Arthur Clarke - Earthlight

“This is the position. There’s a man in Central City who has to reach Thor immediately. He was supposed to go by rocket, but that’s not possible. So they’re sending him down here on the monorail, and to save time you’ll meet the car out in the pass and take him off. Then you’ll drive straight across country to Project Thor. Understand?”

“Not quite. Why can’t Thor collect him in one of their own Cats?”

Was Jamieson hedging? wondered Sadler. No, he decided. It was a perfectly reasonable question.

“If you look at the map,” said Maclaurin, “you’ll see that Prospect is the only convenient place for a tractor to meet the monorail. Moreover, there aren’t any really skilled drivers at Thor, it seems. They’re sending out a tractor, but you’ll probably have finished the job before they can reach Prospect.”

There was a long pause. Jamieson was obviously studying the map.

“I’m willing to try it,” said Jamieson. “But I’d like to know what it’s all about.”

Here we go, thought Sadler. I hope Maclaurin does what I told him.

“Very well,” Maclaurin replied. “You’ve a right to know, I suppose. The man who’s going to Thor is Dr. Carl Steffanson. And the mission he’s engaged on is vital to the security of Earth. That’s all I know, but I don’t think I need say any more.”

Sadler waited, hunched over his speaker, as the long silence dragged on. He knew the decision Jamieson must be making. The young astronomer was discovering that it was one thing to criticize Earth and to condemn her policy when the matter was of no practical importance—and quite another to choose a line of action that might help to bring about her defeat. Sadler had read somewhere that there were plenty of pacifists before the outbreak of war, but few after it had actually started. Jamieson was learning now where his loyalty, if not his logic, lay.

“I’ll go,” he said at last, so quietly that Sadler could scarcely hear him.

“Remember,” insisted Maclaurin, “you have a free choke.”

“Have I?” said Jamieson. There was no sarcasm in his voice. He was thinking aloud, talking to himself rather than to the director.

Sadler heard Maclaurin shuffling his papers. “What about your co-driver?” he asked.

“I’ll take Wheeler. He went out with me last time.”

“Very well. You go and fetch him, and I’ll get in touch with Transport. And—good luck.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sadler waited until he heard the door of Maclaurin’s office dose behind Jamieson; then he joined the director. Maclaurin looked up at him wearily and said:

“Well?”

“It went off better than I’d feared. I thought you handled it very well.”

This was not mere flattery; Sadler was surprised at the way in which Maclaurin had concealed his feelings. Though the interview had not been exactly cordial, there had been no overt unfriendliness.

“I feel much happier,” said Maclaurin, “because Wheeler’s going with him. He can be trusted.”

Despite his worry, Sadler had difficulty in suppressing a smile. He was quite sure that the director’s faith in Conrad Wheeler was based largely on that young man’s discovery of Nova Dra-conis and his vindication of the Maclaurin Magnitude Integrator. But he needed no further proofs that scientists were just as inclined as anyone else to let their emotions sway their logic.

The desk speaker called for attention.

“The tractor’s just leaving, sir. Outer doors opening now.”

Maclaurin looked automatically at the wall clock. “That was quick,” he said. Then he gazed somberly at Sadler.

“Well, Mr. Sadler, it’s too late to do anything about it now. I only hope you’re right.”

It is seldom realized that driving on the Moon by day is far less pleasant, and even less safe, than driving by night. The merciless glare demands the use of heavy sun filters, and the pools of inky shadow which are always present except on those rare occasions when the sun is vertically overhead can be very dangerous. Often they conceal crevasses which a speeding tractor may be unable to avoid. Driving by Earthlight, on the other hand, involves no such strain. The light is so much softer, the contrasts less extreme.

To make matters worse for Jamieson, he was driving due south—almost directly into the sun. There were times when conditions were so bad that he had to zigzag wildly to avoid the glare from patches of exposed rock ahead. It was not so difficult when they were traveling over dusty regiore, but these became fewer and fewer as the ground rose toward the inner ramparts of the mountain wall.

Wheeler knew better than to talk to his friend on this part of the route: Jamieson’s task required too much concentration. Presently they were climbing up toward the pass, weaving back and forth along the rugged slopes overlooking the plain. Like fragile tops on the far horizon, the gantries of the great telescopes marked the location of the Observatory. There, thought Wheeler bitterly, was invested millions of man-hours of skill and labor. Now it was doing nothing, and the best that could be hoped was that one day those splendid instruments could once more begin their search into the far places of the universe.

A ridge cut off their view of the plain below, and Jamieson swung round to the right through a narrow valley. Far up the slopes above them, the track of the monorail was now visible, as it came in great, striding leaps down the face of the mountain. There was no way in which a Caterpillar could get up to it, but when they were through the pass they would have no difficulty in driving to within a few meters of the track.

The ground was extremely broken and treacherous here, but drivers who had gone this way before had left markers for the guidance of any who might come after them. Jamieson was using his headlights a good deal now, as he was often working through shadow. On the whole he preferred this to direct sunlight, for he could see the ground ahead much more easily with the steer-able beams from the projectors on top of the cab. Wheeler soon took over their operation, and found it fascinating to watch the ovals of light skittering across the rocks. The complete invisibility of the beams themselves, here in the almost perfect vacuum, gave a magical effect to the scene. The light seemed to be coming from nowhere, and to have no connection at all with the tractor.

They reached Prospect fifty minutes after leaving the Observatory, and radioed back their position. From now on, it was only a few kilometers downhill until they came to the rendezvous. The monorail track converged toward their path, then swept on to the south past Pico, a silver thread shrinking out of sight across the face of the Moon.

“Well,” said Wheeler with satisfaction, “we haven’t kept them waiting. I wish I knew what all this is about.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jamieson answered. “Steffanson’s the greatest expert on radiation physics we have. If there’s going to be war, surely you realize the sort of weapons that will be used.”

“I hadn’t thought much about it—it never seemed something to take seriously. Guided missiles, I suppose.”

“Very likely, but we should be able to do better than that. Men have been talking about radiation weapons for centuries. If they wanted them, they could make them now.”

“Don’t say you believe in death-rays!”

“And why not? If you remember your history books, death-rays killed some thousands of people at Hiroshima. And that was a couple of hundred years ago.

“Yes, but it’s not difficult to shield against that sort of thing. Can you imagine doing any real physical damage with a ray?”

“It would depend on the range. If it was only a few kilometers, I’d say yes. After all, we can generate unlimited amounts of power. By this time we should be able to squirt it all in the same direction if we wanted to. Until today there’s been no particular incentive. But now—how do we know what’s been going on in secret labs all over the solar system?”