Imperial Earth

by Clarke, Arthur C.

  CYCLOPS could not compete with the systems that had now been built on the far side of the Moon — almost perfectly shielded from terrestrial influence by three thousand kilometers of solid rock. For many decades, it had worked in conjunction with them, for two great telescopes at either end of an Earth-Moon baseline formed an interferometer that could probe details of planetary systems hundreds of light-years away. But now there were radio telescopes on Mars; the Lunar observatory could achieve far more with their co-operation than it could ever do with nearby Earth. A baseline two hundred million kilometers long allowed one to survey the surrounding stars with a precision never before imagined.

  As happens sooner or later with all scientific instruments, technical developments had by-passed CYCLOPS. But by the mid-twenty-third century it was facing another problem, which might well prove fatal. The Empty Quarter was no longer a desert.

  CYCLOPS had been built in a region which might see no rains for five years at a time. At Al Hadidah, there were meteorites that had lain untrusting in the sand since the days of the Prophet. All this had been changed by reforestation and climate control; for the first time since the Ice Ages, the deserts were in retreat. More rain now fell on the Empty Quarter in days than had once fallen in years.

  The makers of CYCLOPS had never anticipated this. They had, reasonably enough, based all their designs on a hot, arid environment. Now the maintenance staff was engaged in a continual battle against corrosion, humidity in coaxial cables, fungus-induced breakdowns in high-tension circuits, and all the other ills that afflict electronic equipment if given the slightest chance. Some of the hundred-meter antennas had even rusted up solidly, so that they could no longer be moved and had to be taken out of service. For almost twenty years, the system had been working at slowly decreasing efficiency, while the engineers, administrators, and scientists carried out a triangular argument, no one party being able to convince either of the others. Was it worth investing billions of solars to refurbish the system — or would the money be better spent on the other side of the Moon? It was impossible to arrive at any clear-cut decision, for no one had ever been able to put a value on pure scientific research.

  Whatever its present problems, CYCLOPS had been a spectacular success, helping reshape man's views on the universe not once, but many times. It had pushed back the frontiers of knowledge to the very microsecond after the Big Bang itself, and had trapped radio waves that had circumnavigated the entire span of creation. It had probed the surfaces of distant stars, detected their hidden planets, and discovered such strange entities as neutrino suns, antitachyons, gravitational lenses, spacequakes, and revealed the mind-wrenching realms of negative-probability "Ghost" states and inverted matter.

  But there was one thing that it had not done. Despite scores of false alarms, it had never succeeded in detecting signals from intelligent beings somewhere else in the universe.

  Either man was alone, or nobody else was using radio transmitters. The two explanations seemed equally improbable.

  37

  Meeting At CYCLOPS

  He had known what to expect, or so he had believed, but the reality was still overwhelming. Duncan felt like a child in a forest of giant metal trees, extending in every direction to the limit of vision. Each of the identical ‘trees’ had a slightly tapering trunk fifty meters high, with a stairway spiraling round it up to the platform supporting the drive mechanism. Looming above this was the huge yet surprisingly delicate hundred-meter-wide bowl of the antenna itself, tilted toward the sky as it listened for signals from the deeps of space.

  Antenna 005, as its number indicated, was near the center of the array, but it was impossible to tell this by visual inspection. Whichever way Duncan looked, the ranks and columns of steel towers dwindled into the distance until eventually they formed a solid wall of metal.

  The whole vast array was a miracle of precision engineering, on a scale matched nowhere else on Earth. It was altogether appropriate that many key components had been manufactured in space; the foamed metals and crystal fibers which gave the parabolic reflectors strength with lightness could be produced only by the zero-gravity orbiting factories. In more ways than one, CYCLOPS was a child of space.

  Duncan turned to the guide who had driven him through the labyrinth of access tunnels on the small, chemically powered scooter.

  "I don't see anyone," he complained. "Are you sure he's here?"

  "This is where we left him, an hour ago. He'll be in the pre-amplifier assembly, up there on the platform. You'll have to shout — no radios allowed here, of course."

  Duncan could not help smiling at this further example of the CYCLOPS management's almost fanatical precautions against interference. He had even been asked to surrender his watch, lest its feeble electronic pulses be mistaken for signals from an alien civilization a few hundred light-years away. His guide was actually wearing a spring-driven timepiece — the first that Duncan had ever seen.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, Duncan tilted his head toward the metal tower looming above him and shouted "Karl!" A fraction of a second later, the K echoed back from the next antenna, then reverberated feebly from the ones beyond. After that, the silence seemed more profound than before. Duncan did not feel like disturbing it again.

  Nor was there any need. Fifty meters above, a figure had moved to the railing around the platform; and it brought with it the familiar glint of gold.

  "Who's there?"

  Who do you think? Duncan asked himself. Of course, it was hard to recognize a person from vertically overhead, and voices were distorted in this inhumanly scaled place.

  "It's Duncan."

  There was a pause that seemed to last for the better part of a minute, but could only have been a few seconds in actuality. Karl was obviously surprised, though by this time he must surely have guessed that Duncan knew of his presence on Earth. The he answered: "I'm in the middle of a job. Come up, if you want to."

  That was hardly a welcome, but the voice did not seem hostile. The only emotion that Duncan could identify at this distance was a kind of tired resignation; and perhaps he was imagining even this.

  Karl had vanished again, doubtless to continue whatever task he had come here to perform. Duncan looked very thoughtfully at the spiral stairway winding up the cylindrical trunk of the antenna tower. Fifty meters was a trifling distance — but not in terms of Earth's gravity. It was the equivalent of two hundred and fifty on Titan; he had never had to climb a quarter of a kilometer on his own world.

  Karl, of course, would have had little difficulty, since he had spent his early years on Earth, and his muscles would have recovered much of their original strength. Duncan wondered if this was a deliberate challenge. That would be typical of Karl, and if so he had no choice in the matter.

  As he stepped onto he first of the perforated metal stairs, his CYCLOPS guide remarked hopefully: "There's not much room up there on the platform. Unless you want me, I'll stay here."

  Duncan could recognize a lazy man when he met one, but he was glad to accept the excuse. He did not wish any strangers to be present when he came face to face with Karl. The confrontation was one that he would have avoided if it had been at all possible, but this was not a job that could be delegated to anyone else — even if those instructions from Colin and Malcolm had allowed it.

  The climb was easy enough, thought the safety rail was not as substantial as Duncan would have wished. Moreover, section had been badly rusted, and now that he was close enough to touch the metal he could see that the mounting was in even worse condition that he had been led to expect. Unless emergency repairs were carried out very soon, CYCLOPS would never see the dawn of the twenty-fourth century.

  When Duncan had completed his first circuit, the guide called up to him: "I forgot to tell you — we're selecting a new target in about five minutes. You'll find it rather dramatic."

  Duncan stared up at the huge bowl now completely blocking the sky above him. The thought of all those tons of metal sw
inging around just overhead was quite disturbing, and he was glad that he had been warned in time.

  The other saw his action and interpreted it correctly.

  "It won't bother you. This antenna's been frozen for at least ten years. The drive's seized up, and not worth repairing."

  So that confirmed a suspicion of Duncan's, which he had dismissed as an optical illusion. The great parabola above him was indeed at a slight angle to the others; it was no longer an active part of the CYCLOPS array, but was now pointing blindly at the sky. The loss of one — or even a dozen — elements would cause only a slight degradation of the system, but it was typical of the general air of neglect.

  One more circuit, and he would be at the platform. Duncan paused for breath. He had been climbing very slowly, but already his legs were beginning to ache with the wholly unaccustomed effort. There had been no further sound from Karl. What was he doing, in this fantastic place of old triumphs and lost dreams?

  And how would he react to this unexpected, and doubtless unwelcome, confrontation, when they were face to face? A little belatedly, it occurred to Duncan that a small platform fifty meters above the ground, and in this frightful gravity, was not the best place to have an argument. He smiled at the mental image this conjured up; whatever their disagreement, violence was unthinkable.

  Well, not quite unthinkable. He had just thought of it...

  Overhead now was a narrow band of perforated metal flooring, barely wide enough for the rectangular slot through which the stairway emerged. With a heartfelt sigh of relief, pulling himself upward with rust-stained hands, Duncan climbed the last few steps and stood amid monstrous bearings, silent hydraulic motors, a maze of cables, much dismantled plumbing, and the delicate tracery of ribs supporting the now useless hundred-meter parabola.

  There was still no sign of Karl, and Duncan began a cautious circumnavigation of the antenna mounting. The catwalk was about two meters wide, and the protective rail almost waist-high, so there was no real danger. Nevertheless, he kept well away from the edge and avoided looking at the fifty meter drop.

  He had barely completed half a circuit when all hell broke loose. There was a sudden whirr of motors, the low booming of great machineries on the move — and even the occasional accompaniment of protesting shrieks from gears and bearings that did not wish to be disturbed.

  On every side, the huge skyward-facing bowls were beginning to turn in unison, swinging around to the south. Only the one immediately overhead was motionless, like a blind eye no longer able to react to any stimulus. The din was quite astonishing, and continued for several minutes. Then it stopped as abruptly as it had started. CYCLOPS had located a new target for its scrutiny.

  "Hello, Duncan," said Karl in the sudden silence. "Welcome to Earth."

  He had emerged, while Duncan was distracted by the tumult, from a small cubicle on the underside of the parabola, and was now climbing down a somewhat precarious arrangement of hanging ladders. His descent looked particularly hazardous because he was using only one hand; the other was firmly clutching a large notebook, and Duncan did not relax until Karl was safely on the platform, a few meters away. He made no attempt to come closer, but stood looking at Duncan with a completely unfathomable expression, neither friendly nor hostile.

  Then there was one of those embarrassing pauses when neither party wishes to speak first, and as it dragged on interminably Duncan became aware for the first time of an omnipresent faint hum from all around him. The CYCLOPS array was alive now, its hundreds of tracking mirrors working in precise synchronism. There was no perceptible movement of the great antennas, but they would now be creeping around at a fraction of a centimeter a second. The multiple facets of the CYCLOPS eye, having fixed their gaze upon the stars, were now turning at the precise rate needed to counter the rotation of the Earth.

  How foolish, in his awesome shrine dedicated to the cosmos itself, for two grown men to behave like children, each trying to outface the other! Duncan had the dual advantage of surprise and a clear conscience; he would have nothing to lose by speaking first. He did not wish to take the initiative and perhaps antagonize Karl, so it was best to open with some innocuous triviality.

  No, not the weather — the amount of Terran conversation devoted to that was quite incredible! — but something equally neutral.

  "That was the hardest work I've done since I got here. I can't believe that people really climb mountains on this planet."

  Karl examined this brilliant gambit for possible booby traps. The he shrugged his shoulders and replied: "Earth's tallest mountain is two hundred times as high as this. People climb it every year."

  At least the ice was broken, and communication had been established. Duncan permitted himself a sigh of relief; at the same time, now that they were at close quarters, he was shocked by Karl's appearance. Some of that golden hair had turned to silver, and there was much less of it. In the year since they had last met, Karl seemed to have aged ten. There were crow's-feet wrinkles of anxiety around his eyes, and his brow was now permanently furrowed. He also seemed to have shrunk considerably, and Earth's gravity could not be wholly to blame, for Duncan was even more vulnerable to that. On Titan, he had always had to look up at Karl; now, as they stood face to face, their eyes were level.

  But Karl avoided his gaze and moved restlessly back and forth, firmly clutching the notebook he was carrying. Presently he walked to the very edge of the platform and leaned with almost ostentation recklessness against the protective rail.

  "Don't do that!" protested Duncan. "It makes me nervous." That, he suspected, was the purpose of the exercise.

  "Why should you care?"

  The brusque answer saddened Duncan beyond measure. He could only reply: "If you really don't know, it's too late for me to explain."

  "Well, I know this isn't a social visit. I suppose you've seen Calindy?"

  "Yes. I've seen her."

  "What are you trying to do?"

  "I can't speak for Calindy. She doesn't even know that I'm here."

  "What are the Makenzies trying to do? For the good of Titan, of course."

  Duncan knew better than to argue. He did not even feel angry at the calculated provocation.

  "All I'm trying to do is to avoid a scandal — if it's not too late."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "You know perfectly well. Who authorized your trip to Earth? Who's paying your expenses?"

  Duncan had expected Karl to show some signs of guilt, but he was mistaken.

  "I have friends here. And I don't recall that the Makenzies worried too much about regulations. How did Malcolm get the first Lunar orbital refueling contract?"

  "That was a hundred years ago, when he was trying to get the Titan economy started. There's no excuse now for financial irregularities. Especially for purely personal ends."

  This was, of course, a shot in the dark, but he appeared to have landed on some target. For the first time, Karl looked angry.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped back. "One day Titan..."

  CYCLOPS gently but firmly interrupted him. They had quite forgotten the slow tracking of the great antennas on every side, and were no longer even aware of the faint whirr of the hundreds of drive motors. Until a few seconds ago, the upper platform of 005 had been shielded by the inverted umbrella of the next bowl, but now its shadow was no longer falling upon them. The artificial eclipse was over, and they were blasted by the tropical sun.

  Duncan closed his eyes until his dark glasses had adjusted to the glare. When he opened them again, he was standing in a world divided sharply into night and day. Everything on one side was clearly visible, while in the shadow only a few centimeters away he could see absolutely nothing. The contrast between light and darkness, exaggerated by his glasses, was so great that Duncan could almost imagine he was on the airless Moon.

  It was also uncomfortably hot, especially for Titanians.

  "If you don't mind," said Duncan, still determined t
o be polite, "we'll move around to the shadow side." It would be just like Karl to refuse, either out of sheer stubbornness or to demonstrate his superiority. He was not even wearing dark glasses, though he was holding the notebook to shield his eyes.

  Rather to Duncan's surprise, Karl followed him meekly enough around the catwalk, into the welcome shade on the northern face of the tower. The utter banality of the interruption seemed to have put him off his stride.

  "I was saying," continued Duncan, when they had settled down again, "that I'm merely trying to avoid any unpleasantness that will embarrass both Earth and Titan. There's nothing personal in this, and I wish that someone else were doing it — believe me."

  Karl did not answer at once, but bent down and carefully placed his notebook on the most rust-free section of the catwalk he could find. The action reminded Duncan so vividly of old times that he was absurdly moved. Karl had never been able to express his emotions properly unless his hands were free, and that notebook was obviously a major hindrance.

  "Listen carefully, Duncan," Karl began. "Whatever Calindy told you—"

  "She told me nothing."

  "She must have helped you find me."

  "Not even that. She doesn't even know I'm here."

  "I don't believe you."

  Duncan shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. His strategy seemed to be working. By hinting that he knew much more than he did — which was indeed little enough — he hoped to undercut Karl's confidence and gain further admissions from him. But what he would do then, he still had no idea; he could only rely on Colin's maxim of the masterful administration of the unforeseen.

  Karl had now begun to pace back and forth in such an agitated manner that, for the fist time, Duncan felt distinctly nervous. He remembered Calindy's warning; and once again, he reminded himself uneasily that this was not at all a good place for a confrontation with an adversary who might be slightly unbalanced.