Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

“And the dead... 158 so far. Only a few people were trapped in the ship. Those in sealed compartments looked as if they had been drowned yesterday. In the sections the fish could reach, there were only bones. We were able to identify several, from the cabin numbers and the White Star Line’s records. And that story you’ve heard is quite true: we found one couple still in each other’s arms. They were married—but each to someone else. And the two other partners survived; I wonder if they ever guessed? After three and a half centuries, it doesn’t much matter...”

“Sometimes we’re asked—why are you doing this, devoting years of time and millions of solars to salvaging the past? Well, I can give you some down-to-earth, practical reasons. This ship is a part of our history. We can better understand ourselves, and our civilization, when we study her. Someone said that a sunken ship is a time capsule, because it preserves all the artifacts of everyday life, exactly as they were at their last instant of use. And the Titanic was a cross-section of an entire society, at the unique moment before it started to dissolve.”

“We have the stateroom of John Jacob Astor, with all the valuables and personal effects that the richest man of his age was taking to New York. He could have bought the Titanic —a dozen times over. And we have the tool kit that Pat O’Connor carried when he came aboard at Queenstown, hoping to find a better living in a land he was never to see. We even have the five sovereigns he managed to save, after more years of hardship than we can ever imagine.”

“These are the two extremes; between them we have every walk of life—a priceless treasure trove for the historian, the economist, the artist, the engineer. But beyond that there’s a magic about this ship which has kept its name fresh through all the centuries. The story of the Titanic ’s first and last voyage is one that has to be told anew in every generation, lest men forget the workings of fate and chance.”

“I have talked longer than I intended, and pictures speak louder than words. There have been ten movies about the Titanic —and the most ambitious will start production shortly, using the actual location for the first time. But the extracts we want to show you now are from a film made three hundred and twenty years ago. Of course it will look old-fashioned, and it’s in black and white, but it was the last film to be made while survivors were still alive and could check its details. For this reason, it remains the most authentic treatment; I think you will discover that A Night To Remember lives up to its name.”

The lights in the Grand Saloon dimmed, as they had dimmed at two-eighteen in the morning of April 15, 1912. Time rolled back three and half centuries as the grainy, flickering real-life footage merged into the impeccable studio reconstruction. Titanic sailed again, to make her last appointment with destiny, off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.

Duncan did not cry easily, but presently he was weeping.

When the lights came on again, he understood why men had spent so much of toil and treasure to win back what the sea had stolen from them so long ago. His eyes were still so misty, and his vision so uncertain, that for a moment he did not recognize the woman who had just entered the Grand Saloon and was standing by one of the ornate doors.

Even carrying a hard hat, and with shapeless plastic waterproof covering her from neck to knees, Calindy still looked poised and elegant. Duncan rose to his feet and walked toward her, ignoring the stares of companions. Silently, he put out his arms, embraced her, and kissed her full on the lips. She was not as tall as he had remembered—or he had grown—because he had to stoop.

“Well!” she exclaimed, when she had disentangled herself. “After fifteen years!”

“You haven’t changed in the least.”

“Liar. I hope I have. At twenty-one I was an irresponsible brat.”

“At twenty-one you should be. It’s the last chance you’ll have.”

This scintillating conversation then ground to a halt, while they looked at each other and everyone in the Grand Saloon looked at them. I’m quite sure, Duncan told himself wryly, that they think we’re old lovers; would that it were true...

“Duncan, darhling —sorry—I always start talking early twentieth century when I’m in here: Mr. D. Makenzie, please excuse me for a few minutes while I speak to my other guests—then we’ll tour the ship together.”

He watched her dart purposefully from one group to another, the very embodiment of the efficient administrator, confirming that everything was going as planned. Was she playing another of her roles, or was this the real Calindy, if such a creature existed?

She came back to him five minutes later, with all her associates trotting dutifully behind.

“Duncan—I don’t think you’ve met Commander Innes—he knows more about this ship than the people who built her. He’ll be showing us around.”

As they shook hands, Duncan said: “I enjoyed your presentation very much. It’s always stimulating to meet a real enthusiast.”

His words were not idle flattery. While he had been listening to that talk, Duncan had recognized something that he had not met before on Earth.

Commander Innes was slightly larger than life, and seemed to be inclined at a small angle to his fellow Terrans. A world which had put a premium on tolerance and security and safe, well-organized excitements like those provided by Enigma had no place for zealots. Though enthusiasm was not actually illegal, it was in somewhat bad taste; one should not take one’s hobbies and recreations too seriously. Commander Innes, Duncan suspected, lived and dreamed Titanic . In an earlier age, he might have been a missionary, spreading the doctrines of Mohammed or Jesus with fire and sword. Today he was a harmless and indeed refreshing anomaly, and perhaps just a trifle mad.

For the next hour, they explored the bowels of the ship—and Duncan was thankful for his protective clothing. There was still mud and oil sloshing around on G deck, and several times he banged his head against unexpected ladders and ventilating ducts. But the effort and discomfort were well worth it, for only in this manner could he really appreciate all the skill and genius that had gone into this floating city. Most moving of all was to touch the inward-curling petals of steel far below the starboard bow, and to imagine the icy waters that had poured through them on that tragic night.

The boilers were shapeless, crumpled masses, but the engines themselves were in surprisingly good condition. Duncan looked with awe at the giant connecting rods and crankshafts, the huge reduction gears. (But why on earth did the designers use piston engines and turbines?) Then his admiration was abruptly tempered when Commander Innes gave his some statistics: this mountain of metal developed a ludicrous forty thousand kilowatts! He remembered the figure that Chief Engineer Mackenzie had given for Sirius’ main drive; a trillion kilowatts. Mankind had indeed gone a long way, in every sense of the phrase, during the last three centuries.

He was exhausted when he had climbed back up the alphabet from G to A deck (one day, Commander Innes promised, the elevators would be running again) and was more than thankful when they settled down for lunch in the First Class Smoking Room.

Then he looked at the Menu, and blinked:

R.M.S. “TITANIC”

April 14, 1912

LUNCHEON

Consommé Fermier Cockie Leekie

Fillets of Brill

Egg À l’Argenteuil

Chicken À la Maryland

Corned Beef, Vegetables, Dumplings