Arthur Clarke - The Songs of Distant Earth

“Or the electricity might come from something more complex, like a fission reactor or a thermonuclear fusor or a muon catalyzer or a Penrose Node or a Hawking-Schwarzschild kernel — you see what I mean? Somewhere along the line they’d have to give up any hope of comprehension; but they’d still be perfectly competent engineers, capable of switching electric power where and when it was needed.”

“In the same way, we can switch Magellan from Earth to Thalassa — and, I hope, on to Sagan 2 — without really knowing what we’re doing. But one day, perhaps centuries hence, we will again be able to match the genius that produced the quantum drive.

“And — who knows? — you may do it first. Some latter-day Francis Zoltan may be born on Thalassa. And then perhaps you will come to visit us.”

She didn’t really believe it. But it was a nice way to end, and it drew a tremendous round of applause.

“We can do it with no trouble, of course,” said Captain Bey thoughtfully. “Planning’s essentially complete — that vibration problem with the compressors seems to be solved — site preparation is ahead of schedule. There’s no doubt that we can spare the men and equipment — but is it really a good idea?” He looked at his five senior officers gathered around the oval table in the Terra Nova staff conference room; with one accord they all looked at Dr Kaldor, who sighed and spread his hands in resignation.

“So it’s not a purely technical problem. Tell me all I have to know.”

“This is the situation,” Deputy Captain Malina said. The lights dimmed, and the Three Islands covered the table, floating a fraction of a centimetre above it like some beautifully detailed model. But this was no model, for if the scale was expanded enough, one could watch the Lassans going about their business.

“I think the Lassans are still scared of Mount Krakan, though really it’s a very well behaved volcano — after all, it’s never actually killed anyone! And it’s the key to the interisland communications system. The summit is six kilometres above sea level — the highest point on the planet, of course. So it’s the ideal site for an antenna park; all long-distance services are routed through here and beamed back to the two other islands.”

“It’s always seemed a little odd to me,” Kaldor said mildly, “that after two thousand years we’ve not found anything better than radio waves.”

“The Universe came equipped with only one electromagnetic spectrum, Dr Kaldor — we have to make the best use of it we can. And the Lassans are fortunate; because even the extreme ends of the North and South Islands are only three hundred kilometres apart, Mount Krakan can blanket them both. They can manage very nicely without comsats.

“The only problem is accessibility — and weather. The local joke is that Krakan’s the only place on the planet that has any. Every few years someone has to climb the mountain, repair a few antennas, replace some solar cells and batteries — and shovel away a lot of snow. No real problem but a lot of hard work.”

“Which,” interjected Surgeon-Commander Newton, “Lassans avoid whenever possible. Not that I blame them for saving their energies for more important things — like sports and athletics.”

She could have added ‘making love’, but that was already a sensitive subject with many of her colleagues, and the remark might not be appreciated.

“Why do they have to climb the mountain?” Kaldor asked. “Why don’t they just fly to the top? They’ve got vertical-lift aircraft.”

“Yes, but the air’s thin up there — and what there is tends to be boisterous. After several bad accidents, the Lassans decided to do it the hard way.”

“I see,” Kaldor said thoughtfully. “It’s the old noninterference problem. Will we weaken their self-reliance? Only to a trivial extent, I’d say. And if we don’t accede to such a modest request, we’d provoke resentment. Justified, too, considering the help they’re giving us with the ice plant.”

“I feel exactly the same way. Any objections? Very good. Mister Lorenson — please make the arrangements. Use whichever spaceplane you think fit, as long as it’s not needed for Operation Snowflake.”

Moses Kaldor had always loved mountains; they made him feel nearer to the God whose nonexistence he still sometimes resented.

From the rim of the great caldera, he could look down into a sea of lava, long since congealed but still emitting wisps of smoke from a dozen crevasses. Beyond that, far to the west, both the big islands were clearly visible, lying like dark clouds on the horizon.

The stinging cold and the need to make each breath count, added a zest to every moment. Long ago he had come across a phrase in some ancient travel or adventure book: ‘Air like wine.’ At the time he had wished he could ask the author just how much wine he’d breathed lately; but now the expression no longer seemed so ridiculous.

“Everything’s unloaded, Moses. We’re ready to fly back.”

“Thank you, Loren. I felt like waiting here until you collect everyone in the evening, but it might be risky to stay too long at this altitude.”

“The engineers have brought oxygen bottles, of course,”

“I wasn’t thinking only of that. My namesake once got into a lot of trouble on a mountain.”

“Sorry — I don’t understand.”

“Never mind; it was a long, long time ago.”

As the spaceplane lifted off the rim of the crater, the work party waved cheerfully up at them. Now that all the tools and equipment had been unloaded, they were engaged in the essential preliminary to any Lassan project. Someone was making tea.

Loren was careful to avoid the complex mass of antennas, of practically every known design, as he climbed slowly up into the sky. They were all aimed towards the two islands dimly visible in the west; if he interrupted their multiple beams countless gigabytes of information would be irretrievably lost, and the Lassans would be sorry that they ever asked him to help.

“You’re not heading towards Tarna?”

“In a minute. I want to look at the mountain first. Ah — there it is!”

“What?” Oh, I see. Krakan!”

The borrowed expletive was doubly appropriate. Beneath them, the ground had been split into a deep ravine about a hundred metres wide. And at the bottom of that ravine lay Hell.

The fires from the heart of this young world were still burning here, just below the surface. A glowing river of yellow, flecked with crimson, was moving sluggishly towards the sea. How could they be sure, Kaldor wondered, that the volcano had really settled down and was not merely biding its time?

But the river of lava was not their objective. Beyond it lay a small crater about a kilometre across, on the rim of which stood the stump of a single ruined tower. As they came closer, they could see that there had once been three such towers, equally spaced around the rim of the caldera, but of the other two only the foundations were left.

The floor of the crater was covered with a mass of tangled cables and metal sheets, obviously the remains of the great radio reflector that had once been suspended here. At its centre lay the wreckage of the receiving and transmitting equipment, partly submerged in a small lake formed by the frequent rainstorms over the mountain.

They circled the ruins of the last link with Earth, neither caring to intrude on the thoughts of the other. At last Loren broke the silence.

“It’s a mess — but it wouldn’t be hard to repair. Sagan 2 is only twelve degrees north — closer to the Equator than Earth was. Even easier to point the beam there with an offset antenna.”