Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

Duncan wondered how much ‘homework’ George had done on him; doubtless a good deal.

“You can assume my total ignorance in these matters. Still, I should have realized that fusor technology would be almost as important on Earth as off it.”

“It’s not my field, but you’re probably right. When it was cheaper and simpler to melt a home underground than to build it above— and to fit it with viewscreens that were better than any conceivable window—it’s not surprising that the surface lost many of its attractions. Not all, though.” He gestured toward the left-hand side of the parkway.

They were approaching a small access road, which merged gently into the main traffic lane. It led into a wood about a kilometer away, and through the trees Duncan could glimpse at least a dozen houses. They were all of different design, yet had common features so that they formed a harmonious group. Every one had steeply gabled roofs, large windows, gray stone walls—and even chimneys. These were certainly not functional, but many of them served to support complicated structures of metal rods.

“Fake antique,” said Washington with some disapproval. “Mid-twentieth-century TV antennas. Oh well, there’s no accounting for tastes.”

The road was plunging downhill now, and was about to pass under a graceful bridge carrying a road much wider than the parkway. It was also carrying considerably more traffic, moving at a leisurely twenty or thirty kilometers an hour.

“Enjoying the good weather,” said Washington. “You only see a few madmen there in the winter. Any you may not believe this, but there was a time when the motorways were the wide roads. They had to be when there was a hundred times as much traffic— and no automatic steering .” He shuddered at the thought. “More people were killed on these roads than ever died in warfare—did you know that? And of course they still get killed, up there on the bikeways. No one’s ever discovered a way to stop cyclists from wobbling; that’s another reason why the road’s so wide.”

As they dived under the bridge, a colorful group of young riders waved down at them, and Washington replied with a cheerful salute.

“When I was thirty years younger,” he said wistfully, “a gang of us set off for California on the Transcontinental Bikeway. No electrocycles allowed, either. Well, we were unlucky—ran into terrible weather in Kansas. Some of us made it, but I wasn’t one of them. I’ve still got a twelve-speed Diamond Special—all carbon fiber and beryllium; you can lift it with one finger. Even now, I could do a hundred klicks on it, if I were fool enough to try.”

The big car was slowing down, its computer brain sensing an exit ahead. Presently it peeled off from the parkway, then speeded up again along a narrow road whose surface rapidly disintegrated into a barely visible grass-covered track. Washington took the steering lever just a second before the END AUTO warning light started to flash on the control panel.

“I’m taking you to the farm for several reasons,” he said. “Life will soon get hectic for both of us, as more visitors start arriving. This may be the last opportunity we have to go through your program in peace and quiet. Also, out-worlders can learn a lot about Earth very quickly in a place like this. But to be honest—the truth is that I’m proud of the place, and like showing it off.”

They were now approaching a high stone wall, running for hundreds of meters in both directions. Duncan tried to calculate how much labor it represented, if all those oddly shaped blocks were assembled by hand—as surely they must have been. The figure was so incredible that he couldn’t believe it.

And that huge gate was made of— genuine wood, for it was unpainted and he could see the grain. As it swung automatically open, Duncan read the nameplate, and turned to the Professor in surprise.

“But I thought—” he began.

George Washington looked slightly embarrassed.

“That’s my private joke,” he admitted. “The real Mount Vernon is fifty kilometers southeast of here. You mustn’t miss it.”

That last phrase, Duncan guessed, was going to become all too familiar in the months ahead—right up to the day when he reembarked for Titan.

Inside the walls, the road—now firm-packed gravel—ran in a straight line through a checkerboard of small fields. Some of the fields were plowed, and there was a tractor working in one of them—under direct human control, for a man was sitting on the open driving seat. Duncan felt that he had indeed traveled back in time.

“I suppose there’s no need to explain,” said the Professor, “that all this doesn’t belong to me . It’s owned by the Smithsonian. Some people complain that everything within a hundred kilometers of the Capitol is owned by the Smithsonian, but that’s a slight exaggeration. I’m just the administrator; you might say it’s a kind of full-time hobby. Every year I have to submit a report, and as long as I do my job, and don’t have a fight with the Regents, this is my home. Needless to say, I am careful to keep on excellent terms with at least fifty-one percent of the Regents. By the way, do you recognize any of these crops?”

“I’m afraid not—though that’s grass, isn’t it?”

“Well, technically, almost everything here is. Grass includes all the cereals—barley, rice, maize, wheat, oats... We grow them all except rice.”

“But why—I mean, except for scientific and archaeological interest?”

“Isn’t that sufficient? But I think you’ll find there’s more to it than that, when you’ve had a look around.”

At the risk of being impolite, Duncan persisted. He was not trying to be stubborn, but was genuinely interested.

“What about efficiency? Doesn’t it take a square kilometer to feed one man, with this system?”

“Out around Saturn, perhaps; I’m afraid you’ve dropped a few zeros. If it had to, this little farm could support fifty people in fair comfort, though their diet would be rather monotonous.”

“I’d no idea—my God, what’s that? ”

“You’re joking—you don’t recognize it?”

“Oh, I know it’s a horse. But it’s enormous . I thought...”

“Well, I can’t blame you, though wait until you see an elephant. Charlemagne is probably the largest horse alive today. He’s a Percheron, and weights a little over a ton. His ancestors used to carry knights in full armor. Like to meet him?”

Duncan wanted to say, “Not really,” but it was too late. Washington brought the car to a halt, and the gigantic creature ambled toward them.

Until this moment, the limousine had been closed and they had been traveling in air-conditioned comfort. Now the windows slid down—and Primeval Earth hit Duncan full in the nostrils.

“What’s the matter?” asked Washington anxiously. “Are you all right?”

Duncan gulped, and took a curious sniff.

“I think so,” he said, without much conviction. “It’s just that—the air is rather—” He struggled for words as well as breath, and had almost selected ‘ripe’ when he gratefully switched to ‘rich’ in the nick of time.

“I’m so sorry,” apologized Washington, genuinely contrite. “I’d quite forgotten how strange this must be to you. Let me close the window. Go away, Charlie—sorry, some other time.”

The monster now completely dwarfed the car, and a huge head, half as big as a man, was trying to insert itself through the partially open window on Duncan’s side. The air became even thicker, and redolent of more animal secretions than he cared to identify. Two huge, slobbering lips drew back, to disclose a perfectly terrifying set of teeth...