Arthur Clarke - Childhood’s End

Through the clash and tug of conflicting gravitational fields, the planet travelled along the loops and curves of its inconceivably complex orbit, never retracing the same path. Ever) moment was unique: the configuration which the six suns now held in the heavens would not repeat itself this side of eternity. And even here there was life. Though the planet might be scorched by the central fires in one age, and frozen in the outer reaches in another, it was yet the home of intelligence. The great, many-faceted crystals stood grouped in intricate geometrical patterns, motionless in the eras of cold, growing slowly along the veins of mineral when the world was warm again. No matter if it took a thousand years for them to complete a thought. The universe was still young, and Time stretched endlessly before them. ("I have searched all our records,” said Rashaverak. “We have no knowledge of such a world, or such a combination of suns. If it existed inside our universe, the astronomers would have detected it, even if it lay behind the range of our ships.”

“Then he has left the Galaxy.”

“Yes. Surely it cannot be much longer now.”

“Who knows? He is only dreaming. When he awakes, he is still the same. It is merely the first phase. We will know soon enough when the change begins.") ’We have met before, Mr. Greggson,” said the Overlord gravely. “My name is Rashaverak. No doubt you remember.”

“Yes,” said George. “That party of Rupert Boyce’s. I am not likely to forget. And I thought we should meet again.”

“Tell me — why have you asked for this interview?”

“I think you already know.”

“Perhaps: but it will help us both if you tell me in your own words. It may surprise you a good deal, but I also am trying to understand, add in some ways my ignorance is as great as yours.”

George stared at the Overlord in astonishment. This was a thought that had never occurred to him. He had subconsciously assumed that the Overlords possessed all knowledge and all power — that they understood, and were probably responsible for, the things that had been happening to Jeff.

“I gather,” George continued, “that you have seen the reports I gave to the Island psychologist, so you know about the dreams.”

“Yes: we know about them.”

“I never believed that they were simply the imaginings of a child. They were so incredible that — I know this sounds ridiculous — they had to be based on some reality.”

He looked anxiously at Rashaverak, not knowing whether to hope for confirmation or denial. The Overlord said nothing, but merely regarded him with his great calm eyes. They were sitting almost face to face, for the room — which had obviously been designed for such interviews — was on two levels, the Overlord’s massive chair being a good metre lower than George’s. It was a friendly gesture, reassuring to the men who asked for these meetings and who were seldom in an easy frame of mind.

“We were worried, but not really alarmed at first. Jeff seemed perfectly normal when he woke up, and his dreams didn’t appear to bother him. And then one night”—he hesitated and glanced defensively at the Overlord. “I’ve never believed in the supernatural: I’m no scientist, but I think there’s a rational explanation for everything.”

“There is,” said Rashaverak “I know what you saw: I was watching.”

“I always suspected it. But Karellen had promised that you’d never spy on us with your instruments. Why have you broken that promise?”

“I have not broken it. The Supervisor said that the human race would no longer be under surveillance. That is a promise we have kept. I was watching your children, not you.”

It was several seconds before George understood the implications of Rashaverak’s words. Then the colour drained slowly from his face.

“You mean?. ” he gasped. His voice trailed away and he had to begin again.

“Then what in God’s name are my children?”

“That,” said Rashaverak solemnly, “is what we are trying to discover.” Jennifer Anne Greggson, lately known as the Poppet, lay on her back with her eyes tightly closed. She had not opened them for a long time; she would never open them again, for sight was now as superfluous to her as to the many-sensed creatures of the lightless ocean deeps. She was aware of the world that surrounded her: indeed, she was aware of much more than that.

One reflex remained from her brief babyhood, by some unaccountable trick of development. The rattle which had once delighted her sounded incessantly now, beating a complex, ever-changing rhythm in her cot. It was that strange syncopation which had amused Jean from her sleep and sent her flying Into the nursery. But it was not the sound alone that had started her screaming for George.

It was the sight of that commonplace, brightly coloured rattle beating steadily in airy isolation half a metre away from any support, while Jennifer Anne, her chubby fingers clasped tightly together, lay with a smile of calm contentment on her face.

She had started later, but she was progressing swiftly. Soon she would pass her brother, for she had so much less to unlearn.

“You were wise,” said Rashaverak, “not to touch her toy. I do not believe you could have moved it. But if you had succeeded, she might have been annoyed. And then, I do not know what would have happened.”

“Do you mean,” said George dully, “that you can do nothing?”

“I will not deceive you. We can study and observe, as we are doing already. But we cannot interfere, because we cannot understand.”

“Then what are we to do? And why has this thing happened to us?”

“It had to happen to someone. There is nothing exceptional about you, any more than there is about the first neutron that starts the chain reaction in an atomic bomb. It simply happens to be the first. Any other neutron would have served — just as Jeffrey might have been anybody in the world. We call it Total Breakthrough. There is no need for any secrecy now, and I am very glad. We have been waiting for this to happen, ever since we came to Earth. There was no way of telling when and where it would start — until, by pure chance, we met at Rupert Boyce’s party. Then I knew that, almost certainly, your wife’s children would be the first.”

“But — we weren’t married then. We hadn’t even—”

“Yes, I know. But Miss Morrel’s mind was the channel that, if only for a moment, let through knowledge which no one alive at that time could possess. It could only come from another mind, intimately linked to hers. The fact that it was a mind not yet born was of no consequence, for Time is very much stranger than you think.”

“I begin to understand. Jeff knows these things — he can see other worlds, and can tell where you come from. And somehow Jean caught his thoughts, even before he was born.”

“There is far more to it than that — but I do not imagine you will ever get much closer to the truth. All through history there have been people with inexplicable powers which seemed to transcend space and time. They never understood them: almost without exception, their attempted explanations were rubbish. I should know — I have read enough of them!

“But there is one analogy which is — well, suggestive and helpful. It occurs over and over again in your literature. Imagine that every man’s mind is an island, surrounded by ocean. Each seems isolated, yet in reality all are linked by the bedrock from which they spring. If the oceans were to vanish, that would be the end of the islands. They would all be part of one continent, but their individuality would have gone.

“Telepathy, as you have called it, is something like this. In suitable circumstances minds can merge and share each other’s contents, and carry back memories of the experience when they are isolated once more. In its highest form, this power is not subject to the usual limitations of time and space. That is why Jean could tap the knowledge of her unborn son.”