Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

It was the first time he had ever seen a gun, and Boss was carrying two, as well as a pair of cartridge belts. He handed one gun and belt over to an assistant, who took up his position at the end of the file.

“O.K.,” said Boss, just as nonchalantly as if he were unaware of the impression he had created. “Let’s go!”

As he walked toward the edge of the clearing, he threw the gun over his shoulder and buckled on the belt of ammunition. It was perfectly obvious that he knew how to handle his armament, but Duncan did not find this in the least reassuring. And judging by the glum silence, neither did anyone else.

The track through the jungle turned out to be surprisingly well kept; when someone commented on this, Boss called back over his shoulder: “We have an arrangement with the local tribes—they’re friendly—you’ll meet them later.”

“That’s a giveaway!” whispered Bill van Hyatt in Duncan’s ear. “The only primitive tribes left are in the Far East. I knew it was Borneo.”

They had now walked perhaps a kilometer through the closely packed trees and were already beginning to feel the effects of the day’s increasing heat. There was a chorus of relief when Boss abruptly called back: “We’re nearly there—close up!”

He stepped to the side of the trail, and let the file walk on past him. Duncan was near the head of the line, and saw that they were approaching a mass of bare rocks which formed a small hillock. Now at last, he told himself, we’ll be able to get a good view of the land around us.

Those ahead of him were already scrambling up the rocks, eager to see what lay ahead. Suddenly, there were cries of astonishment, inarticulate shouts. Millie van Hyatt, who had reached the top long before her husband, suddenly collapsed in hysterics. “Borneo!” she screamed. “He said Borneo!”

Duncan hurried to join her as swiftly as he could, in this unaccustomed gravity. A moment later, he reached the top of the little hill, and the vista to the south lay open before him.

Enigma had certainly fulfilled its promise. Not more than five kilometers away, gleaming in the morning light, was the most famous structure in the world. And now that all its upstart rivals had long since been demolished, it was once again the tallest.

Even a visitor from Titan could have no difficulty in recognizing the Empire State Building.

“Very clever,” said Bill van Hyatt in grudging admiration. “They must have flown us straight back over the same course, when they picked up the second load of passengers. But there are still some questions. That hideous noise last night—”

“Oh, eat your breakfast, Bill. Don’t always try to get ahead of the game.”

Boss, who was clearly relaxed now that his deception had been successfully carried off, called back from the end of the table: “Surely you’ve guessed that one, Bill?”

“Probably the sound track from an old Tarzan movie.”

Boss chuckled and glanced at his watch. All timepieces and communicators had been returned to their owners, and Duncan no longer felt so naked. He had never been able to stop himself looking at his absent watch, and he realized how cleverly Enigma had managed to disorient him in all four dimensions.

“In about five minutes, Bill, you’ll know better.”

“In that case, I’d appreciate it if you’d bring up the artillery again.”

“No use. The guns were real, but the bullets weren’t.”

“I see—just another part of the act. Tell me—have you ever used one of those things?”

“Yes.”

“On what? Anything big?”

“Fairly.”

“Was it dangerous?”

One had to admire Bill’s persistence, almost as much as his resilience. It was obvious that Boss was getting tired of this line of questioning, but was too polite to shut it off.

“ Quite dangerous.”

“Could it have killed you?”

“Easily,” said Boss, “and now his voice had suddenly become bleak and impersonal. “You see, it was carrying a gun too.”

In the ensuing silence, Duncan came to several quick conclusions. Boss was speaking the cold truth; it was no concern of theirs; and they would never learn any more.

Conversation was just getting under way again after this derailment when there was another interruption.

“Hey!” somebody shouted. “Look over there!”

A man was walking out of the ‘jungle’, and he was not alone. Trotting beside him were two enormous animals, attached to leashes which seemed highly inadequate. They were undoubtedly dogs of some kind, though Duncan had not realized that any grew to such a size. There were, he knew, thousands of different breeds, but there seemed something strange about these; they did not fit any of the visual records he had ever seen.

“Of course!” someone exclaimed. “That’s Fido and Susie.”

There were murmurs of assent, but Duncan was none the wiser. He also thought that he could have chosen more appropriate names.

He was even more certain of this by the time that the monsters had reached the camp. They stood half as high as a man, and must have weighed two hundred kilos.

“What are they?” he asked. “Wolves?”

“Yes and no,” Boss answered. “They’re dire wolves. They’ve been extinct for about ten thousand years.”

Now Duncan remembered. He had heard vaguely of the experiments on genetic reversal that had been taking place on Earth. There had been much excitement a few years ago about something called a passenger pigeon, which had now become such a pest that efforts were being made to control it. And there was even talk of restoring dinosaurs when the technique was perfected.

“Hello, Professor,” said Boss. “Your hounds really shook some of us last night. By the way, folks, this is Cliff Evans, head of the department of animal genetics at the Central Park Zoo—have I got that right? And as some of you have guessed, this is the famous Fido and Susie. Is it safe to feed them a few scraps, Cliff?”

The professor shook his head.

“Not on your life; I’m afraid they’re not terribly bright. We go to a lot of trouble balancing their diet. I should hate to get human protein mixed up in it.”

“Very considerate of you. Now, how’s the transport going to work out?”

“I can let you have ten well-behaved horses and five ditto ponies.”

“That’s only enough for fifteen. We need at least twenty-five.”

“No problem. You can also have six miniphants. They can each take two riders, and they’re safer than horses...”

While this discussion was in progress, Duncan examined the professor and his pets. The survey did not inspire much confidence; in particular, he did not care for the way in which the scientist was covered from head to heels in smooth leather, with massive reinforcements around the throat and from elbow to heavily gloved hands. It could not have been very comfortable on a hot June morning, and presumably he was not wearing this armor for fun.

However, Fido and Susie seemed sleek, well fed, and even somnolent. From time to time they yawned and licked their chops, with a disturbing display of dentition, but they showed no interest in after-breakfast snacks. In fact, they showed very little interest in anything, and Duncan could see the truth of the professor’s remarks about their intelligence. Their narrow skulls obviously contained much smaller brains than those of modern wolves; it was no wonder that they had become extinct. Duncan—himself an experiment in controlled genetics—felt rather sorry for the big, clumsy beasts.

“Attention, everyone!” Boss called. “We’re breaking camp in thirty minutes, and then we have a short trip to make—only about six kilometers. You know the restrictions on transport in New York City, so we have the following choices—foot, horse, or miniphant. On a beautiful morning like this, I’m going to walk. But it’s up to you—who wants to ride horseback? One, two, three—was your hand up, Bill? ... four ... eleven, twelve, thirteen ... that’s unlucky—any more? No? O.K., thirteen it is.”