For its part the Federation had not been free from blame. Amongst the idealists and scientists, who had been attracted by the promise of the outer worlds, were not a few men of more ruthless breed, men who had long known that a breach with Earth would one day be inevitable. It was these who had planned the research which culminated in the cruisers Acheron and Eridanus and later the superdreadnought Phlegethon.
Those ships were made possible by the invention of the Wilson or accelerationless drive. So universal is the Wilson drive today that it is difficult to realise it was being perfected in secret for ten years before the Solar System learned of its existence. Around that drive the Federation built its three warships and their armament.
Even today little has been revealed of the weapons with which the Battle of the Plain was fought. Atomic power and the tremendous development of electronic engineering during the twentieth century had made them possible. It was never intended that these fearful weapons be used—the mere revelation of their existence would, it was hoped, wring the necessary concessions from Earth.
It was a dangerous policy but one which might have worked had not Earth possessed a superb intelligence service. When at last the Federation put forth its strength, countermeaures had already been taken. In addition Earth had by supreme good fortune just discovered a branch of radiation physics which made possible a weapon of which its opponents knew nothing and against which they had no defence.
The Federation, expecting no opposition whatsoever, had made the age-old mistake of underestimating its opponent.
It was nightfall on the Observatory meridian. All the free members of the staff had gathered, as was the custom, around the observation windows to say farewell to the Sun they would not see again for fourteen days. Only the highest mountain peaks were still catching the last slanting light. Long since the valleys had been engulfed in darkness. The sun’s disc was already invisible. As the minutes crawled by the splendour died slowly on the blazing mountain spires as though reluctant to leave them.
And now only a blazing peak could still be seen, far out over the hidden ramparts of the Alps. The Sea of Rains had been in darkness for many hours but Pico’s inaccessible crown had not yet sunk into the cone of night sweeping round the Moon. A lonely beacon, it still defied the gathering dusk.
In silence the little group of men and women watched the darkness flooding up the great mountain’s slopes. Their remoteness from Earth and the rest of the human race made more poignant the sense of sadness that is the heritage of Man whenever he watches the setting of the Sun.
The light ebbed and died on the distant peak—the long lunar night had begun. When in fourteen days the Sun rose again it would look down upon a vastly different Sea of Rains. The astronomers had paid their last respects to the proud mountain that seemed the very symbol of eternity. When the dawn came it would have vanished forever.
During the next two weeks, there was little relaxation for anyone at the Observatory. Wheeler and Jamieson, who were studying the light curves of variable stars in the Andromeda nebula, had been allotted the use of the thousand-inch telescope for one hour in every thirty. Nearly a score of other research programmes had to be dovetailed according to an elaborate timetable—and woe betide anyone who tried to exceed his allowance!
The dome of the Observatory was now open to the stars and the astronomers were wearing light space-suits which scarcely restricted their movements. Wheeler was taking a series of photometer readings which his colleague was recording when their suit radios began to hum with life. A general announcement was coming through. These were very common and the two men took no notice until they realised that it was directed at them.
‘Will Dr Jamieson please report to the Director at once? Dr Jamieson to report to the Director at once, please.’
Wheeler looked at his companion in surprise. ‘Hello, what have you been up to? Bad language again on the station frequency?’
This was the commonest crime in the Observatory. When one was wearing a space-suit it was often difficult to remember that the person being addressed was not necessarily the only listener. The possible indiscretions were legion and most of them had been committed at one time or another.
‘No, my conscience at any rate is clear. You’ll have to get someone else to finish this job. See you later.’
In spite of his confidence Jamieson was relieved to find the Director in a friendly though worried mood. He was not alone. Sitting in his office was a middle-aged man nursing a briefcase and wearing clothes that indicated he had only just arrived. The Director wasted no time in formalities.
‘Jamieson, you’re the best tractor driver we have. I gather that you have been to the new establishment out in the Mare Imbrium. How long would it take you to get there?’
‘What—now?—at night?’
‘Yes.’
Jamieson stood speechless for a moment, completely taken aback by the proposal. He had never driven at night. Only once had he been out as late as a day before sunset and that was bad enough. The inky shadows had lain everywhere, indistinguishable from crevasses. It needed a violent effort of will to drive into them—and even worse the real crevasses were indistinguishable from shadows.
The Director, seeing his hesitation, spoke again. ‘It won’t be as bad as you think. The Earth’s nearly full and there’ll be plenty of light. There’s no real danger if you’re careful—but Dr Fletcher wants to get to Pico in three hours. Can you do it?’
Jamieson was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘I’m not sure but I’ll try. Is it permissible to ask what this is all about?’
The Director glanced at the man with the briefcase. ‘Well, Doctor?’
The other shook his head and answered in a quiet and unusually well-modulated voice, ‘Sorry—I can only tell you that I’ve got to reach the installation as soon as humanly possible. I was on my way by rocket when the underjets started to cut and we had to come down at Aristillus.
‘It will take twenty-four hours to fix the ship, so I decided to go by tractor. It’s only taken me three hours to get here but they told me I’d need an Observatory driver for the next lap. In fact, they mentioned you.’
Jamieson was somewhat amused by the mixture of encouragement and flattery. ‘The road to Aristillus happens to be the only decent highway on the Moon,’ he said. ‘I’ve done a hundred on it before now. You’ll find things very different out on the Mare—even in daylight, thirty’s a good average. I’m perfectly willing to have a shot at it but you won’t enjoy the ride.’
‘I’ll take that risk—and thanks for helping.’
Jamieson turned to the Director. ‘How about getting back, Sir?’
‘I leave that entirely to you, Jamieson. If you think best stay there until morning. Otherwise come back as soon as you’ve had a rest. Whom do you want as a second driver?’
It was a stringent rule that no one could leave the Observatory without a companion. Apart from the danger of physical accident the psychological effect of the lunar silences upon an isolated man was sometimes enough to unbalance the sanest minds.
‘I’ll take Wheeler, sir.’
‘Can he drive?’
‘Yes, I taught him myself.’
‘Good. Well, the best of luck—and don’t come back until dawn unless you feel perfectly safe.’
Wheeler was already waiting at the tractor when Jamieson and the stranger arrived. The Director must have called him and given him full instructions, for he carried a couple of suitcases with his own and Jamieson’s personal belongings. They hoped it would not be necessary to spend the seven days until dawn at the radio station but it was best to be prepared.
The great outer doors of the ‘Stable,’ as the tractor garage was called, slid smoothly open and the artificial light flooded out onto the roadway. There was a faint scurry of dust as the air rushed out of the lock. Then the tractor moved slowly forward through the open door.
The roadway down the mountain looked very different now. A fortnight ea
rlier, it had been a blinding ribbon of concrete, baking in the glare of the noonday Sun. Now it seemed almost self-luminous under the blue-green light of the gibbous Earth, which dominated a sky so full of stars that the familiar constellations were almost lost. The coastline of western Europe was clearly visible but the Mediterranean area was blotted out by dazzling clouds, too bright to look upon.
Jamieson wasted no time in sightseeing. He knew the road perfectly and the light was superb—safer than daylight because less overpowering. Out in the treacherous shadows of the Sea it would be very different but here he could do eighty with ease.
It seemed to Wheeler that the ride down the mountain road was even more shattering than it had been during the day. The ghostly quality of the Earth-light made it difficult to judge distances but the landscape was sliding past at an appalling speed.
He glanced at the mysterious passenger, who seemed to be taking the ride very calmly. It was time to strike up an acquaintance—besides, he was anxious to discover what the whole business was about. Perhaps a calculated indiscretion might produce useful results.
‘It’s rather lucky we’ve been this way before,’ began Wheeler. ‘We visited the new radio station only a fortnight ago.’
‘Radio station?’ said the passenger, his surprisingly level voice betraying just a trace of perplexity.
Wheeler was taken aback. ‘Yes, the place we’re going to.’
The other looked puzzled. Then he asked in a quiet voice, ‘Who told you what it was?’
Wheeler decided to be a little more discreet. ‘Oh, we managed to see a bit of the place while we were over there. I took a course in elementary electronics at Astrotech and recognised some of the gear.’
For some reason the other appeared highly amused. He was about to reply when suddenly the tractor gave a jolt which roughly shot them both into the air.
‘Better hang on to your seats now,’ called Jamieson over his shoulder. ‘This is where we leave the road. I think the suspension can take it—thank goodness I’ve just had it checked.’
For the next few miles Wheeler was too breathless to do any further talking but he had time to think over his passenger’s surprising reactions. Certain doubts began to form in his mind. Who, for example, had ever heard of a radio station generating colossal magnetic fields?
Wheeler looked at his passenger again, wishing he could read minds. He wondered what was in that tightly held briefcase with the triple locks. There were initials on it—he could just see them—J.A.F. They conveyed nothing to him.
Doctor James Alan Fletcher, Ph. D., was not at all happy. He had never been in a tractor before and sincerely hoped he never would be again. Up to the present his stomach had behaved itself but a few more jolts like the last would be too much for it. He was glad to see that the machine’s thoughtful designers had foreseen such accidents and made certain provisions for them. That at least was reassuring.
Jamieson was sitting intently at the controls and had not spoken again since leaving the road. The ground over which the tractor was now travelling seemed bumpy but safe and the machine was averaging about fifty miles an hour. Presently it would enter a range of low hills a few miles ahead and its speed would be considerably reduced. So far, however, Jamieson had managed to avoid the shadows which the Earthlight was casting from every rise in the ground.
Fletcher decided to ignore the landscape outside. It was too lonely and overpowering. The brilliant light of the mother world—fifty times as bright as the full Moon on Earth—enhanced rather than diminished the impression of frightful cold. Those whitely gleaming rocks, Fletcher knew, were colder than liquid air. This was no place for man.
By comparison the tractor’s interior was warm and homey. There were touches that brought earth very close. Who, Fletcher wondered, had been responsible for the photograph of a certain famous television star which was pinned against one wall? Wheeler caught his enquiring gaze and with a grin jerked his thumb towards the intent curve of Jamieson’s back.
Suddenly darkness fell with an abruptness that was shocking. Simultaneously Jamieson brought the tractor almost to a halt. The twin beams of the machine’s dirigible searchlights began to roam over the ground ahead and Fletcher realised that they had entered the shadow of a small hill. For the first time he understood what the lunar night really meant.
Slowly the machine edged forward at five or ten miles an hour, the searchlights anxiously exploring every foot of the ground ahead. For twenty minutes the agonisingly slow progress continued. Then the tractor surmounted a rise and Fletcher was forced to shield his eyes from the glare of Earthlight on the rock ahead. The shadow fell away as the machine picked up speed again and the welcome disc of the Earth appeared in the sky.
Fletcher looked at his watch and was surprised to see that they had been on their way less than fifty minutes. It was two minutes to the hour and automatically his eyes went to the radio. ‘Mind if I switch on the news?’
‘Go right ahead—it’s tuned to Manilius I, but you can get Earth direct if you want to.’
The great lunar relay station came in crystal clear with no trace of fading. During the hours of darkness the Moon’s feeble ionosphere had been completely dispersed and there were no reflected signals to interfere with the ground ray.
Fletcher was surprised to see that the tractor chronometer was over a second fast. Then he realised that it was set to lunar time, that the signal he was listening to had just bridged the quarter million miles gulf from Earth. It was a chilling reminder of his remoteness from home.
Then there came a delay so long that Wheeler turned up the volume to check that the set was still operating. After a full minute the announcer spoke, his voice striving desperately to be as impersonal as ever. ‘This is Earth calling. The following statement has just been issue from Berne—
‘The Federation of the Outer Planets has informed the Government of Earth that it intends to seize certain portions of the Moon and that any attempt to resist this action will be countered by force.
‘This Government is taking all necessary steps to preserve the integrity of the Moon. A further announcement will be issued as soon as possible. In the meantime it is emphasised that there is no immediate danger as there are no hostile ships within twenty hours’ flight of Earth.
‘This is Earth. Stand by.’
V
A sudden silence fell. Only the hiss of the carrier and the faint crackle of infinitely distant static still issued from the speaker. Jamieson had brought the tractor to a halt and had turned around in his seat to face Fletcher.
‘So this is why you are in such a hurry,’ he said quietly.
Fletcher nodded. Colour was slowly draining back to his face. ‘We did not expect it so soon.’
There was a pause during which Jamieson made no effort to restart the tractor. Only the nervous drumming of Fletcher’s fingers on his briefcase betrayed his tension. Then Jamieson spoke again. ‘And will this journey of yours make any real difference?’
Fletcher looked at him for a long time before he answered. ‘I’ll tell you when we get there,’ he said. ‘Now, for God’s sake, start driving!’
There was a long silence. Then Jamieson turned back to the controls and restarted the engine. ‘You’ll be there in ninety minutes,’ he said.
He did not speak again during the journey. Only Wheeler realised what it must have cost him to make his decision. That Jamieson’s loyalties were divided he could understand, for there were few scientists who did not share many of the Federation’s nobler ideals. He was glad that Jamieson had gone forward, yet if he had turned back he would have respected his motives none the less.
The radio was now pouring out a stream of unintelligible coded instructions. No further news had come through and Wheeler wondered just what steps were being taken to defend the Moon. There was nothing that could be done in a few hours though the final touches could be put to plans already prepared. He began to suspect the nature of Fletcher’s business.
/> The latter had now opened his briefcase. It was full of photostats of extremely complicated circuits which he made no attempt to conceal. A single glance showed Wheeler that any secrecy was unnecessary for the mass of symbols and wiring was completely meaningless to him. Fletcher was ticking off various amendments against a list of corrections, as if making some final check. Wheeler could not help thinking that he was probably doing it more to pass the time than anything else.
Fletcher was not a brave man—seldom in his life had he known the need for so primitive a virtue as physical courage. He was rather surprised at his absence of fear, now that the crisis was almost upon him. Well before dawn, he knew, he would probably be dead.
The thought gave him more annoyance than fear. It meant that his paper on wave propagation, all his work on the new beam, would remain unfinished. And he would never be able to claim the massive travelling allowance he had been planning as compensation for this frightful ride across the Sea of Rains.
A long time later a cry from Wheeler broke into his reverie. ‘Here we are!’
The tractor had surmounted a rise in the ground. Still a good many miles ahead the great metal dome was glinting in the Earthlight. It seemed utterly deserted but within, Fletcher knew, it would be seething with furious activity.
A searchlight reached out and speared the tractor. Jamieson drove steadily forward. He knew it was only a symbol, that for many miles invisible radiations had been scrutinising them intently. He flashed the identification letters of the machine and raced forward over the nearly level ground.
The tractor came to a halt in the monstrous shadow of the dome. Men were awaiting them by the airlock. Fletcher was already wearing his space-suit and his hand was on the door almost before the tractor came to a stop. ‘Just wait here a minute,’ he said, ‘while I find what’s happened.’
‘He was through the lock before the others could say a word. They saw him give a few hasty instructions and then he disappeared into the dome.
The Collected Stories of Arthur C. Clarke Page 9