Arthur Clarke - The Songs of Distant Earth

“Thank you very much, Mr. President,” Captain Bey said in the appreciative pause that followed. “It was indeed a welcome surprise when we discovered that Thalassa was not only inhabited, but flourishing. It will make our stay here all the more pleasant, and we hope to leave again with nothing but goodwill on both sides.”

“Pardon me for being so blunt — it may even seem rude to raise the question just as soon as guests arrive — but how long do you expect to be here? We’d like to know as soon as possible, so that we can make any necessary arrangements.”

“I quite understand, Mr. President. We can’t be specific at this stage, because it depends partly on the amount of assistance you can give us. My guess is at least one of your years — more probably two.”

Edgar Farradine, like most Lassans, was not good at concealing his emotions, and Captain Bey was alarmed by the sudden gleeful — one might even say crafty — expression that spread across the chief executive’s countenance.

“I hope, Your Excellency, that won’t create any problems?” he asked anxiously.

“On the contrary,” the president said, practically rubbing his hands. “You may not have heard, but our 200th Olympic Games are due in two years.’ He coughed modestly. “I got a bronze in the 1000 metres when I was a young man, so they’ve put me in charge of the arrangements. We could do with some competition from outside.”

“Mr. President,” the secretary to the cabinet said, “I’m not sure that the rules — “

“Which I make,” continued the president firmly. “Captain, please consider this an invitation. Or a challenge, if you prefer.”

The commander of the starship Magellan was a man accustomed to making swift decisions, but for once he was taken completely aback. Before he could think of a suitable reply, his chief medical officer stepped into the breach.

“That’s extremely kind of you, Mr. President,” Surgeon-Commander Mary Newton said. “But as a medperson, may I point out that all of us are over thirty, we’re completely out of training — and Thalassa’s gravity is six per cent stronger than Earth’s, which would put us at a severe disadvantage. So unless your Olympics includes chess or card games..”

The president looked disappointed, but quickly recovered.

“Oh, well — at least, Captain Bey, I’d like you to present some of the prizes.”

“I’d be delighted,” the slightly dazed commander said. He felt that the meeting was getting out of hand and determined to return to the agenda.

“May I explain what we hope to do here, Mr. President?”

“Of course,” was the somewhat uninterested reply. His Excellency’s thoughts still seemed elsewhere. Perhaps he was still reliving the triumphs of his youth. Then, with an obvious effort, he focused his attention upon the present. “We were flattered, but rather puzzled, by your visit. There seems very little that our world can offer you. I’m told there was some talk of ice; surely that was a joke.”

“No, Mr. President — we’re absolutely serious. That’s all we need of Thalassa, though now we’ve sampled some of your food products — I’m thinking especially of the cheese and wine we had at lunch — we may increase our demands considerably. But ice is the essential; let me explain. First image, please.”

The starship Magellan, two metres long, floated in front of the president. It looked so real that he wanted to reach out and touch it, and would certainly have done so had there been no spectators to observe such naive behaviour.

“You’ll see that the ship is roughly cylindrical — length four kilometres, diameter one. Because our propulsion system taps the energies of space itself, there’s no theoretical limit to speed, up to the velocity of light. But in practice, we run into trouble at about a fifth of that speed, owing to interstellar dust and gas. Tenuous though that is, an object moving through it at sixty thousand kilometres a second or more hits a surprising amount of material — and at that velocity even a single hydrogen atom can do appreciable damage.

“So Magellan, just like the first primitive spaceships, carries an ablation shield ahead of it. Almost any material would do, as long as we use enough of it. And at the near-zero temperature between the stars, it’s hard to find anything better than ice. Cheap, easily worked, and surprisingly strong! This blunt cone is what our little iceberg looked like when we left the solar system, two hundred years ago. And this is what it’s like now.”

The image flickered, then reappeared. The ship was unchanged, but the cone floating ahead of it had shrunk to a thin disc.

“That’s the result of drilling a hole fifty light-years long, through this rather dusty sector of the galaxy. I’m pleased to say the rate of ablation is within five per cent of estimate, so we were never in any danger — though of course there was always the remote possibility that we might hit something really big. No shield could protect us against that — whether it was made of ice, or the best armour-plate steel.

“We’re still good for another ten light-years, but that’s not enough. Our final destination is the planet Sagan 2 — seventy-five lights to go.

“So now you understand, Mr. President, why we stopped at Thalassa. We would like to borrow — well, beg, since we can hardly promise to return it — a hundred or so thousand tons of water from you. We must build another iceberg, up there in orbit, to sweep the path ahead of us when we go on to the stars.”

“How can we possibly help you to do that? Technically, you must be centuries ahead of us.”

“I doubt it — except for the quantum drive. Perhaps Deputy Captain Malina can outline our plans — subject to your approval, of course.”

“Please go ahead.”

“First we have to locate a site for the freezing plant. There are many possibilities — it could be on any isolated stretch of coastline. It will cause absolutely no ecological disturbance, but if you wish, we’ll put it on East Island — and hope that Krakan won’t blow before we’ve finished!

“The plant design is virtually complete, needing only minor modifications to match whatever site we finally choose. Most of the main components can go into production right away. They’re all very straightforward — pumps, refrigerating systems, heat exchangers, cranes — good old-fashioned Second Millennium technology!

“If everything goes smoothly, we should have our first ice in ninety days. We plan to make standard-sized blocks, each weighing six hundred tons — flat, hexagonal plates — someone’s christened them snowflakes, and the name seems to have stuck.

“When production’s started, we’ll lift one snowflake every day. They’ll be assembled in orbit and keyed together to build up the shield. From first lift to final structural test should take two hundred and fifty days. Then we’ll be ready to leave.”

When the deputy captain had finished, President Farradine sat in silence for a moment, a faraway look in his eye. Then he said, almost reverently. “Ice — I’ve never seen any, except at the bottom of a drink…”

As he shook hands with the departing visitors, President Farradine became aware of something strange. Their aromatic odour was now barely perceptible.

Had he grown accustomed to it already — or was he losing his sense of smell?

Although both answers were correct, around midnight he would have accepted only the second. He woke up with his eyes watering, and his nose so clogged that it was difficult to breathe.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs President said anxiously.