Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

He had barely completed this thought when, to his surprise, the screen announced:

ELLERMAN, CATHERINE LINDEN

North Atlan

New York

New York

Personal: 373:496:000:000

Viddy: 99:373:496:000:000

The speed with which the system had located Calindy was so amazing that it was several seconds before two even more surprising facts registered in Duncan’s mind.

The first was that Calindy had managed to secure a—quite literally—one-in-a-million personal identification. The second was that she had been able to get it incorporated into her viddy number. Duncan would not have believe it possible; Karl had once tried to do the same thing, and even he had failed. Calindy’s powers of persuasion had always been remarkable, but he realized that he had underestimated them.

So here she was, not only on this planet, but on this continent—a mere five hundred kilometers away. He had only to tap out that number, and he could look once more into the eyes that had so often smiled at him for the bubble stereo.

He knew that he was going to do it; of that there was never any question. Yet still he hesitated, partly savoring the moment of anticipation, partly wondering just what he was going to say. He had still not decided this when, almost impulsively, he tapped out the fourteen digits that opened up the road to the past.

Duncan would never have recognized her had they met in the street; he had forgotten what years of Earth gravity could do. For long seconds he stared at the image, unable to speak. Finally she broke the silence, with a slightly impatient: “Yes? What is it?”

Before he could answer, Duncan found it necessary to start breathing again.

“Calindy,” he said, “don’t you remember me?”

The expression in those lustrous eyes changed imperceptibly. Then there was the trace of a smile, though a wary one. Be reasonable, Duncan told himself; she can’t possibly recognize you, after fifteen years. How many thousands of people has she met in that time, on this busy, crowded world? (And how many lovers, since Karl?)

But she surprised him, as usual.

“Of course, Duncan—how lovely to see you. I knew you were on Earth, and had been wondering when you’d call.”

He felt a little embarrassed, as perhaps he was intended to do.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was incredibly busy. The Centennial celebrations, you know.”

As he stared into the screen, the remembered features slowly emerged from the stranger looking back at him. The impact of the years was not as great as he had supposed; much of the unfamiliarity was purely artificial. She had changed the color of her hair so that it was no longer black, but brown, shot with flecks of gold. The oval of the face was the same, the ivory skin still flawless. When he forgot that image in the bubble stereo, he could see that she was still Calindy—more mature, and even more desirable.

He could also see that she was sitting in a crowded office, with shadowy figures coming and going all around her, and occasionally handing her sheafs of documents. Somehow, he had never imagined Calindy as a busy executive, but he was quite sure that if she had set her heart on the role, she would be a great success. It was obvious, however, that this was no time for tender endearments. The best that he could hope for was to arrange a meeting as soon as possible.

He had come all the way from Saturn; it should not be difficult to span the extra distance between Washington and New York. But, it seemed, there were problems. He even got the impression that there was some hesitation, even reluctance, on Calindy’s part. She consulted a very complicated diary, threw several dates at him, and appeared slightly relieved when Duncan found that they clashed with his own appointments.

He was becoming quite disheartened when she suddenly exclaimed: “Wait a minute—are you free next Thursday—and Friday?”

“I think so—yes, I could manage.” It was almost a week ahead; he would have to be patient. But two days—that sounded promising.

“Wonderful.” A slow, mischievous smile spread over her face, and for a moment the old Calindy looked back at him.

“And it’s perfect—so very appropriate... I couldn’t have arranged it better if I’d tried.”

“Arranged what? ” asked Duncan.

“Contact the van Hyatts at this number—they’re just outside Washington—and do exactly what they tell you. Say that Enigma’s asked them to bring you along as my personal guest. They’re nice people and you’ll like them. Now I really must break off—see you next week.” She paused for a moment, then said carefully: “I’d better warn you that I’ll be so busy we won’t have much time, even then. But I promise you—you’ll really enjoy the experience.”

Duncan looked at her doubtfully. Notwithstanding that assurance, he felt disappointed; he also hated to be involved in something over which he had no control. Makenzies organized other people, for their own good, of course, even if the victim did not always agree. This reversal of standard procedure made him uncomfortable.

“I’ll come,” he said, taking the plunge. “But at least tell me what this is all about.”

Calindy gave that stubborn little moue which he remembered so well.

“No,” she replied firmly. “I’d be violating the motto of my own organization, and even the executive vice-president can’t do that.”

“What organization?”

“Really?” she said, with a smile of pure delight. “I thought Enigma was rather well known, but this makes it even better. Anyone on Earth will tell you our slogan...” She broke off for a second to collect some documents from another harried assistant.

“Good-bye, Duncan—I have to rush. See you soon.”

“Your slogan!” he almost yelled at her.

She blew him a dainty kiss.

“Ask the van Hyatts. Lots of love.”

The screen was blank.

Duncan did not immediately contact the van Hyatts; he waited for a few minutes, until he had emotionally decompressed, then called his host and general adviser.

“George,” he said, “have you heard of Enigma Associates?”

“Yes, of course. What about them?”

“Do you know their slogan?”

“We astonish.”

“Eh?”

Washington repeated the phrase, slowly and carefully.

“Well, I’m astonished. What does it mean?”

“You might say they’re very sophisticated entertainers, or impresarios, working on a highly individual basis. You go to them when you’re bored, and want novelty. They analyze your psych profile, run it through their computer banks, and come up with a program to fit the time and money you’re prepared to invest. They may arrange for you to live at the North Pole, or take up a new profession, or have an exotic love affair, or write a play, or learn three-dimensional chess... And they rely a great deal on the element of surprise—you never know what they’ve planned for you until you’re already involved...”

“Suppose you don’t like their program, and want to pull out?”

“Apparently, that very seldom happens. They know their job—and, moreover, you don’t get your money back. But how did you hear about them? I hope you aren’t bored!”

Duncan laughed.

“I haven’t had time for that luxury. But I’ve just contacted an old friend who’s apparently vice-president of the organization, and she’s invited me to join a group for a couple of days. Would you advise it?”

“Frankly, that’s difficult to say. How well does she know you?”

“We’ve not met for fifteen years, since she visited Titan.”

“Then whatever program she’s invited you to join will be fairly bland and innocuous, especially if it lasts only two days. Your chances of survival are excellent.”