Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

“Yet despite their sophisticated tools, the first generation of our pioneers probably had as tough a time as your Pilgrim Fathers. What they lacked in hostile Indians was more than made up for by a hostile environment. Deaths by accident were common; anyone who was careless did not live long on Titan in the early days...”

“But, slowly and painfully, we managed to convert our first primitive bases, which had no more than the bare necessities for survival, into fairly comfortable towns, then cities... like Meridian, Carbonville, Oasis. True, the largest has a population of only fifty thousand—there are still fewer than a quarter of a million of us on Titan—but, as we all know, quality is more important than quantity.”

There were a few smiles at this strikingly original remark, and Duncan felt encouraged to continue, but then he saw something that almost stopped him dead in his tracks.

The smallest member of his audience was showing obvious signs of distress. Back there in the third row, that infernal fish was swimming round and round at an acute angle to the rest of the world. Since Duncan had noticed no alteration in the force of gravity, he could only assume that something had happened to its sense of balance. Even as he watched, it flipped over on its side...

Very close at hand, somebody was talking, using Duncan’s voice. Whether the words made any sense, he could not even guess. He was elsewhere, struggling with a problem of life and death.

Should he stop talking and warn Miss Fishbowl of the impending tragedy of which she was obviously unaware? Perhaps there was still time for her to rush to the nearest animal hospital. That creature might be the last of its species—the only one in the world, doomed to extinction owing to his negligence.

Alas, it was too late. With a final convulsive wriggle, the fish turned belly up and floated motionless in its crystal globe. Duncan had never received a more obvious hint. As quickly as possible he brought his peroration to a close. To his astonishment the applause seemed perfectly genuine.

He hoped he was not mistaken, but in any event he was quite sure of one thing. After this ordeal, speaking to the Congress of the United States would be child’s play.

The package had been delivered to Duncan’s room while he was lecturing. It was a small, neatly wrapped cylinder, about fifteen centimeters high and ten across, and he could not imagine what it contained.

He hefted it in his hand a few times; it was fairly heavy, but not heavy enough to be metal. When he tapped it, there was merely a dull, unreverberant thud.

He abandoned futile speculation and tore open the envelope taped around the cylinder.

Mount Vernon Farm

Dear Duncan,

Sorry about the delay, but we had a little accident. Charlemagne managed to walk into the hives one night. Luckily—or not, depending on the point of view—our bees don’t sting. However, production was badly affected.

Remembering your reaction last time, Clara and I thought you might like this souvenir of your visit.

Best,

How kind of them, Duncan told himself. When he got through the wrappings, he found a transparent plastic jar, full of golden liquid. The locking mechanism on the screw-top lid baffled him for a moment—it had to be pushed down and tightened before it could be opened—but after a few frustrating minutes he had it off.

The smell was delicious, and once again there was that haunting sense of familiarity. Like a small boy, he could not resist dipping in a finger, then savoring the tip with his tongue.

Some delayed-action circuit was operating: deep in the recesses of memory, the most primitive—and potent—of all senses was opening doors that had been locked for years.

His body remembered before his mind. As he relaxed contentedly in a warm glow of sheer animal lust, everything came back to him.

Honey tasted like Calindy...

Sooner or later, of course, he would have contacted her. But he wanted time to adjust, and to feel as much at home on Earth as he could ever be. So he had told himself; but that was not the only reason.

The logical part of his mind had no wish for him to be sucked back into the whirlpool that had engulfed him as a boy. But in matters of the heart, logic was always defeated. In the long run, it could do no more than say: “I told you so...” and by then it was too late.

He had known Calindy’s body, but he had been too young to know her love. Now he was a man—and there was nothing that Karl could do to stop him.

The first task was to locate Calindy. He felt some disappointment that she had not already contacted him, for the news of his arrival had been well publicized. Was she indifferent—even embarrassed? He would take that chance.

Duncan walked to the Comsole, and the screen became alive as his fingers brushed the ON pad. Now it was a miracle beyond the dreams of any poet, a charmed magic casement, opening on all seas, all lands. Through his window could flow everything that Man had ever learned about his universe, and every work of art he had saved from the dominion of Time. All the libraries and museums that had ever existed could be funneled through this screen and the millions like it scattered over the face of the Earth. Even the least sensitive of men could be overwhelmed by the thought that one could operate a Comsole for a thousand lifetimes—and barely sample the knowledge stored within the memory banks that lay triplicated in their widely separated caverns, more securely guarded than any gold. There was an appropriate irony in the fact that two of these buried complexes had once been control centers for nuclear missiles.

But now Duncan was not concerned with the heritage of mankind; he had a more modest objective in view. His fingers tapped out the word INFO, and the screen instantly displayed:

PLEASE SPECIFY CATEGORY

01. General

02. Science

03. History

04. Arts

05. Recreation

06. Geography

07. Earth Directory

08. Moon Directory

09. Planet Directory

and so on for more than thirty subject headings.

As his fingers tapped out 07, Duncan could not help recalling his very first confrontation with the Terran Comsole System. The categories were almost the same as on Titan, but ACTIVATE was on the left-hand side of the keyboard, and the unfamiliar position had made him forget to press it. So nothing happened for a good five seconds; then a really beautiful girl had appeared on the screen and said sweetly, in a voice to which Duncan could have listened forever: “You seem to be having some difficulty. Have you remembered to press ACTIVATE?”

He had stared at her until she faded out, leaving a dazzling smile that, like the Cheshire Cat, lingered in his memory. Though he had promptly repeated the same mistake five times in a row, she never came back. It was a different girl each time. Oh well, he told himself, they had probably all been dead for years...

When EARTH DIRECTORY came up, he was requested to give Family Name, Given Names, Personal Number, and Last Known Address—Region, Country, Province, Postal Code. But that was the problem—he had not heard from Calindy for five years, and had never known her personal number. It had even been hard to recall her family name; if it had been Smith or Wong or Lee the task would have been hopeless.

He typed out ELLERMAN, CATHERINE LINDEN, and a string of DON’T KNOWS. The Comsole shot back: WHAT INFORMATION DO YOU WANT? Duncan answered: ADDRESS AND VIDDY NUMBER: ACTIVATE

Suppose Calindy had changed her name? Unlikely; she was not the sort of woman who would let herself be dominated by any man, even if she established a long-term relationship with one. Duncan could imagine the man changing his name, rather than the other way around...