“I agree. Rodricks will have some information which is of doubtful truth, and of no practical value.”
“So it would seem,” said Karellen. “But let us not be too certain. Human beings are remarkably ingenious, and often very persistent. It is never safe to underrate them, and it will be interesting to follow Mr. Rodricks’ career. I must think about this further.”
Rupert Boyce never really got to the bottom of it. When his guests had departed, rather less boisterously than usual, he bad thoughtfully rolled the table back into its corner. The mild alcoholic fog prevented any profound analysis of what had happened, and even the actual facts were already slightly blurred. He had a vague idea that something of great but elusive importance had happened, and wondered if he should 3iscuss it with Rashaverak. On second thought, he decided it aught be tactless. After all, his brother-in-law had caused the trouble, and Rupert felt vaguely annoyed with young Jan. But was it Jan’s fault? Was it anybody’s fault? Rather guiltily, Rupert remembered that it had been his experiment. He lecided, fairly successfully, to forget the whole business.
Perhaps he might have done something if the last page of Ruth’s notebook could have been found, but it had vanished in the confusion. Jan always feigned innocence-and, well, one ould hardly accuse Rashaverak. And no-one could ever ~emember exactly what had been spelled out, except that it lidn’t seem to make any sense.
The person most immediately affected had been George C~reggson. He could never forget his feeling of terror as Jean iitched into his arms. Her sudden helplessness transformed icr in that moment from an amusing companion to an object
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of tenderness and affection. Women had fainted-not always without forethought-since time immemorial, and men had invariably responded in the desired way. Jean’s collapse was completely spontaneous, but it could not ~have been better planned. In that instant, as he realized later, George came to one of the most important decisions of his life. Jean was definitely the girl who mattered, despite berqueer ideas and queerer friends. He had no intention of totally abandoning Naomi or Joy or Elsa or-what was her name?-Denise; but the tune bad come for something more permanent. He had no doubt that Jean would agree with him, for her feelings had been quite obvious from the start.
Behind his decision there was another factor of which, he was unaware. Tonight’s experience had weakened his contempt and scepticism for Jean’s peculiar interests. He would never recognize the fact, but it was so-and it had removed the last barrier between them.
He looked at Jean as she lay, pale but composed, in the reclining chair of the flyer. There was darkness below, stars above. George had no idea, to within a thousand kilometres, where they might be-nor did he care. That was the business of the robot that was guiding them homewards and would land them in, so the control board announced, fifty-seven minutes from now.
Jean smiled back at him and gently dislodged her hand from his.
“Just let me restore the circulation,” she pleaded, rubbing her fingers. “I wish you’d believe me when I tell you I’m perfectly all right now.”
“Then what do you think happened? Surely you remember sometFth~g?”
“No-it’s just a complete blank. I heard Jan ask his quesdon-and then you were all making a fuss over me. I’m sure it was some kind of trance. After all-”
She paused, then decided not to tell George that this sort of thing had happened before. She knew how he felt about these matters, and had no desire to upset him further-and perhaps scare him away completely.
“After all-what?” asked George.
“Oh, nothing. I wonder what that Overlord thought about the whole business. We probably gave him more material than he bargained for.”
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Jean shivered slightly, and her eyes clouded.
“I’m afraid of the Overlords, George. Oh, I don’t xne~ they’re evil, or anything foolish like that. I’m sure they mean well and are doing what they think is best for us. I wonder just what their plans really are?”
George shifted uncomfortably.
“Men have been wondering that ever since they came to Earth,” he said. “They’ll tell us when we’re ready for it-and, frankly, I’m not inquisitive. Besides, I’ve got more import~t things to bother about.” He turned towards Jean and grasped her hands.
“What about going to Archives tomorrow and signing a contract for-let’s say-five years?”
Jean looked at him steadfastly, and decided that, ~ the whole, she liked what she saw.
“Make it ten,” she said.
Jan bided his time. There was no hurry, and he wanterj to think. It was almost as if he feared to make any checks, lest the fantastic hope that had come into his mind be too swiftly destroyed. While he was still uncertain, he could at least dream.
Moreover, to take any further action he would have to see the Observatory librarian. She knew hint and his interests too well, and would certainly be intrigued by his request. Probably it would make no difference, but Jan was determined to leave nothing to chance. There would be a better opportu~jty in a week. He was being super-cautious, he knew, but that added a schoolboy zest to the enterprise. Jan also feared ridicule quite as much as anything that the Overlords might Conceivably do to thwart him. If he was embarking on a wild-goose chase, no-one else would ever know.
He had a perfectly good reason for going to London: the arrangements had been made weeks ago. Though he wa~ too young and too unqualified to be a delegate, he was one of the three students who had nl2nllged to attach themselves to the official party going to the meeting of the International Astr~..
nomical Union. The vacancies had been there, and it scen~ed a pity to waste the opportunity, as he had not visited London since his childhood. He knew that very few of the dozens of papers to be delivered to the I.A.U. would be of the Iigt~
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interest to turn, even if he could understand them. Like a delegate to any scientific congress, he would attend the lectures that looked promising, and spend the rest of the time talking with fellow enthusiasts, or simply sightseeing.
London had changed enormously in the last fifty years. It now contained scarcely two million people, and a hundred
times as many machines. It was no longer a great port, for
with every country producing almost all its needs, the entire
pattern of world trade had been altered. There were some goods that certain countries still made best, but they went
directly by air to their destinations. The trade routes that had once converged on the great harbours, and later on the great airports, had finally dispersed into an intricate web-work
covering the whole world with no major nodal points.
Yet some things had not altered. The city was still a centre
of administration, of art, of learning. In these matters, none of the continental capitals could rival it-not even Paris, despite many claims to the contrary. A Londoner from a century before could still have found his way around, at least at the city’s centre, with no difficulty. There were new bridges over the Thames, but in the old places. The great, grimy railway stations had gone-banished to the suburbs. But the Houses of Parliament were unchanged: Nelson’s solitary eye still stared down Whitehall: the dome of St. Paul’s still stood above Ludgate Hill, though now there were taller buildings to challenge its pre-eminence.
And the guard still marched in front of Buckingham Palace.
All these things, thought Jan, could wait. It was vacation time, and he was lodged, with his two fellow students, in one of the University hostels. Blooinsbury also had not changed its character in the last century: it was still an island of hotels and boarding-houses, though they no longer jostled each other so closely, or formed such endless, identical rows of soot-coated brick.
It was not until the second day of the Congress that Jan got his opportunity. The main papers were being read in the great assembly chamber of the Science Centre, not far from the Concert Hall that had done so much to make London the musical metropolis of the world. Jan wanted to hear the first of the day’s lectures, which, it was rumoured, would completely demolish the current theory of the formation of the planets.
Perhaps it did, but Jan was little the wiser when he left after
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the interval. He hurried down to the directory, and looked up
the rooms he wanted.
Some humorous civil servant had put the Royal Astrociomical Society on the top floor of the great building, a gesture which the Council members fully appreciated as it gave them a magnificent view across the l’hames and over the entire north~rn part of the city. There seemed to be nobody around, but
~an-duching his membership card like a passport in case he