Arthur Clarke - Earthlight

“Sadler? Sadler? Sorry, but I don’t remember you at the moment. But come right in; I’m always pleased to meet old friends.”

Sadler followed into the house, looking round curiously as he did so. It was the first time he had ever been into a private home on the Moon, and as he might have expected there was no way in which it could be distinguished from a similar residence on Earth. That it was one cell in a vast honeycomb did not make it any less a home; it had been two centuries since more than a minute fraction of the human race had lived in separate, isolated buildings and the word “house” had changed its meaning with the times.

There was just one touch in the main living room, however, that was too old-fashioned for any terrestrial family. Extending halfway across one wall was a large animated mural of a kind which Sadler had not seen for years. It showed a snow-flecked mountainside sloping down to a tiny Alpine village a kilometer or more below. Despite the apparent distance, every detail was crystal clear; the little houses and the toy church had the sharp, vivid distinctness of something seen through the wrong end of a telescope. Beyond the village, the ground rose again, more and more steeply, to the great mountain that dominated the skyline and trailed from its summit a perpetual plume of snow, a white streamer drifting forever down the wind.

It was, Sadler guessed, a real scene recorded a couple of centuries ago. But he could not be sure; Earth still had such surprises in out-of-the-way spots.

He took the seat he was offered and had his first good look at the man he had played truant from rather important business to meet. “You don’t remember me?” he said.

“I’m afraid not—but I’m quite bad at names and faces.”

“Well, I’m nearly twice as old now, so it’s not surprising. But you haven’t changed, Professor Molton. I can still remember that you were the first man I ever spoke to on my way to the Observatory. I was riding the monorail from Central City, watching the sun going down behind the Apennines. It was the night before the Battle of Pico, and my first visit to the Moon.”

Sadler could see that Molton was genuinely baffled. It was thirty years, after all, and he must not forget that he had a completely abnormal memory for faces and facts.

“Never mind,” he continued. “I couldn’t really expect you to remember me, because I wasn’t one of your colleagues. I was only a visitor to the Observatory, and I wasn’t there long. I’m an accountant, not an astronomer.”

“Indeed?” said Molton, clearly still at a loss.

“That was not, however, the capacity in which I visited the Observatory, though I pretended it was. At the time, I was actually a government agent investigating a security leak.”

He was watching the old man’s face intently, and there was no mistaking the flicker of surprise. After a short silence, Molton replied, “I seem to remember something of the kind. But I’d quite forgotten the name. It was such a long time ago, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” echoed Sadler. “But I’m sure there are some things you’ll remember. However, before I go on, there’s one thing I’d better make clear. My visit here is quite unofficial. I really am nothing but an accountant now, and I’m glad to say quite a successful one. In fact, I’m one of the partners of Carter, Hargreaves and Tillotson, and I’m here to audit a number of the big lunar corporations. Your Chamber of Commerce will confirm that.”

“I don’t quite see—” began Molton.

“—what it’s all got to do with you? Well, let me jog your memory. I was sent to the Observatory to investigate a security leak. Somehow, information was getting to the Federation. One of our agents had reported that the leak was at the Observatory, and I went there to look for it.”

“Go on,” said Molton.

Sadler smiled, a little wryly.

“I’m considered to be a good accountant,” he said, “but I’m afraid I was not a very successful security man. I suspected a lot of people, but found nothing, though I accidentally uncovered one crook.”

“Jenkins,” said Molton suddenly.

“That’s right—your memory’s not so bad, Professor. Anyway, I never found the spy; I couldn’t even prove that he existed, though I investigated every possibility I could think of. The whole affair fizzled out eventually, of course, and a few months later I was back at my normal work, and much happier too. But it has always worried me; it was a loose end I didn’t like having round—a discrepancy in the balance sheet. I’d given up any hope of settling it, until a couple of weeks ago. Then I read Commodore Brennan’s book. Have you seen it yet?”

“I’m afraid not, though of course I’ve heard about it.”

Sadler reached into his briefcase and produced a fat volume, which he handed over to Molton.

“I’ve brought a copy for you—I know you’ll be very interested. It’s quite a sensational book, as you can judge by the fuss it’s causing all over the System. He doesn’t pull any punches, and I can understand why a lot of people in the Federation are pretty mad with him. However, that’s not the point that concerns me. What I found quite fascinating was his account of the events leading up to the Battle of Pico. Imagine my surprise when he definitely confirmed that vital information had come from the Observatory. To quote his phrase: ‘One of Earth’s leading astronomers, by a brilliant technical subterfuge, kept us informed of developments during the progress of Project Thor. It would be improper to give his name, but he is now living in honored retirement on the Moon.’ ”

There was a very long pause. Molton’s craggy face had now set in granite folds, and gave no hint of his emotions.

“Professor Molton,” Sadler continued earnestly. “I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I’m here purely out of private curiosity. In any case, you’re a citizen of the Republic—there’s nothing I could do to you even if I wanted to. But I know you were that agent. The description fits, and I’ve ruled out all the other possibilities. Moreover, some friends of mine in the Federation have been looking at records, again quite unofficially. It’s not the slightest use pretending you know nothing about it. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll clear out. But if you feel like telling me—and I don’t see how it matters now—I’d give a very great deal to know how you managed to do it.”

Molton had opened Professor, late Commodore, Brennan’s book and was leafing through the index. Then he shook his head in some annoyance.

“He shouldn’t have said that,” he remarked testily, to no one in particular. Sadler breathed a sigh of satisfied anticipation. Abruptly, the old scientist turned upon him.

“If I tell you, what use will you make of the information?”

“None, I swear.”

“Some of my colleagues might be annoyed, even after this time. It wasn’t easy, you know. / didn’t enjoy it either. But Earth had to be stopped, and I think I did the right thing.”

“Professor Jamieson—he’s director now, isn’t he?—had similar ideas. But he didn’t put them into practice.”

“I know. There was a time when I nearly confided in him, but perhaps it’s just as well that I didn’t.”

Molton paused reflectively, and his face creased into a smile.

“I’ve just remembered,” he said. “I showed you round my lab. I was a little bit suspicious then—I thought it odd you should have come when you did. So I showed you absolutely everything, until I could see you were bored and had had enough.”

“That happened rather often,” said Sadler dryly. “There was quite a lot of equipment at the Observatory.”