Arthur C Clarke - Light Of Other Days

by Light Of Other Days (lit)

  She reached up, covered his hand, and kissed it. "You're right. We have to wait. But I'm burning energy anyhow. So let's do something constructive with it."

  He seemed to hesitate, as if trying to puzzle out her meaning.

  Well, Kate, she told herself, you aren't like the other girls he's met in his gilded life. Maybe he needs a little help.

  She put her free hand around his neck, pulled him toward her, and felt his mouth on hers. Her tongue, hot and inquisitive, pushed into his mouth, and ran along a ridge of perfect lower teeth; his lips responded eagerly.

  At first he was tender, even loving. But, as passion built, she became aware of a change in his posture, his manner. As she responded to his unspoken commands she was aware that she was letting him take control, and—even as he brought her to a deep climax with expert ease— she felt he was distracted, lost in the mysteries of his own strange, wounded mind, engaged with the physical act, and not with her.

  He knows how to make love, she thought, maybe bet- ter than anybody I know. But he doesn't know how to love. What a cliche that was. But it was true. And ter- ribly sad.

  And, even as his body closed on hers, her fingers, digging into the hair at the back of his neck, found some- thing round and hard under his covering of hair, about the size of a nickel, metallic and cold.

  It was a brain stud.

  In the spring-morning silence of the Wormworks, David sat in the glow of his SoftScreen.

  He was looking down at the top of his own head, from a height of two or three meters. It wasn't a comfortable sight: he looked overweight, and there was a small bald spot at his crown he hadn't noticed before, a little pink coin in among his uncombed mass of hair.

  He raised his hand to find the bald spot.

  The image in the 'Screen raised its hand too, like a puppet slaved to his actions. He waved, childishly, and looked up. But of course there was nothing to see, no sign of the tiny rip on spacetime which transmitted these images.

  He tapped at the 'Screen, and the viewpoint swiveled, looking straight ahead. Another tap, hesitantly, and it began to move forward, through the Wormworks' dark halls: at first a little jerkily, then more smoothly. Huge machines, looming and rather sinister, floated past him like blocky clouds.

  Eventually, he supposed, commercial versions of this wormhole camera would come with more intuitive con- trols, a joystick perhaps, levers and knobs to swivel the viewpoint this way and that. But this simple configura- tion of touch controls on his 'Screen was enough to let him control the viewpoint, allowing him to concentrate on the image itself.

  And of course, a corner of his mind reminded him, in actuality the viewpoint wasn't moving at all: rather, the Casimir engines were creating and collapsing a series of wormholes, Planck lengths apart, strung out in a line the way he wanted to move. The images returned by suc- cessive holes arrived sufficiently closely to give him the illusion of movement.

  But none of that was important for now, he told him- self sternly. For now he only wanted to play.

  With a determined slap at the 'Screen he turned the viewpoint and made it fly straight at the Wormworks' corrugated iron wall. He couldn't help but wince as that barrier flew at him.

  There was an instant of darkness.

  And then he was through, and immersed suddenly in dazzling sunlight.

  He slowed (he viewpoint and dropped it to around eye level. He was in the grounds which surrounded the Wormworks: grass, streams, cute little bridges. The sun was low, casting long crisp shadows, and there was a trace of dew that glimmered on the grass.

  He let his viewpoint glide forward—at first at walking pace, then a little faster. The grass swept beneath him, and Hiram's replanted trees blurred past, side by side.

  The sense of speed was exhilarating.

  He still hadn't mastered the controls, and from time to time his viewpoint would plunge clumsily through a tree or a rock; moments of darkness, tinged deep brown or gray. But he was getting the hang of it, and the sense of speed and freedom and clarity was sinking. It was like being ten years old again, he thought, senses fresh and sharp, a body so full of energy he was light as a feather.

  He came to the plant's drive. He raised the viewpoint through two or three meters, swept down the drive, and found the freeway. He flew higher and skimmed far above the road, gazing down at the streams of gleaming, beetle-like cars below. The traffic flow, still gathering for the rush hour to come, was dense and fast-moving. He could see patterns in me flow, knots of density that gathered and cleared as the invisible web of software controls optimized the stream of SmartDriven cars.

  Suddenly impatient, he rose up further, so that the roadway became a gray ribbon snaking over the land, car windscreens sparkling like a string of diamonds.

  He could see the city laid out before him now. The suburbs were a neat rectangular grid laid over the hills, mist-blurred to gray. The tall buildings of downtown thrust upward, a compact fist of concrete and glass and steel.

  He rose higher still, swooped through a thin layer of cloud to a brighter sunshine beyond, and then turned again -to see the ocean's glimmer—stained, far from land, by the ominous dark of yet another incoming storm system. The horizon's curve became apparent, as land and sea folded over on themselves and Earth became a planet.

  David suppressed the urge to whoop. He always had wanted to fly like Superman. This, he thought, is going to sell like hot cakes.

  A crescent Moon hung, low and gaunt, in the blue sky. David swiveled the viewpoint until his field of view was centered on that sliver of bony light.

  Behind him he could hear a commotion, raised voices, running feet. Perhaps it was a security breach, some- where in the Wormworks. It was none of his concern.

  With determination, he drove the viewpoint forward. The morning blue deepened to violet. Already he could see the first stars.

  They slept for a while.

  When Kate stirred, she felt cold. She raised her wrist and her tattoo lit up. Six in the morning. In his sleep, Bobby had moved away from her, leaving her uncov- ered. She pulled at the blanket they were sharing, cov- ering her exposed torso.

  The Wormworks, windowless, was as dark and cav- ernous as when they had arrived. She could see that the WormCam image of Billybob's study was still as it had been, the desk and rhino skins and the papers. Every- thing since they had set up the WormCam link had been recorded. With a flicker of excitement she realized she might already have enough material to nail Meeks for good—

  "You're awake."

  She turned her head. There was Bobby's face, eyes wide open, resting on a folded-up blanket.

  He stroked her cheek with the back of one finger. "I think you've been crying," he said.

  That startled her. She resisted the temptation to brush his hand away, to hide her face.

  He sighed. "You found the implant. So now you've screwed a wirehead. Isn't that your prejudice? You don't like implants. Maybe you think only criminals and the mentally deficient should undergo brain-function modi- fication—"

  "Who put it there?"

  "My father. I mean, it was his initiative. When I was a small boy."

  "You remember?"

  "I was three or four years old. Yes, I remember. And I remember understanding why he was doing it. Not the technical detail, of course, but the fact that he loved me, and wanted the best for me." He smiled, self- deprecating. "I'm not quite as perfect as I look. I was somewhat hyperactive, and also slightly dyslexic. The implant fixed those things."

  She reached'behind him and explored the profile of his implant. Trying not to make it obvious, she made sure her own wrist tattoo passed over the metai surface. She forced a smile. "You ought to upgrade your hard- ware."

  He shrugged. "It works well enough."

  "If you'll let me bring in some microelectronic anal- ysis gear I could run a study of it."

  "What would be the point?"

  She took a breath. "So we can find out what it does."

  "I told you
what it does."

  "You told me what Hiram told you."

  He propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her. "What are you implying?"

  Yes, what, Kate? Are you just sour because he shows no signs of falling in love with you—as, obviously, you are falling for this complex, flawed man? "You seem to have—gaps. For instance, don't you ever wonder about your mother?"

  "No," he said. "Am I supposed to?"

  "It's not a question of being supposed to, Bobby- It's just what most people do—without being prompted."

  "And you think this has something to do with my implant?—Look, I trust my father. I know that every- thing he's done has been for my best interest."

  "All right." She leaned over to kiss him. "It's not my business. We won't talk about it again."

  At least, she thought with a guilty frisson, not until I get an analysis of the data I already collected from your head stud—without your knowledge, or your permis- sion. She snuggled closer to him, and draped an arm over his chest, protectively. Maybe it's me who has the gaps in her soul, she thought.

  With shocking suddenness, torchlight burst over them.

  Kate hastily grabbed the blanket to her chest, feeling absurdly exposed and vulnerable. The torchlight in her eyes was dazzling, masking the group of people beyond. There were two, three people. They wore dark uniforms.

  And there was Hiram's unmistakable bulk, his hands on his hips, glaring at her.

  "You can't hide from me," Hiram said easily. He ges- tured at the WormCam image. "Shut that bloody thing off."

  The image turned to mush as the wormhole link to Billybob's office was shut down.

  "Ms. Manzoni, just by breaking in here you've broken a whole hatful of laws. Not to mention attempting to violate the privacy of Billybob Meeks. The police are already on their way. I doubt if I'll be able to get you imprisoned—though I'll have a bloody good try—but I can ensure you'll never work in your field again."

  Kate kept up her defiant glower. But she felt her re- solve crumble; she knew Hiram had the power to do just that.

  Bobby was lying back, relaxed.

  She dug an elbow in his ribs. "I don't understand you, Bobby. He's spying on you. Doesn't that bother you?"

  Hiram stood over her. "Why should it bother him?"

  Through the dazzle she could see sweat gleaming on his bare scalp, his only sign of anger. "I'm his father. What bothers me is you, Ms. Maazoni. It's obvious to me you're poisoning my son's mind. Just like—" He stopped himself.

  Kate glared back. "Like who, Hiram? His mother?" But Bobby's hand was on her arm. "Back off. Dad. Kate, he was bound to figure this out sometime. Look, both of you, let's find a win-win solution to this. Isn't that what you always told me, Dad?" He said impul- sively, "Don't throw Kate out. Give her a job. Here, at OurWorld."

  Hiram and Kate spoke simultaneously. "Are you matf!—"

  "Bobby, that's absurd. If you think I'd work for this creep—"

  Bobby held his hands up. "Dad, think about it. To exploit the technology you're going to need the best in- vestigative journalists you can find. Right? Even with the WormCam you can't dig out a story without leads." Hiram snorted. "You're telling me she is the best?" Bobby raised his eyebrows. "She's here. Dad. She found out about the WormCam itself. She even started to use it. And as for you, Kate—"

  "Bobby, it will be a cold day in hell—" "You know about the WormCam. Hiram can't let you go with that knowledge. So—don't go. Come work here. You'll have an edge on every other damn reporter on the planet." He looked from one to the other. Hiram and Kate glared at each other. Kate said, "I'd insist on finishing my investigation into Billybob Meeks. I don't care what links you have with him, ffiram. The man is a sham, potentially mur- derous and a drug runner. And—"

  Hiram laughed. "You're laying down conditions'!" Bobby said, "Dad, please. Just think about it. For me." Hiram loomed over Kate, his face savage. "Perhaps I have to accept this. But you will not take my son away from me. I hope you understand that." He straightened up, and Kate found herself shivering. "By the way," Hiram said to Bobby, "you were right."

  "About what?"

  "That I love you. That you should trust me. That everything I have done to you has been for the best."

  Kate gasped. "You heard him say that?" But of course he had; Hiram had probably heard everything.

  Hiram's eyes were on Bobby. "You do believe me, don't you? Don't you?"

  SCOOPS

  From OurWorld International News Hour, 21 June, 2036:

  Kate Manzoni (to camera):

  ... The real possibility, revealed exclusively here, of armed conflict between Scotland and England— and therefore, of course, involving the United States as a whole—is the most significant development in what is becoming the central story of our unfolding century: the battle for water.

  The figures are stark. Less than one percent of the world's water supply is suitable and accessible for human use- As cities expand, and less land is left available for farming, the demand for water is increasing sharply. In parts of Asia, the Mideast and Africa, the available surface water is already hilly used, and groundwater levels have been falling for decades- Back at the turn of the century ten percent of the world's population did not have enough water to drink. Now that figure has tripled—and it is ex- pected to reach a startling seventy percent by 2050.

  We have become used to seeing bloody conflicts over water—for example in China, and over the waters of the Nile, the Euphrates, the Ganges and the Amazon—places where the diminishing re- source has to be shared, or where one neighbor is perceived, rightly or wrongly, as having more water than it requires. In this country, there have been calls in Congress for the Administration to put more pressure on the Canadian and Quebecois govern- ments to release more water to the U.S., particularly the desertifying Midwest.

  Nevertheless the idea that such conflicts could come to the developed Western world—just to re- peat our exclusive revelation, that an armed incur- sion into Scotland to secure water supplies has been seriously considered by the English state govern- ment—comes as a shock....

  Angel McKie (v/o): It is night, and nothing is stir- ring.

  This small island, set like a jewel in the Philip- pine Sea, is only a half kilometer across. And yet, until yesterday, more than a thousand people lived here, crammed into ramshackle dwellings which covered these lowlands as far as the high-tide line of the sea- Even yesterday, children played along the beach you can see hera. Now nothing is left. Not even the bodies of the children remain.

  Hurricane Antony—the latest to be spun off the apparently permanent El Nino storm which contin- ues to wreak havoc around the Pacific Rim— touched here only briefly, but it was long enough to destroy everything these people had built up over generations.

  The sun has yet to rise on this devastation. Not even the rescue crews have arrived yet. These pic- tures are brought to you exclusively by an Our- World remote news-gathering unit, once again on the scene of breaking news ahead of the rest.

  We will return to these scenes when the first aid helicopters arrive—they are due from the mainland any minute now—and in the meantime we can take you to an underwater view of the coral reef here. This was the last remnant of a great community of reefs which lined the Tanon Strait and the southern Negros, most of it long destroyed by dynamite fish- ing. Now this last survivor, preserved for a gener- ation by devoted experts, has been devastated.:..

  Willoughby Cott (v/o):... now we can see that goal again as we ride on Staedler's shoulder with OurWorid's exclusive As-The-Sportsman-Sees-It feature.

  You can see the line of defenders ahead of Stae- dier pushing forward as he approaches, expecting him to make a pass which would leave Cramer off- side. But Staedler instead heads away from the wing into deeper midfield, beats one defender, then a second—the goalkeeper doesn't know which threat to counter, Staedler or Cramer—and here you can see the gap Staedler spotted, opening up at the near post, and he puts on a bu
rst of acceleration and shoots!

  And now, thanks to OurWorid's exclusive infield imaging technology, we are riding with the ball as it arcs into that top comer, and the Beijing crowd is ecstatic....

  Simon Alcala (v/o):... coming up later, we bring you more exclusive behind-the-scenes pictures of Russian Tsarina Irum's visit to a top Johannesburg boutique—and what was Madonna's daughter having done to her nose in mis exclusive Los An- geles cosmetic-surgery clinic?

  OurWorid Paparazzi: we take you into me lives of the famous—whether they like it or not!

  But first: here's a General Assembly we'd like to see more of! Lunchtime yesterday, UN Secretary- General HalliweU took a break from UNESCO's World Hydrology Initiative conference in Cuba.