Collected Stories Of Arthur C. Clarke (68 page)

In the twentieth century more and more women had made their names in this rapidly advancing field of science, until in some of its branches they had outnumbered the men. All these facts had been quite unknown to Daphne, and they were beginning to fire her with a new ambition.

Two days at the Second Base passed very swiftly. There was, Daphne discovered, a spirit here quite unlike that at the Observatory. Perhaps the fact that the Earth was no longer visible in the sky, giving not only light but a kind of moral support, provided part of the explanation. Here indeed, it seemed, was the true frontier of the unknown – and it was an exciting experience to be living on it.

Almost every day the little pressurised tractors were setting out on their raids into unexplored lunar territory, or returning from earlier expeditions. Daphne attended the briefing of a crew about to leave on a ten-day trip that would cover over a thousand miles. She had once seen a film showing how bomber crews in the Second World War were prepared for their missions. There was the same atmosphere of adventure coupled with scientific efficiency as Norman and his companions consulted their maps and discussed their route with Dr Anstey.

The conversation was too technical for Daphne to follow much of it, but she was fascinated by the wonderful names of the regions across which the expedition would be travelling. When the far side of the Moon had been mapped, men had continued the tradition already set on the visible hemisphere and had used the most poetical names they could imagine for the great plains, while calling the craters themselves after famous scientists.

Before he left, Norman gave Daphne a souvenir to take back to Earth. It was a beautifully coloured mass of crystals growing out of some strange lunar rock; he told her its name, although it was much too long to remember. As she stared at it in fascination, Norman explained: ‘Pretty, isn’t it? We’ve found it on only one part of the Moon – the Gulf of Solitude – and it doesn’t occur on Earth at all. So it’s really unique.’

Then he paused and said awkwardly, ‘Well, it’s been awfully nice showing you around. I don’t think that anyone else has ever seen quite as much of the Moon in such a short time! And – I hope you’ll be coming back some day.’

Daphne remembered these words as, through the observation windows of the dome, she watched Norman’s little tractor disappear over the edge of the Moon on its way into the unknown south. What would he find on this expedition? Would he be as lucky as Hargreaves?

It was still early in the long lunar morning when they began the homeward journey. Professor Martin had finished his official business, and in any case they could wait no longer – they had a space-ship to catch.
That
was something to be proud of! Not a mere train or a commonplace aircraft – but a
space-ship
!

Daphne was fast asleep when they finally reached the Observatory. She woke with a start when the steady vibration of the bus finally ceased, and found to her surprise that they were once more back in the big underground garage. Sleepily clutching her suitcase, she followed Mrs Martin back to their old rooms, where she promptly resumed her interrupted slumbers.

Only a few minutes later, it seemed, her mother was shaking her by the shoulder and saying it was time to get up again. Her last day on the Moon had arrived; there was luggage to be packed, farewells to be made and – this was something no one had warned her about – some pills to be taken under the watchful eye of the Observatory Medical Officer. She was going back into a gravity field six times as strong as the one she had now become used to, and the consequences might be unpleasant unless the right precautions were taken.

Even Michael was a little subdued as they entered the garage for the last time to drive out to the waiting space-ship. The great gleaming pillar of metal was standing there on the open plain with the brilliant earthlight flashing from its sides. The tractor drove up to the base of the ship and they prepared to enter the lift that would carry them up to the airlock high above their heads.

Professor Martin was saying goodbye to his wife, and presently he came over to the children.

‘I rather wish I were going back with you,’ he said with a smile, ‘but perhaps you understand now why I came here in the first place. When you’ve had time to sort yourselves out, write and tell me what you thought about the Moon, won’t you? Oh – and one other thing! Don’t be
too
superior to all your friends when you do get back to Earth!’

Then the metal doors silently separated them, to open again a minute later into the cabin of the space-ship.

To Daphne, it seemed incredible that only a fortnight ago she had entered this cabin for the first time on a distant world called Earth. So much had happened in those days; what she had seen here would colour all her life.

She knew that nothing would ever seem quite the same to her again. Earth was no longer everything that mattered – no longer the centre of the universe. It was only one world among many, merely the first of the planets on which men had lived. One day, perhaps, it would not even seem the most important …

The thunder of the rockets burst in upon her day-dreams and brought her back to the present. She felt the thrust of increasing weight as she sank into her couch, and once again her limbs became suddenly like lead. The massed millions of horsepower safely chained by the gleaming instruments on the control board were taking her home – taking her away from the cold and silent beauty of the Moon.

The crater rings, the dark chasms, the great plains with their magic and mysterious names – all these were falling swiftly away beneath the climbing ship. In a few hours, the Moon would be no more than a distant globe, dwindling in space.

But one day, Daphne knew, she would return. This world, not Earth, would be her home. At last she had found her ambition, although as yet she had breathed a word of it to no one. There would be years of study ahead, but in the end she would join the quest for the secrets of the stars.

Her holiday was over.

Earthlight

First published in
Thrilling Wonder Stories
, August 1951

Not previously collected in book form

I am very proud of the fact that the Apollo-15 crew gave this name to a crater which they drove past in their lunar rover. On their return to earth, they sent me a beautiful 3-D map bearing the inscription: ‘To Arthur Clarke with best personal regards from the crew of Apollo 15 and many thanks for your visions in space.’

I

‘If it weren’t for the fact,’ said Conrad Wheeler morosely, ‘that it might be considered disrespectful I’d say that the Old Man is completely nuts. And not just slightly touched like the rest of the people I’ve met on the Moon.’

He looked balefully at Sid Jamieson, two years his senior on the staff of the Observatory. The latter grinned goodnaturedly and refused to rise to the bait. ‘When you’ve known the Old Man as long as I have,’ he said, ‘you’ll realise he doesn’t do anything like this without a very good reason.’

‘It had better be good! My series of spectrograms was supposed to be finished tonight – and now look at the ’scope!’

The giant dome that housed the thousand-inch reflector was a shambles, or so a casual visitor would have thought. Even the natives were somewhat appalled by the confusion. A small army of technicians was gathered round the base of the great telescope, which was now pointing aimlessly at the zenith. Aimlessly because the dome of the Observatory was closed and sealed against the outer vacuum. It was strange to see men unprotected by space-suits walking over the tessellated floor, to hear voices ringing where normally no slightest sound could be heard.

High up on a balcony on the far side of the dome the Director was giving orders into a microphone. His voice, enormously amplified, roared from the speakers that had been specially installed for the occasion. ‘
Mirror crew – stand clear!
’

There was a scurrying round the base of the telescope: then an expectant pause.

‘
Lower away!
’

With infinite slowness the great disc of quartz, that had cost a hundred million to make, was lowered from its cell to the strange vehicle beneath the telescope. The ninety-foot-wide truck sank visibly on its scores of tiny ballon tyres as it took up the weight of the immense mirror. Then the hoisting gear was released and with a purr of motors the truck and its precious cargo began to move slowly down the ramp leading to the resurfacing room.

It was a breathtaking sight. The men scattered over the floor were utterly dwarfed by the lattice-work of the telescope towering hundreds of feet above them. And the mirror itself, over eighty feet in diameter, seemed like a lake of fire as it reflected the glare of overhead lights. When at last it had left the room it was as though dusk had suddenly fallen.

‘And now they’ve got to put it back!’ grunted Wheeler. ‘I suppose that will take even longer.’

‘That’s right,’ said his companion cheerfully. ‘
Much
longer. Why, last time we resurfaced the mirror—’ The amplifiers drowned his voice.

‘
Four hours twenty-six minutes
,’ remarked the Director in a fifty-watt aside. ‘
Not too bad. Okay – get her back and carry on
.’

There was a click as he switched off the microphone. In a strained and hostile silence the observatory staff watched his small rather plump figure leave the balcony. After a discreet interval someone said, ‘Damn!’ in a very determined voice. The assistant chief computer did a wicked thing. She lit a cigarette and threw the ash on the sacred floor.

‘
Well!
’ exploded Wheeler. ‘He might have told us what it was all about! It’s bad enough to stop the work of the whole observatory while we get the big mirror out when it’s not due for resurfacing for months. But to tell us to put the blasted thing back as soon as we’ve dismounted it, without a word of explanation …’ He left the sentence in mid-air and looked at his companion for support.

‘Take it easy,’ said Jamieson with a grin. ‘The Old Man’s not cracked and you know it. Therefore he’s got a good reason for what he’s doing. Also he’s not the secretive sort – therefore he’s keeping quiet because he has to. And there must be a
very
good reason for risking the near-mutiny he’s got on his hands now. Orders from Earth, I’d say. One doesn’t interrupt a research programme like ours just for a whim. Hello, here comes Old Mole – what’s he got to say?’

‘Old Mole’ – alias Dr Robert Molton – came trotting towards them, carrying the inevitable pile of photographs. He was probably the only member of the Observatory staff who even remotely resembled the popular conception of an astronomer. All the rest, one could see at a glance, were businessmen, undergraduates of the athletic rather than the intellectual type, artists, prosperous bookmakers, journalists or rising young politicians. Anything but astronomers.

Dr Molton was the exception that proved the rule. He looked out at the world and his beloved photographic plates through thick rimless lenses. His clothes were always just a little too tidy and never less than ten years out of date – though incongruously enough his ideas and interests were often not only modern but years ahead of the times.

He was very partial to boutonnieres – but as the indigenous lunar vegetation gave him little scope in this direction he had to content himself with a somewhat restricted collection of artificial flowers imported from Earth.

These he varied with such ingenuity and resource that the rest of the staff had spent a good deal of fruitless effort trying to discover the laws governing their order of appearance. Indeed, a very famous mathematician had once lost a considerable sum of money because one day Old Mole appeared wearing a carnation rather than the rose advanced statistical theory had predicted.

‘Hello, Doc,’ said Wheeler. ‘What’s it all about?
You
ought to know!’

The old man paused and looked at the young astronomer doubtfully. He was never sure whether or not Wheeler was pulling his leg and usually assumed correctly that he was. Not that he minded, for he possessed a dry sense of humour and got on well with the numerous youngsters in the Observatory. Perhaps they reminded him of the time, a generation ago, when he too had been young and full of ambition.

‘Why should I know? Professor Maclaurin doesn’t usually confide his intentions to me.’

‘But surely you’ve got your theories?’

‘I have but they won’t be popular.’

‘Good old Doc! We knew you wouldn’t let us down!’

The old astronomer turned to look at the telescope. Already the mirror was in position beneath its cell, ready to be hoisted back.

‘Twenty years ago the last Director, van Haarden, got that mirror out in a hurry and rushed it to the vaults. He didn’t have time for a rehearsal. Professor Maclaurin has.’

‘Surely you don’t mean …?’

‘In Ninety-five, as you should know but probably don’t, the Government was having its first squabble with the Venus Administration. Things were so bad that for a time we expected an attempt to seize the Moon. Not war, of course, but too close an approximation to be comfortable. Well, that mirror is the human race’s most valuable single possession and van Haarden was taking no risks with it. Nor, I think, is Maclaurin.’