Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 (9 page)

 
          
 
"We have no records of the founding of
Lys, but we know that our remote ancestors disHked city Hfe intensely and would
have nothing to do with it. In spite of swift and universal transport, they
kept themselves largely apart from the rest of the world and developed an
independent culture which was one of the highest the race had ever known.

 
          
 
"Through the ages, as we advanced along
our different roads, the gulf between Lys and the cities widened. It was
bridged only in times of great crisis: we know that when the Moon was falling,
its destruction was planned and carried out by the scientists of Lys. So too
was the defense of Earth against the Invaders, whom we held at the Battle of
Shalmirane.

 
          
 
"That great ordeal exhausted mankind: one
by one the cities died and the desert rolled over them. As the population fell,
humanity began the migration which was to make Diaspar the last and greatest of
all cities.

 
          
 
"Most of these changes passed us by, but
we had our own battle to fight—the battle against the desert. The natural
barrier of the mountains was not enough, and many thousands of years passed
before we had made our land secure. Far beneath Lys are machines which will
give us water as long as the world remains, for the old oceans are still there,
miles down in the Earth's crust.

 
          
 
"That, very briefly, is our history. You
will see that even in the Dawn Ages we had little to do with the cities, though
their people often came into our land. We never hindered them, for many of our
greatest men came from Outside, but when the cities were dying we did not wish
to be involved in their downfall. With the ending of air transport, there was
only one way into Lys—the carrier system from Diaspar. Four hundred million
years ago that was closed by mutual agreement. But we have remembered Diaspar,
and I do not know why you have forgotten Lys."

 
          
 
Seranis smiled, a little wryly.

 
          
 
"Diaspar has surprised us. We expected it
to go the way of all other cities, but instead it has achieved a stable culture
that may last as long as Earth. It is not a culture we admire, yet we are glad
that those who wish to escape have been able to do so. More than you might think
have made the journey, and they have almost all been outstanding men."

 
          
 
Alvin wondered how Seranis could be so sure of
her facts, and he did not approve of her attitude toward Diaspar. He had hardly
"escaped"—yet, after all, the word was not altogether inaccurate.

 
          
 
Somewhere a great bell vibrated with a
throbbing boom that ebbed and died in the still air. Six times it struck, and
as the last note faded into silence Alvin realized that the sun was low on the
horizon and the eastern sky already held a hint of night.

 
          
 
"I must return to Diaspar," he said.
"Rorden is expecting me."

 
          
 
Seranis looked at him thoughtfully for a
moment. Then she rose to her feet and walked toward the stairway.

 
          
 
"Please wait a little while," she
said. "I have some business to settle, and Theon, I know, has many
questions to ask you."

 
          
 
Then she was gone, and for the next few
minutes Theon's barrage of questions drove any other thoughts from his mind.
Theon had heard of Diaspar, and had seen records of the cities as they were at
the height of their glory, but he could not imagine how their inhabitants had
passed their lives. Alvin was amused at many of his questions—until he realized
that his own ignorance of Lys was even greater.

 
          
 
Seranis was gone for many minutes, but her
expression revealed nothing when she returned.

 
          
 
"We have been talking about you,"
she said—not explaining who "we" might be: "If you return to
Diaspar, the whole city will know about us. Whatever promises you make, the secret
could not be kept."

 
          
 
A feeling of slight panic began to creep over
Alvin. Seranis must have known his thoughts, for her next words were more
reassuring.

 
          
 
"We don't wish to keep you here against
your wishes, but if you return to Diaspar we will have to erase all memories of
Lys from

 
          
 
your
mind." She
hesitated for a moment. "This has never arisen before: all your
predecessors came here to stay."

 
          
 
Alvin was thinking deeply.

 
          
 
"Why should it matter," he said,
"if Diaspar does learn about you again? Surely it would be a good thing
for both our peoples?"

 
          
 
Seranis looked displeased.

 
          
 
"We don't think so," she said.
"If the gates were opened, our land would be flooded with
sensation-seekers and the idly curious. As things are now, only the best of your
people have ever reached us."

 
          
 
Alvin felt himself becoming steadily more
annoyed, but he realized that Seranis' attitude was quite unconscious.

 
          
 
"That isn't true," he said flatly.
"Very few of us would ever leave Diaspar. If you let me return, it would
make no difi^erence to Lys."

 
          
 
"The decision is not in my hands,"
replied Seranis, "but I will put it to the Council when it meets three
days from now. Until then, you can remain as my guest, and Theon will show you
our country."

 
          
 
"I would like to do that," said
Alvin, "but Rorden will be waiting for me. He knows where I am, and if I
don't come back at once anything may happen."

 
          
 
Seranis smiled slightly.

 
          
 
"We have given that a good deal of
thought," she admitted. "There are men working on the problem now—we
will see if they have been successful."

 
          
 
Alvin was annoyed at having overlooked
something so obvious. He knew that the engineers of the past had built for
eternity—his journey to Lys had been proof of that. Yet it gave him a shock
when the chromatic mist on the visiphone screen drifted aside to show the
familiar outlines of Rorden's room.

 
          
 
The Keeper of the Records looked up from his
desk. His eyes lit when he saw Alvin.

 
          
 
"I never expected you to be early,"
he said—though there was relief behind the jesting words. "Shall I come to
meet you?"

 
          
 
While Alvin hesitated, Seranis stepped
forward, and Rorden saw her for the first time. His eyes widened and he leaned
forward as if to obtain a better view. The movement was as useless as it was
automatic: Man had not lost it even though he had used the visi-phone for a
thousand million years.

 
          
 
Seranis laid her hands on Alvin's shoulders
and began to speak. When she had finished Rorden was silent for a while.

 
          
 
"I'll do my best," he said at length.
"As I understand it, the choice lies between sending Alvin back to us
under some form of hypnosis—
or
returning him with no
restrictions at all. But I think I can promise that even if it learns of your
existence, Diaspar will continue to ignore you."

 
          
 
"We won't overlook that
possibility," Seranis replied with just a trace of pique. Rorden detected
it instantly.

 
          
 
"And what of myself?" he asked with
a smile. "I know as much as Alvin now."

 
          
 
"Alvin is a boy," replied Seranis
quickly, "but you hold an office as ancient as Diaspar. This is not the
first time Lys has spoken to the Keeper of the Records, and he has never
betrayed our secret yet."

 
          
 
Rorden made no comment: he merely said:
"How long do you wish to keep Alvin?"

 
          
 
"At the most, five days. The Council
meets three days from now."

 
          
 
"Very well: for the next five days, then,
Alvin is extremely busy on some historical research with me. This won't be the
first time it's happened—but we'll have to be out if Jeserac calls."

 
          
 
Alvin laughed.

 
          
 
"Poor Jeserac!
I
seem to spend half my life hiding things from him."

 
          
 
"You've been much less successful than
you think," replied Rorden, somewhat disconcertingly. "However I
don't expect any trouble. But don't be longer than the five days!"

 
          
 
When the picture had faded, Rorden sat for a
while staring at the darkened screen. He had always suspected that the world
communication network might still be in existence, but the keys to its
operation had been lost and the billions of circuits could never be traced by
Man. It was strange to reflect that even now visiphones might be called vainly
in the lost cities. Perhaps the time would come when his own receiver would do
the same, and there would be no Keeper of the Records to answer the unknown
caller. . . .

 
          
 
He began to feel afraid. The immensity of what
had happened was slowly dawning upon him. Until now, Rorden had given little
thought to the consequences of his actions. His own historical interests, and
his affection for Alvin, had been sufficient motive for what he had done.
Though he had humored and encouraged Alvin, he had never believed that anything
like this could possibly happen.

 
          
 
Despite the centuries between them, the boy's
will had always been more powerful than his own. It was too late to do anything
about it now: Rorden felt that events were sweeping him along toward a climax
utterly beyond his control.

 
          
 
"Is all this really necessary," said
Alvin, "if we are only going to be away for two or three days? After all,
we have a synthesizer with us."

 
          
 
"Probably not," answered Theon,
throwing the last food containers into the little ground-car. "It may seem
an odd custom, but we've never synthesized some of our finest foods—we like to
watch them grow. Also, we may meet other parties and it's polite to exchange
food with them. Nearly every district has some special product, and Airlee is
famous for its peaches. That's why I've put so many aboard—not because I think
that even you can eat them all."

 
          
 
Alvin threw his half-eaten peach at Theon, who
dodged quickly aside. There came a flicker of iridescence and a faint whirring
of invisible wings as Krif descended upon the fruit and began to sip its
juices.

 
          
 
Alvin was still not quite used to Krif. It was
hard for him to realize that the great insect, though it would come when called
and would—sometimes—obey simple orders, was almost wholly mindless. Life, to
Alvin, had always been synonymous with intelligence—sometimes intelligence far
higher than Man's.

 
          
 
When Krif was resting, his six gauzy wings lay
folded along his body, which glittered through them like a jeweled scepter. He
was at once the highest and the most beautiful form of insect life the world
had ever known—the latest and perhaps the last of all the creatures Man had
chosen for his companionship.