Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke Page A
Authors: Arthur C. Clarke
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Space Opera
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it's the strongest argument your enemies have. Again and
again they told me: 'We'll never trust the Overlords until we
can see them.'"
Kardilen sighed.
"No. I've heard nothing. But I know what the answer must be."
Stormgren did not press the matter. Once he might have done so, but now for the first time the faint shadow of a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. The words of his interrogator passed again through his memory. Yes, perhaps instruments could be devised....
What he had refused to do under duress, he might yet attempt of his own free wilL
4
IT would never have occurred to Stormgren, even a few days before, that he could seriously have considered the action he was plnnning now. This ridiculously melodramatic kidnapping, which in retrospect seemed like a third-rate TV drama, probably had a great deal to do with his new outlook. It was the first time in his life that Stormgren had ever been exposed to violent physical action, as opposed to the verbal battles of the conference room. The virus must have entered his bloodstream: or else he was merely approaching second childhood more quickly than he had supposed.
Sheer curiosity was also a powerful motive, and so was a determination to get his own back for the trick that had been played upon him. It was perfectly obvious now that Karellen had used him as a bait, and even if this had been for the best of reasons, Stormgren did not feel inclined to forgive the Supervisor at once.
Pierre Duval showed no surprise when Stormgren walked unannounced into his office. They were old friends and there was nothing unusual in the Secretary-General paying a personal visit to the Chief of the Science Bureau. Certainly Karellen would not think it odd, if by any chance he-or one of his underlings-turned his instruments of surveillance upon this spot.
For a while the two men talked business and exchanged
41
political gossip; then, rather hesitantly, Stormgren came to the point. As his visitor talked, the old Frenchman leaned back in his chair and his eyebrows rose steadily, millimetre by millimetre, until they were almost entangled in his forelock. Once or twice he seemed about to speak, but each time thought better of it.
When Stormgren had finished, the scientist looked nervously around the room.
"Do you think he's listening?" he said.
"I don't believe he can. He's got what he calls a tracer on me, for my protection. But it doesn't work underground, which is one reason why I came down to this dungeon of yours. It's supposed to be shielded from all forms of radiation, isn't it? Karellen's no magician. He knows where I am, but that's all."
"I hope you're right. Apart from that, won't there be trouble when he discovers what you're trying to do? Because he will, you know."
"I'll take that risk. Besides, we understand each other rather well."
The physicist toyed with his pencil and stared into space for a while.
"It's a very pretty problem. I like it," he said simply. Then he dived into a drawer and produced an enormous writing-pad, quite the biggest that Stormgren had ever seen.
"Right," he began, scribbling furiously in what seemed to be some private shorthand. "Let me make sure I have all the facts. Tell me everything you can about the room in which you have your interviews. Don't omit any derail, however trivial it seems."
"There isn't much to describe. It's made of metal, and is about eight metres square and four high. The vision screen is about a metre on a side and there's a desk immediately beneath it-here, it will be quicker if I draw it for you."
Rapidly Stormgren sketched the little room he knew so well, and pushed the drawing over to DuvaL As he did so, he recalled, with a slight shiver, the last time he had done this sort of thing. He wondered what had happened to the blind Welsh-man and his confederates, and how they had reacted to his abrupt departure.
The Frenchman studied the drawing with a puckered brow.
"And that's all you can
again they told me: 'We'll never trust the Overlords until we
can see them.'"
Kardilen sighed.
"No. I've heard nothing. But I know what the answer must be."
Stormgren did not press the matter. Once he might have done so, but now for the first time the faint shadow of a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. The words of his interrogator passed again through his memory. Yes, perhaps instruments could be devised....
What he had refused to do under duress, he might yet attempt of his own free wilL
4
IT would never have occurred to Stormgren, even a few days before, that he could seriously have considered the action he was plnnning now. This ridiculously melodramatic kidnapping, which in retrospect seemed like a third-rate TV drama, probably had a great deal to do with his new outlook. It was the first time in his life that Stormgren had ever been exposed to violent physical action, as opposed to the verbal battles of the conference room. The virus must have entered his bloodstream: or else he was merely approaching second childhood more quickly than he had supposed.
Sheer curiosity was also a powerful motive, and so was a determination to get his own back for the trick that had been played upon him. It was perfectly obvious now that Karellen had used him as a bait, and even if this had been for the best of reasons, Stormgren did not feel inclined to forgive the Supervisor at once.
Pierre Duval showed no surprise when Stormgren walked unannounced into his office. They were old friends and there was nothing unusual in the Secretary-General paying a personal visit to the Chief of the Science Bureau. Certainly Karellen would not think it odd, if by any chance he-or one of his underlings-turned his instruments of surveillance upon this spot.
For a while the two men talked business and exchanged
41
political gossip; then, rather hesitantly, Stormgren came to the point. As his visitor talked, the old Frenchman leaned back in his chair and his eyebrows rose steadily, millimetre by millimetre, until they were almost entangled in his forelock. Once or twice he seemed about to speak, but each time thought better of it.
When Stormgren had finished, the scientist looked nervously around the room.
"Do you think he's listening?" he said.
"I don't believe he can. He's got what he calls a tracer on me, for my protection. But it doesn't work underground, which is one reason why I came down to this dungeon of yours. It's supposed to be shielded from all forms of radiation, isn't it? Karellen's no magician. He knows where I am, but that's all."
"I hope you're right. Apart from that, won't there be trouble when he discovers what you're trying to do? Because he will, you know."
"I'll take that risk. Besides, we understand each other rather well."
The physicist toyed with his pencil and stared into space for a while.
"It's a very pretty problem. I like it," he said simply. Then he dived into a drawer and produced an enormous writing-pad, quite the biggest that Stormgren had ever seen.
"Right," he began, scribbling furiously in what seemed to be some private shorthand. "Let me make sure I have all the facts. Tell me everything you can about the room in which you have your interviews. Don't omit any derail, however trivial it seems."
"There isn't much to describe. It's made of metal, and is about eight metres square and four high. The vision screen is about a metre on a side and there's a desk immediately beneath it-here, it will be quicker if I draw it for you."
Rapidly Stormgren sketched the little room he knew so well, and pushed the drawing over to DuvaL As he did so, he recalled, with a slight shiver, the last time he had done this sort of thing. He wondered what had happened to the blind Welsh-man and his confederates, and how they had reacted to his abrupt departure.
The Frenchman studied the drawing with a puckered brow.
"And that's all you can
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