Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

These memories, so unexpectedly dredged up from the past, made Duncan aware of the complicated emotional crosscurrents that must be sweeping through this place. And he suddenly recalled that disturbing conversation—or, rather, monologue—with Sir Mortimer Keynes...

That he would follow in the steps of Colin, and of Malcolm before, was something that Duncan had always taken for granted, without any discussion. But now he realized, rather late in the day, that there was a price for everything, and that it should be considered very carefully before the contract was finally signed.

Cloning was neither good nor bad; only its purpose was important. And that purpose should not be one that was trivial or selfish.

The vivid green band of palms and the brilliant white crescent of the perfect beach were now more than a kilometer away, on the far side of the barrier reef. Even through the dark glasses which he dared not remove for a moment, the scene was almost painfully bright; when he looked in the direction of the sun, and caught its sparkle off the ocean swell, Duncan was completely blinded. Though this was a trifling matter, it enhanced his feeling of separation from all his companions. True, most of them also wore dark glasses—but in their case it was a convenience, not a necessity. Despite his wholly terrestrial genes, it seemed that he had adapted irrevocably to the light of a world ten times farther from the sun.

Beneath the smoothly sliding flanks of the triple hull, the water was so clear that it added to Duncan’s feeling of insecurity. The boat seemed to be hanging in midair, with no apparent means of support, over a dappled sea bed five or ten meters below. It seemed strange that this should worry him, when he had looked down on Earth from orbit, hundreds of kilometers above the atmosphere.

He was startled by a sudden, distant crash, altogether out of place on this idyllically peaceful morning. It came from somewhere out at sea, and Duncan spun around just in time to see a column of spray slowly falling back into the water. Surely no one would be allowed to set off submarine explosions in this area...

Now there was a jet of vapor, which rose slanting from the sea, hung for a moment in the bright sunlight, and gradually dispersed.

For a full minute, nothing else happened. And then—

Duncan was paralyzed with astonishment. With unbelievable slowness, but with the inevitability of some continent rising from the primordial depths, a vast gray shape was soaring out of the sea. There was a flash of white, as monstrous flukes slammed against the waves and created another cloud of spray. And still that incredible bulk continued to climb, as if defying gravity, a moment above the blue ledge of the horizon. Then, still in slow motion, as if reluctant to leave an alien element, it fell back into the ocean and vanished beneath a final geyser of spray. The booming crash seemed to come ages later.

Duncan had never imagined such a spectacle, but he had no need of any explanation. Moby Dick was one of the thousands of Terran classics he knew only through repute, but now he understood how Herman Melville must have felt when, for the first time, he saw the sea furrowed by a glistening back as large as an overturned ship, and conceived in the image of the white whale a symbol of the forces that lie behind the universe.

He waited for many minutes, but the giant did not leap again, though from time to time there were brief spouts of vapor, becoming more and more distant until they vanished from sight.

“Why did it do that?” he asked Dr. Todd, his voice still hushed by the lingering aura of departed majesty.

“Nobody really knows. It may be pure joie de vivre . It may be to impress a lady friend. OR it may be merely to get rid of parasites—whales are badly infested with barnacles and lampreys.”

How utterly incongruous, thought Duncan. It seemed almost an outrage that a god should be afflicted with lice.

Now the trimaran was slowing down, and the sheer strangeness and beauty of the underwater scene captured his attention so completely that Duncan forgot his remoteness from land. The fantastic shapes of the corals, and the colors of the fish that sported or sauntered among them, were a revelation. He had already been astounded by the variety of life on land; now he saw that it was far exceeded by the reckless profusion of the sea.

Something like an antique jet plane went flapping slowly past, with graceful undulations of its spotted wings. None of the other fish took any notice. To Duncan’s surprise, there was no sign of the carnage he had expected to witness, in this realm where everything fed on everything else. In fact, it was hard to imagine a more peaceful scene; the few fish that had been chasing others were obviously doing so merely to protect their territory. The impression he had gathered from books and films had been almost wholly misleading. Co-operation, not competition, seemed to rule the reef.

The trimaran came to a halt, the anchor was thrown out—and was followed almost immediately by three rubber dinghies, four doctors, five nurses, and a mass of diving equipment. The scene appeared to Duncan to be one of utter confusion; actually, it was much better planned and disciplined than he realized. The swimmers promptly divided into groups of three, and each trio went off with one of the dinghies, heading in a purposeful manner toward spots that had obviously been chosen in advance.

“If it’s so safe,” remarked Duncan after the last splashing had died away, “why are they all carrying knives, and those vicious-looking little spears?”

The trimaran was now almost deserted, its only other occupants besides Duncan being the skipper—who had promptly fallen asleep in front of the wheel—the engineer, who had disappeared below deck, and Dr. Todd.

“Those aren’t weapons. They’re gardening tools.”

“You must have rather ferocious weeds. I wouldn’t care to meet them.”

“Oh,” said Dr. Todd, “some of them put up a good fight. Why don’t you go and have a look? You’ll be sorry if you miss the chance.”

That was perfectly true, yet Duncan still hesitated. The water in which the trimaran was gently rocking was very shallow; indeed, it appeared no deeper than the swimming pool at the Centennial Hotel.

“I’ll go in with you. You can stand on the diving ladder, until you get the hang of the face mask—and snorkel-breathing should be easy to anyone who’s used to a spacesuit.”

Duncan did not volunteer the information that he had never worn a genuine spacesuit; nevertheless, a Titan surface life-support system should be good training. And anyway, what could go wrong in a couple of meters of water? Why, there were places here where he could stand with his head above the surface. Sweeney Todd was right; he would never forgive himself if he turned down this opportunity of a lifetime.

Ten minutes later, he was splashing inexpertly but steadily along the surface. Although it had seemed astonishing—and even indecent—to put on clothing when one entered the water, Todd had insisted that he dress from head to foot in a light, one-piece overall of some closely knit fabric. It scarcely affected his movements, but he wished he could do without it.

“Some of these corals sting,” the doctor had explained. “It could spoil your day if you backed into one—and you might have an allergic reaction.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

“No, that’s about it. Just watch me, and hang on to the rubber dinghy whenever you want a rest.”

He was now rapidly gaining confidence and beginning to enjoy himself thoroughly. There was obviously no danger whatsoever while he drifted along behind the dinghy, never letting go of the rope dangling in the water. And Dr. Todd, he was reassured to observe, always kept within arm’s length; he was being almost ridiculously overcautious. Even if a shark came shooting up out of the depths, Duncan believed he could be aboard the dinghy in two seconds flat—notwithstanding Earth’s gravity.