Arthur Clarke: Childhood’s End

It opened again five minutes later. There had been no sensation of movement, but Stormgren knew that he was now fifty kilometres above the Earth, deep in the heart of Karellen’s ship. He was in the world of the Overlords: all around him, they were going about their mysterious business. He had come nearer to them than had any other man; yet he knew no more of their physical nature than did any of the millions on the world below.

The little conference room at the end of the short connecting corridor was unfurnished apart from the single chair and the table beneath the vision screen. As was intended, it told absolutely nothing of the creatures who had built it. The vision screen was empty now, as it had always been. Sometimes in his dreams Stormgren had imagined that it had suddenly flashed into life, revealing the secret that tormented all the world. But the dream had never come true; behind that rectangle of darkness lay utter mystery. Yet there also lay power and wisdom, an immense and tolerant understanding of mankind — and, most unexpected of all, a humorous affection for the little creatures crawling on the planet beneath.

From the hidden grille came that calm, never-hurried voice that Stormgren knew so well though the world had heard it only once in history. Its depth and resonance gave the single clue that existed in Karellen’s physical nature, for it left an overwhelming impression of sheer size. Karellen was large — perhaps much larger than a man. It was true that some scientists, after analyzing the record of his only speech, had suggested that the voice was that of a machine. This was something that Stormgren could never believe.

“Yes, Rikki, I was listening to your little interview. What did you make of Mr. Wainwright?”

“He’s an honest man, even if many of his supporters aren’t. What are we going to do about him? The League itself isn’t dangerous — but some of its extremists are openly advocating violence. I’ve been wondering if I should put a guard on my house. But I hope it isn’t necessary.”

Karellen evaded the point in the annoying way he sometimes had.

“The details of the World Federation have been out for a month now. Has there been a substantial increase in the seven per cent who don’t approve of me — or the twelve per cent who Don’t Know?”

“Not yet. But that’s of no importance; what does worry me is a general feeling, even among your supporters, that it’s time this secrecy came to an end.”

Karellen’s sigh was technically perfect, yet somehow lacked conviction.

“That’s your feeling too, isn’t it?”

The question was so rhetorical that Stormgren did not bother to answer it.

“I wonder if you really appreciate,” he continued earnestly, “how difficult this state of affairs makes my job?”

“It doesn’t exactly help mine,” replied Karellen with some spirit. “I wish people would stop thinking of me as a dictator, and remember I’m only a civil servant trying to administer a colonial policy in whose shaping I had no hand.”

That, thought Stormgren, was quite an engaging description. He wondered just how much truth it held.

“Can’t you at least give us some reason for your concealment? Because we don’t understand it, it annoys us and gives rise to endless rumours.”

Karellen gave that rich, deep laugh of his, just too resonant, to be altogether human.

“What am I supposed to be now? Does the robot theory still hold the field? I’d rather be a mass of electron tubes than a thing like a centipede — oh yes, I’ve seen that cartoon in yesterday’s Chicago Tribune! I’m thinking of requesting the original.”

Stormgren pursed his lips primly. There were times, he thought, when Karellen took his duties too lightly.

“This is serious,” he said reprovingly.

“My dear Rikki,” Karellen retorted, “it’s only by not taking the human race seriously that I retain what fragments of my once considerable mental powers I still possess!”

Despite himself Stormgren smiled.

“That doesn’t help me a great deal, does it? I have to go down there and convince my fellow men that although you won’t show yourself, you’ve got nothing to hide. It’s not an easy job. Curiosity is one of the most dominant of human characteristics. You can’t defy it forever.”

“Of all the problems that faced us when we came to Earth, this was the most difficult,” admitted Karellen. “You have trusted our wisdom in other matters — surely you can trust us in this!”

“I trust you,” said Stormgren, “but Wainwright doesn’t, nor do his supporters. Can you really blame them if they put a bad interpretation on your unwillingness to show yourselves?”

There was silence for a moment. Then Stormgren heard that faint sound (was it a crackling?) that might have been caused by the Supervisor moving his body slightly.

“You know why Wainwright and his type fear me, don’t you?” asked Karellen. His voice was sombre now, like a great organ rolling its notes from a high cathedral nave. “You will find men like him in all the world’s religions. They know that we represent reason and science, and however confident they may be in their beliefs, they fear that we will overthrow their gods.

Not necessarily through any deliberate act, but in a subtler fashion. Science can destroy religion by ignoring it as well as by disproving its tenets. No one ever demonstrated, so far as I am aware, the non-existence of Zeus or Thor — but they have few followers now. The Wainwrights fear, too, that we know the truth about the origins of their faiths. How long, they wonder, have we been observing humanity? Have we watched Mohammed begin the Hegira, or Moses giving the Jews their laws? Do we know all that is false in the stories they believe?”

“And do you?” whispered Stormgren, half to himself.

“That, Rikki, is the fear that torments them, even though they will never admit it openly. Believe me, it gives us no pleasure to destroy men’s faiths, but all the world’s religions cannot be right — and they know it. Sooner or later man has to learn the truth; but that time is not yet. As for our secrecy, which you are correct in saying aggravates our problems — that is a matter beyond our control. I regret the need for this concealment as much as you do, but the reasons are sufficient. However, I will try and get a statement from my — superiors — which may satisfy you and perhaps placate the Freedom League. Now, please, can we return to the agenda and start recording again?”

“Well?” asked van Ryberg anxiously. “Did you have any luck?”

“I don’t know,” Stormgren replied wearily as he threw the files down on his desk and collapsed into the seat. “Karellen’s consulting his superiors now, whoever or whatever they may be. He won’t make any promises.”

“Listen,” said Pieter abruptly, “I’ve just thought of something. What reason have we for believing that there is anyone beyond Karellen? Suppose all the Overlords, as we’ve christened them, are right here on Earth in these ships of theirs? They may have nowhere else to go, but they’re hiding the fact from us.”

“It’s an ingenious theory,” grinned Stormgren. “But It clashes with what little I know — or think I know — about Karellen’s background.”

“And how much is that?”

“Well, he often refers to his position here as something temporary, hindering him from getting on with his real work, which I think is some form of mathematics. Once I mentioned Acton’s quotation about power corrupting, and absolute power corrupting absolutely. I wanted to see how he’d react to that. He gave that cavernous laugh of his, and said: There’s no danger of that happening to me. In the first case, the sooner I finish my work here, the sooner I can get back to where I belong, a good many light-years from here. And secondly, I don’t have absolute power, by any means. I’m just — Supervisor. Of course, he may have been misleading me. I can never be sure of that.”