epidemic had run its course, leaving behind it hundred of emotional husks. Karl had been lucky to escape...

  But, of course, he had not escaped. So this was the truth about his "breakdown," and the explanation of his changed personality. Duncan began to feel a cold anger toward Calindy. He did not believe her protestation of innocence; she must have known better, even then. But part of his anger was not based on moral judgments. He blamed Calindy because she was alive, while Karl lay frozen in the Aden morgue, like some splendid marble statue defaced by time and carelessly restored. There he must wait until the legal complications involved in the disposal of an extraterrestrial corpse were unraveled. This was another duty that had fallen on Duncan; he had done everything he believed necessary before saying farewell to the friend he had lost before his death.

  "I think I see the picture," continued Duncan, so harshly that Calindy looked at him with sudden surprise. "But tell me the rest — what happened to then?"

  "Karl used to send me long, crazy speeches — sealed, special delivery. He said he would never be able to love anyone else. I told him not to be foolish, but to forget about me as quickly as he could, since we'd never be able to meet again. What else could I have said? I didn't realize how absolutely useless that advice was — like telling a man to stop breathing. I was ashamed to ask, and only discovered years later what a joy machine does to the brain."

  "You see, Duncan, he was telling the literal truth when he said he could never love anyone else. When they reinforce the pleasure circuits, joy machines create a permanent, almost unbreakable pattern of desires. The psychologists call it electroimprinting. I believe there are techniques to modify it now, but there weren't fifteen years ago, even on Earth. And certainly not on Titan."

  "After a while, I stopped answering; there was nothing I could say. But I still heard from Karl several times a year. He swore that sooner or later, he would get to Earth and see me again. I didn't take him seriously."

  Perhaps not, thought Duncan; but I am sure you weren't wholly displeased. It must have been flattering to have held in your hand the soul of someone as talented and beautiful as Karl — even if he had been enslaved accidentally, with the aid of a machine...

  He saw very clearly now why all Karl's later liaisons and marriages had exploded violently. They had been doomed to failure from the start. Always, the image of Calindy would have stood, an unattainable ideal, between Karl and any happiness. How lonely he must have been! And how many misunderstandings might have been averted if the cause of his behavior had been realized in time.

  Yet perhaps nothing could have been done, and in any case it was futile to dream about missed opportunities. Who was the old philosopher who had said: "The human race will never know happiness, as long as the words ‘If only...’ can still be spoken?"

  "So it must have been a surprise, when he finally did turn up."

  "No. He'd dropped several hints — I'd been half expecting him for a year. Then he called me from Port Van Allen, said he'd just arrived on a special flight, and would be seeing me as soon as he'd completed his gravity reconditioning."

  "It was a Terran Survey supply ship, going back empty — and fast. Even so, it took him fifty days."

  And it couldn't have been a very comfortable trip, Duncan added to himself — fifty days inside one of those space trucks, with minimal life-support systems. What a contrast to Sirius! He felt sorry for the officers who had innocently succumbed to Karl's persuasion, and hoped that the current Court of Inquiry would not damage their careers.

  Calindy had recovered some of her poise. She stopped pacing around, and rejoined Duncan on the divan.

  "I was not sure whether I really wanted to see him again, after all these years, but I knew how determined he was; it would have been useless trying to keep him away. So — I suppose you can say I took the line of least resistance."

  She managed a wry smile, the continued: "It didn't work, of course, and I should have known it. The we saw a newscast that you'd just arrived on Earth."

  "That must have been a shock to Karl. What did he say?"

  "No much; but I could see that he was upset and very surprised."

  "Surely he must have made some comment."

  "Only that if you contacted me, I was not to tell you that he was on Earth. That was the first time I suspected something was wrong, and started to worry about the titanite he'd asked me to sell."

  "That's a trivial matter — forget about it. Let's say it was just one of the many tools Karl used to reach his objective. But I'd like to know this — when we met aboard Titanic, was he still with you?"

  Another hesitation, which in itself supplied half the answer. Then Calindy replied, rather defiantly: "Of course he was. And he was very angry when I said I'd met you. We had a bad row over that. Not the first one." She sighed, slightly too dramatically. "By that time, Karl realized that it wouldn't work — that it was quite hopeless. I'd warned him many times, but he wouldn't believe me. He refused to face the fact that the Calindy he'd known fifteen years before, and whose image was burned in his brain, no longer existed..."

  Duncan had never thought that he would see tears in Calindy's eyes. But was she weeping for Karl, he wondered — or for her own lost youth?

  He tried to be cynical, but he did not succeed. He was sure that some part of her sorrow was perfectly genuine, and despite himself was deeply touched by it. And more than touched, for now, to his great surprise, he found that sympathy was not the only emotion Calindy was arousing in him. He had never realized before that shared grief could be an aphrodisiac.

  This was a development that he did nothing to discourage, but he did not want to hurry matters. There was still much that he hoped to learn and that only Calindy could tell him.

  "So he
was always disappointed when we made love," she continued tearfully, "thought at first he tried to conceal it. I could tell — and it wasn't pleasant for me. It made me feel — inadequate. You see, by this time I'd learned a good deal about imprinting and knew exactly what the trouble was. Karl's case isn't unique..."

  "So he got more and more frustrated — and also violent. Sometimes he frightened me. You know how strong he was — look at this."

  With another theatrical gesture, she slipped open her dress, displaying the upper left arm — not to mention her entire left breast.

  "He hit me here, so hard that I was badly bruised. You can still see the mark."

  With the best will in the world, Duncan could discover no trace of a bruise on the milky-white skin, smooth as satin, that was exposed before his eyes. Nevertheless, the revelation did not leave him unmoved.

  "So that's why you switched off the viddy," he said sympathetically, and edged closer.

  "Then Ivor's friend called me, with that query about Titan. I thought it was an odd coincidence... you know, Duncan, that was an unkind trick to play on me."

  She sounded more sad than angry; and she did not move away from him. Almost half of the sofa was now unoccupied.

  "And then everything started to happen at once. Did you know that Terran Security sent two of its agents to interview me?"

  "No, but I guessed it. What did you tell them?"

  "Everything, of course. They were very kind and understanding."

  "And also clumsy," said Duncan with deep bitterness.

  "Oh, Duncan, that was an accident! You were an important guest — you had to be protected. There would have been an interplanetary scandal if something had happened just before you were going to address Congress. But you should never have gone after Karl, in such a dangerous place."

  "It wasn't dangerous — we were having a perfectly friendly discussion. How did I know that trigger-happy idiot was lurking in the next antenna?"