Arthur Clarke - Imperial Earth

No, not the weather—the amount of Terran conversation devoted to that was quite incredible!—but something equally neutral.

“That was the hardest work I’ve done since I got here. I can’t believe that people really climb mountains on this planet.”

Karl examined this brilliant gambit for possible booby traps. The he shrugged his shoulders and replied: “Earth’s tallest mountain is two hundred times as high as this. People climb it every year.”

At least the ice was broken, and communication had been established. Duncan permitted himself a sigh of relief; at the same time, now that they were at close quarters, he was shocked by Karl’s appearance. Some of that golden hair had turned to silver, and there was much less of it. In the year since they had last met, Karl seemed to have aged ten. There were crow’s-feet wrinkles of anxiety around his eyes, and his brow was now permanently furrowed. He also seemed to have shrunk considerably, and Earth’s gravity could not be wholly to blame, for Duncan was even more vulnerable to that. On Titan, he had always had to look up at Karl; now, as they stood face to face, their eyes were level.

But Karl avoided his gaze and moved restlessly back and forth, firmly clutching the notebook he was carrying. Presently he walked to the very edge of the platform and leaned with almost ostentation recklessness against the protective rail.

“Don’t do that!” protested Duncan. “It makes me nervous.” That, he suspected, was the purpose of the exercise.

“Why should you care?”

The brusque answer saddened Duncan beyond measure. He could only reply: “If you really don’t know, it’s too late for me to explain.”

“Well, I know this isn’t a social visit. I suppose you’ve seen Calindy?”

“Yes. I’ve seen her.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I can’t speak for Calindy. She doesn’t even know that I’m here.”

“What are the Makenzies trying to do? For the good of Titan, of course.”

Duncan knew better than to argue. He did not even feel angry at the calculated provocation.

“All I’m trying to do is to avoid a scandal—if it’s not too late.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well. Who authorized your trip to Earth? Who’s paying your expenses?”

Duncan had expected Karl to show some signs of guilt, but he was mistaken.

“I have friends here. And I don’t recall that the Makenzies worried too much about regulations. How did Malcolm get the first Lunar orbital refueling contract?”

“That was a hundred years ago, when he was trying to get the Titan economy started. There’s no excuse now for financial irregularities. Especially for purely personal ends.”

This was, of course, a shot in the dark, but he appeared to have landed on some target. For the first time, Karl looked angry.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped back. “One day Titan...”

CYCLOPS gently but firmly interrupted him. They had quite forgotten the slow tracking of the great antennas on every side, and were no longer even aware of the faint whirr of the hundreds of drive motors. Until a few seconds ago, the upper platform of 005 had been shielded by the inverted umbrella of the next bowl, but now its shadow was no longer falling upon them. The artificial eclipse was over, and they were blasted by the tropical sun.

Duncan closed his eyes until his dark glasses had adjusted to the glare. When he opened them again, he was standing in a world divided sharply into night and day. Everything on one side was clearly visible, while in the shadow only a few centimeters away he could see absolutely nothing. The contrast between light and darkness, exaggerated by his glasses, was so great that Duncan could almost imagine he was on the airless Moon.

It was also uncomfortably hot, especially for Titanians.

“If you don’t mind,” said Duncan, still determined to be polite, “we’ll move around to the shadow side.” It would be just like Karl to refuse, either out of sheer stubbornness or to demonstrate his superiority. He was not even wearing dark glasses, though he was holding the notebook to shield his eyes.

Rather to Duncan’s surprise, Karl followed him meekly enough around the catwalk, into the welcome shade on the northern face of the tower. The utter banality of the interruption seemed to have put him off his stride.

“I was saying,” continued Duncan, when they had settled down again, “that I’m merely trying to avoid any unpleasantness that will embarrass both Earth and Titan. There’s nothing personal in this, and I wish that someone else were doing it—believe me.”

Karl did not answer at once, but bent down and carefully placed his notebook on the most rust-free section of the catwalk he could find. The action reminded Duncan so vividly of old times that he was absurdly moved. Karl had never been able to express his emotions properly unless his hands were free, and that notebook was obviously a major hindrance.

“Listen carefully, Duncan,” Karl began. “Whatever Calindy told you—”

“She told me nothing.”

“She must have helped you find me.”

“Not even that. She doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Duncan shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. His strategy seemed to be working. By hinting that he knew much more than he did—which was indeed little enough—he hoped to undercut Karl’s confidence and gain further admissions from him. But what he would do then, he still had no idea; he could only rely on Colin’s maxim of the masterful administration of the unforeseen.

Karl had now begun to pace back and forth in such an agitated manner that, for the fist time, Duncan felt distinctly nervous. He remembered Calindy’s warning; and once again, he reminded himself uneasily that this was not at all a good place for a confrontation with an adversary who might be slightly unbalanced.

Suddenly, Karl seemed to come to a decision. He stopped his uncertain weaving along the narrow catwalk and turned on his heel so abruptly that Duncan drew back involuntarily. Then he realized, with both surprise and relief, that Karl’s hands were outstretched in a gesture of pleading, not of menace.

“Duncan,” he began, in a voice that was now completely changed. “ You can help me. What I’m trying to do—”

It was as if the sun had exploded. Duncan threw his hands before his eyes and clenched them tightly against the intolerable glare. He heard a cry from Karl, and a moment later the other bumped into him violently, rebounding at once.

The actinic detonation had lasted only a fraction of a second. Could it have been lightning? But if so, where was the thunder? It should have come almost instantaneously, for a flash as brilliant as this.

Duncan dared to open his eyes, and found he could see again, through a veil of pinkish mist. But Karl, it was obvious, could not see at all; he was blundering around blindly, with his hands cupped tightly over his eyes. And still the expected thunder never came...

If Duncan had not been half-paralyzed by shock, he might yet have acted in time. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, as in a dream. He could not believe that it was real.

He saw Karl’s foot hit the precious notebook, so that it went spinning off into space, fluttering downward like some strange, white bird. Blinded though he was, Karl must have realized what he had done. Totally disoriented, he made one futile grab at the empty air, then crashed into the guardrail. Duncan tried to reach him, but it was too late.

Even then, it might not have mattered; but the years and the rust had done their work. As the treacherous metal parted, it seemed to Duncan that Karl cried out his name, in the last second of his life.