Collected Stories Of Arthur C. Clarke (127 page)

‘Yes. You can take it or leave it.’

‘I never heard such a crazy deal in my life,’ said McKenzie, somewhat petulantly. ‘Of course I’ll take it. I know a stubborn old mule when I see one.’

The next hour was one of frantic activity. Sweating crew members rushed back and forth with suitcases and bundles, while Dr Romano sat happily in the midst of the turmoil he had created, a blissful smile upon his wrinkled old face. George and Professor McKenzie went into a legal huddle, and emerged with a document which Dr Romano signed with hardly a glance.

Unexpected things began to emerge from the
Sea Spray
, such as a beautiful mutation mink and a beautiful nonmutation blonde.

‘Hello, Sylvia,’ said Dr Romano politely. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find the quarters here a little more cramped. The Professor never mentioned you were aboard. Never mind – we won’t mention it either. Not actually in the contract, but a gentleman’s agreement, shall we say? It would be such a pity to upset Mrs McKenzie.’

‘I don’t know
what
you mean!’ pouted Sylvia. ‘Someone has to do all the Professor’s typing.’

‘And you do it damn badly, my dear,’ said McKenzie, assisting her over the rail with true Southern gallantry. Harry couldn’t help admiring his composure in such an embarrassing situation – he was by no means sure that he would have managed as well. But he wished he had the opportunity to find out.

At last the chaos subsided, the stream of boxes and bundles subsided to a trickle. Dr Romano shook hands with everybody, thanked George and Harry for their assistance, strode to the bridge of the
Sea Spray
, and ten minutes later, was halfway to the horizon.

Harry was wondering if it wasn’t about time for them to take their departure as well – they had never got round to explaining to Professor McKenzie what they were doing here in the first place – when the radiotelephone started calling. Dr Romano was on the line.

‘Forgotten his toothbrush, I suppose,’ said George. It was not quite as trivial as that. Fortunately, the loud-speaker was switched on. Eavesdropping was practically forced upon them and required none of the effort that makes it so embarrassing to a gentleman.

‘Look here, Scott,’ said Dr Romano, ‘I think I owe you some sort of explanation.’

‘If you’ve gypped me, I’ll have you for every cent—’

‘Oh, it’s not like that. But I did rather pressurise you, though everything I said was perfectly true. Don’t get too annoyed with me – you’ve got a bargain. It’ll be a long time, though, before it makes you any money, and you’ll have to sink a few millions of your own into it first. You see, the efficiency has to be increased by about three orders of magnitude before it will be a commercial proposition: that bar of uranium cost me a couple of thousand dollars. Now don’t blow your top – it
can
be done – I’m certain of that. Dr Kendall is the man to get: he did all the basic work – hire him away from my people however much it costs you. You’re a stubborn cuss and I know you’ll finish the job now it’s on your hands. That’s why I wanted you to have it. Poetic justice, too – you’ll be able to repay some of the damage you’ve done to the land. Too bad it’ll make you a billionaire, but that can’t be helped.

‘Wait a minute – don’t cut in on me. I’d have finished the job myself if I had the time, but it’ll take at least three more years. And the doctors say I’ve only got six months: I wasn’t kidding when I said I was in a hurry. I’m glad I clinched the deal without having to tell you that, but believe me I’d have used it as a weapon if I had to. Just one thing more – when you do get the process working, name it after me, will you? That’s all – it’s no use calling me back. I won’t answer – and I know you can’t catch me.’

Professor McKenzie didn’t turn a hair.

‘I thought it was something like that,’ he said to no one in particular. Then he sat down, produced an elaborate pocket slide rule, and became oblivious to the world. He scarcely looked up when George and Harry, feeling very much outclassed, made their polite departure and silently snorkelled away.

‘Like so many things that happen these days,’ concluded Harry Purvis, ‘I still don’t know the final outcome of this meeting. I rather imagine that Professor McKenzie has run into some snags, or we’d have heard rumours about the process by now. But I’ve not the slightest doubt that sooner or later it’ll be perfected, so get ready to sell your mining shares …

‘As for Dr Romano, he wasn’t kidding, though his doctors were a little out in their estimates. He lasted a full year, and I guess the
Sea Spray
helped a lot. They buried him in mid-Pacific, and it’s just occurred to me that the old boy would have appreciated that. I told you what a fanatical conservationist he was, and it’s a piquant thought that even now some of his atoms may be going through his own molecular sieve …

‘I notice some incredulous looks, but it’s a fact. If you took a tumbler of water, poured it into the ocean, mixed well, then filled the glass from the sea, there’d still be some scores of molecules of water from the original sample in the tumbler. So—’ he gave a gruesome little chuckle – ‘it’s only a matter of time before not only Dr Romano, but all of us, make some contribution to the sieve. And with that thought, gentlemen, I bid you all a very pleasant good night.’

Critical Mass

First published in
Space Science Fiction Magazine
, August 1957, revised from
Lilliput
, March 1949

Collected in
Tales from the White Hart

‘Did I ever tell you,’ said Harry Purvis modestly, ‘about the time I prevented the evacuation of southern England?’

‘You did not,’ said Charles Willis, ‘or if you did, I slept through it.’

‘Well, then,’ continued Harry, when enough people had gathered round him to make a respectable audience. ‘It happened two years ago at the Atomic Energy Research Establishment near Clobham. You all know the place, of course. But I don’t think I’ve mentioned that I worked there for a while, on a special job I can’t talk about.’

‘
That
makes a nice change,’ said John Wyndham, without the slightest effect.

‘It was on a Saturday afternoon,’ Harry began. ‘A beautiful day in late spring. There were about six of us scientists in the bar of the “Black Swan”, and the windows were open so that we could see down the slopes of Clobham Hill and out across the country to Upchester, about thirty miles away. It was so clear, in fact, that we could pick out the twin spires of Upchester Cathedral on the horizon. You couldn’t have asked for a more peaceful day.

‘The staff from the Establishment got on pretty well with the locals, though at first they weren’t at all happy about having us on their doorsteps. Apart from the nature of our work, they’d believed that scientists were a race apart, with no human interests. When we’d beaten them up at darts a couple of times, and bought a few drinks, they changed their minds. But there was still a certain amount of half-serious leg-pulling, and we were always being asked what we were going to blow up next.

‘On this afternoon there should have been several more of us present, but there’d been a rush job in the Radioisotopes Division and so we were below strength. Stanley Chambers, the landlord, commented on the absence of some familiar faces.

‘“What’s happened to all your pals today?” he asked my boss, Dr French.

‘“They’re busy at the works,” French replied – we always called the Establishment “the works”, as that made it seem more homely and less terrifying. “We had to get some stuff out in a hurry. They’ll be along later.”

‘“One day,” said Stan severely, “you and your friends are going to let out something you won’t be able to bottle up again. And
then
where will we all be?”

‘“Halfway to the moon,” said Dr French. I’m afraid it was rather an irresponsible sort of remark, but silly questions like this always made him lose patience.

‘Stan Chambers looked over his shoulder as if he was judging how much of the hill stood between him and Clobham. I guessed he was calculating if he’d have time to reach the cellar – or whether it was worth trying anyway.

‘“About these – isotopes – you keep sending to the hospitals,” said a thoughtful voice. “I was at St Thomas’s last week, and saw them moving some around in a lead safe that must have weighed a ton. It gave me the creeps, wondering what would happen if someone forgot to handle it properly.”

‘“We calculated the other day,” said Dr French, obviously still annoyed at the interruption to his darts, “that there was enough uranium in Clobham to boil the North Sea.”

‘Now that was a silly thing to say: and it wasn’t true, either. But I couldn’t very well reprimand my own boss, could I?

‘The man who’d been asking these questions was sitting in the alcove by the window, and I noticed that he was looking down the road with an anxious expression.

‘“The stuff leaves your place on trucks, doesn’t it?” he asked, rather urgently.

‘“Yes: a lot of isotopes are short-lived, and so they’ve got to be delivered immediately.”

‘“Well, there’s a truck in trouble down the hill. Would it be one of yours?”

‘The dartboard was forgotten in the general rush to the window. When I managed to get a good look, I could see a large truck, loaded with packing cases, careering down the hill about a quarter of a mile away. From time to time it bounced off one of the hedges: it was obvious that the brakes had failed and the driver had lost control. Luckily there was no oncoming traffic, or a nasty accident would have been inevitable. As it was, one looked probable.

‘Then the truck came to a bend in the road, left the pavement, and tore through the hedge. It rocked along with diminishing speed for fifty yards, jolting violently over the rough ground. It had almost come to rest when it encountered a ditch and, very sedately, canted over onto one side. A few seconds later the sound of splintering wood reached us as the packing cases slid off to the ground.

‘“That’s that,” said someone with a sigh of relief. “He did the right thing, aiming for the hedge. I guess he’ll be shaken up, but he won’t be hurt.”

‘And then we saw a most perplexing sight. The door of the cab opened, and the driver scrambled out. Even from this distance, it was clear that he was highly agitated – though, in the circumstances, that was natural enough. But he did not, as one would have expected, sit down to recover his wits. On the contrary: he promptly took to his heels and ran across the field as if all the demons of hell were after him.

‘We watched open-mouthed, and with rising apprehension, as he dwindled down the hill. There was an ominous silence in the bar, except for the ticking of the clock that Stan always kept exactly ten minutes fast. Then someone said, “D’you think we’d better stay? I mean – it’s only half a mile …”

‘There was an uncertain movement away from the window. Then Dr French gave a nervous little laugh.

‘“We don’t know if it
is
one of our trucks,” he said. “And anyway, I was pulling your legs just now. It’s completely impossible for any of this stuff to explode. He’s just afraid his tank’s going to catch fire.”

‘“Oh yes?” said Stan. “Then why’s he still running? He’s halfway down the hill now.”

‘“I know!” suggested Charlie Evan, from the Instruments Section. “He’s carrying explosives, and is afraid they’re going to go up.”

‘I had to scotch that one. “There’s no sign of a fire, so what’s he worried about now? And if he
was
carrying explosives, he’d have a red flag or something.”

‘“Hang on a minute,” said Stan. “I’ll go and get my glasses.”

‘No one moved until he came back: no one, that is, except the tiny figure far down the hillside, which had now vanished into the woods without slackening its speed.

‘Stan stared through the binoculars for an eternity. At last he lowered them with a grunt of disappointment.

‘“Can’t see much,” he said. “The truck’s tipped over in the wrong direction. Those crates are all over the place – some of them have busted open. See if you can make anything of it.”

‘French had a long stare, then handed the glasses to me. They were a very old-fashioned model, and didn’t help much. For a moment it seemed to me that there was a curious haziness about some of the boxes – but that didn’t make sense. I put it down to the poor condition of the lenses.

‘And there, I think, the whole business would have fizzled out if those cyclists hadn’t appeared. They were puffing up the hill on a tandem, and when they came to the fresh gap in the hedge they promptly dismounted to see what was going on. The truck was visible from the road and they approached it hand in hand, the girl obviously hanging back, the man telling her not to be nervous. We could imagine their conversation: it was a most touching spectacle.

‘It didn’t last long. They got to within a few yards of the truck – and then departed at high speed in opposite directions. Neither looked back to observe the other’s progress; and they were running, I noticed, in a most peculiar fashion.

‘Stan, who’d retrieved his glasses, put them down with a shaky hand.