Collected Stories Of Arthur C. Clarke (7 page)

At a generous estimate, there have been a dozen fantasy authors with original conceptions. Today I can only think of two, though the pages of UNKNOWN may bring many more to light. The trouble with present-day science fiction, as with a good many other things, is that in striving after the bizarre it misses the obvious. What it needs is not more imagination or even less imagination. It is
some
imagination.

The Awakening

First published in
Zenith
, February 1942 (revised version published in
Future
, January 1952)

Collected in
The Best of Arthur C. Clarke 1937–1955

First published by Manchester fans Harry Turner and Marian Eadie, in their fanzine,
Zenith
, and significantly revised for publication in
Future
in 1952.

The Master wondered whether he would dream. That was the only thing he feared, for in a sleep that lasts no more than a night dreams may come that can shatter the mind – and he was to sleep for a hundred years.

He remembered the day, still only a few months ago, when a frightened doctor had said, ‘Sir, your heart is failing. You have less than a year to live.’ He was not afraid of death, but the thought that it had come upon him in the full flower of his intellect, while his work was still half finished, filled him with a baffled fury. ‘And there is nothing you can do?’ he asked. ‘No, Sir, we have been working on artificial hearts for a hundred years. In another century, perhaps, it might be done.’ ‘Very well,’ he had replied coldly. ‘I shall wait another century. You will build me a place where my body will not be disturbed, and then you will put me to sleep by freezing or any other means. That, at least, I know you can do.’

He had watched the building of the tomb, in a secret place above the snow-line of Everest. Only the chosen few must know where the Master was to sleep, for there were many millions in the world who would have sought out his body to destroy it. The secret would be preserved down the generations until the day when man’s science had conquered the diseases of the heart. Then the Master would be awakened from his sleep.

He was still conscious when they laid him on the couch in the central chamber, though the drugs had already dimmed his senses. He heard them close the steel doors against their rubber gaskets, and even fancied he could hear the hiss of the pumps which would withdraw the air from around him, and replace it with sterile nitrogen. Then he slept, and in a little while the world forgot the Master.

He slept the hundred years, though rather before that time the discovery he had been awaiting was made. But no one awakened him, for the world had changed since his going and now there were none who would have wished to see him return. His followers had died and mysteriously, the secret of his resting place was lost. For a time the legend of the Master’s tomb persisted, but soon it was forgotten. So he slept.

After what by some standards would have been a little while, the earth’s crust decided that it had borne the weight of the Himalayas for long enough. Slowly the mountains dropped, tilting the southern plains of India towards the sky. And presently the plateau of Ceylon was the highest point on the surface of the globe, and the ocean above Everest was five and a half miles deep. The Master would not be disturbed by his enemies, or his friends.

Slowly, patiently, the silt drifted down through the towering ocean heights on to the wreck of the Himalayas. The blanket that would some day be chalk began to thicken at the rate of not a few inches every century. If one had returned some time later, one might have found that the sea bed was no longer five miles down, or even four, or three.

Then the land tilted again, and a mighty range of limestone mountains towered where once had been the oceans of Tibet. But the Master knew nothing of this, nor was his sleep disturbed when it happened again … and again … and again …

Now the rain and rivers were washing away the chalk and carrying it out to the new oceans, and the surface was moving down towards the buried tomb. Slowly the miles of rock were washed away, until at last the metal sphere which housed the Master’s body returned once more to the light of day – though to a day much longer, and much dimmer, than it had been when the Master closed his eyes. And presently the scientists found him, on a pedestal of rock jutting high above an eroded plain. Because they did not know the secret of the tomb, it took them, for all their wisdom, thirty years to reach the chamber where he slept.

The Master’s mind awoke before his body. As he lay powerless, unable even to lift his leaden eyelids, memory came flooding back. The hundred years were safely behind him – his desperate gamble had succeeded! He felt a strange elation, and a longing to see the new world that must have arisen while he lay within his tomb.

One by one, his senses returned. He could feel the hard surface on which he was lying: now a gentle current of air drifted across his brow. Presently he was aware of sounds – faint clickings and scratchings all around him. For a moment he was puzzled: then he realised that the surgeons must be putting their instruments away. He had not yet the strength to open his eyes, so he lay and waited, wondering.

Would men have changed much? Would his name still be remembered among them? Perhaps it would be better if it were not – though he had feared the hatred of neither men nor nations. He had never known their love. Momentarily he wondered if any of his friends might have followed him, but he knew there would be none. When he opened his eyes, all the faces before him would be strange. Yet he longed to see them, to read the expressions they would hold as he awakened from his sleep.

Strength returned. He opened his eyes. The light was gentle, and he was not dazzled, but for a while everything was blurred and misty. He could distinguish figures standing round, but though they seemed strange he could not see them clearly.

Then the Master’s eyes came into focus, and as they brought their message to his mind he screamed once, feebly, and died for ever. For in the last moment of his life, as he saw what stood around him, he knew that the long war between Man and Insect was ended – and that Man was not the victor.

Whacky

First published in
The Fantast
, July 1942

Collected in
The Best of Arthur C. Clarke 1937–1955

‘Whacky’ was first published in
The Fantast
, edited by Aberdeen fan, Douglas Webster, who had previously taken over the magazine from one Christopher Samuel Youd, better known to science fiction readers as John Christopher.

The telephone honked melodiously. He picked it up and after a moment’s hesitation asked ‘Hello – is that me?’ The answer he had been fearing came back. ‘You, it is. Who are you?’ He sighed: argument was useless – besides he knew he was in the wrong. ‘All right,’ he said wearily. ‘You win.’ A sudden purple twinge of toothache nearly choked him for a moment and he added hopelessly: ‘Don’t forget to have that stopping seen to this afternoon.’ ‘Ouch! as if I would,’ growled the voice testily. There was a pause. ‘Well, what do you want me to do now?’ he asked at last. The reply, though half expected, was chilling. ‘Do? It doesn’t matter. You just
aren’t
!’

‘The amazing affair of the Elastic Sided Eggwhisk,’ said the Great Detective, ‘would no doubt have remained unsolved to this very day, if by great misfortune it had ever occurred. The fact that it didn’t I count as one of my luckiest escapes.’

Those of us who possessed heads nodded in agreement.

He paused to drain the sump of his hookah, then continued.

‘But even that fades into insignificance before the horrible tragedy that occurred in the House Where the Aspidistra Ran Amok. Fortunately I was not born at the time: otherwise I should certainly have been one of the victims.’

We shuddered in assent. Some of us had been there. Some of us were still there.

‘Weren’t you connected with the curious case of the Camphorated Kipper?’

He coughed deprecatingly.

‘Intimately. I
was
the Camphorated Kipper.’

At this point two men arrived to carry me back to the taxidermist’s, so I cannot tell you any more.

*

‘Phew!’ said the man in the pink silk pyjamas. ‘I had a horrid dream last night!’

‘Oh?’ said the other disinterestedly.

‘Yes – I thought that my wife had poisoned me for the insurance. It was so vivid I was mighty glad when I woke up.’

‘Indeed?’ said his companion politely. ‘And just
where
do you think you are right now?’

Loophole

First published in
Astounding Science-Fiction
, April 1946

Collected in
Expedition to Earth

In the 1940s, sf did not flourish in England and its spiritual home was still the United States […]. I sold my first stories to John [W.] Campbell of
Astounding
(later
Analog
) during the closing months of the War, while I was still in the Royal Air Force. His first purchase was ‘Rescue Party’ – though ‘Loophole’, sold a little later, actually appeared first. At the time of these sales (1945) I was stationed just outside Stratford-on-Avon and I remember thinking modestly that there was something singularly appropriate about this.

From: President.

To: Secretary, Council of Scientists.

I have been informed that the inhabitants of Earth have succeeded in releasing atomic energy and have been making experiments with rocket propulsion. This is most serious. Let me have a full report immediately. And make it
brief
this time.

K.K. IV.

From Secretary, Council of Scientists.

To: President.

The facts are as follows. Some months ago instruments detected intense neutron emission from Earth, but an analysis of radio programmes gave no explanation at the time. Three days ago a second emission occurred, and soon afterwards all radio transmissions from Earth announced that atomic bombs were in use in the current war. The translators have not completed their interpretation, but it appears that the bombs are of considerable power. Two have so far been used. Some details of their construction have been released, but the elements concerned have not yet been identified. A fuller report will be forwarded as soon as possible. For the moment all that is certain is that the inhabitants of Earth
have
liberated atomic power, so far only explosively.

Very little is known concerning rocket research on Earth. Our astronomers have been observing the planet carefully ever since radio emissions were detected a generation ago. It is certain that long-range rockets of some kind are in existence on Earth, for there have been numerous references to them in recent military broadcasts. However, no serious attempt has been made to reach interplanetary space. When the war ends, it is expected that the inhabitants of the planet may carry out research in this direction. We will pay very careful attention to their broadcasts and the astronomical watch will be rigorously enforced.

From what we have inferred of the planet’s technology, it should require about twenty years before Earth develops atomic rockets capable of crossing space. In view of this, it would seem that the time has come to set up a base on the Moon, so that a close scrutiny can be kept on such experiments when they commence.

Trescon

[
Added in manuscript
]

The war on Earth has now ended, apparently owing to the intervention of the atomic bomb. This will not affect the above arguments but it may mean that the inhabitants of Earth can devote themselves to pure research again more quickly than expected. Some broadcasts have already pointed out the application of atomic power to rocket propulsion.

T.

From: President.

To: Chief of Bureau of Extra-Planetary Security (C.B.E.P.S).

You have seen Trescon’s minute.

Equip an expedition to the satellite of Earth immediately. It is to keep a close watch on the planet and to report at once if rocket experiments are in progress.

The greatest care must be taken to keep our presence on the Moon a secret. You are personally responsible for this. Report to me at yearly intervals, or more often if necessary.

K.K. IV.

From: President.

To: C.B.E.P.S.

Where is the report of Earth?!!

K.K. IV.

From: C.B.E.P.S.

To: President.

The delay is regretted. It was caused by the breakdown of the ship carrying the report.

There have been no signs of rocket experimenting during the past year, and no reference to it in broadcasts from the planet.