The lights went on in the tiny metal cylinder as soon as Jan bad closed the inner door of the lock. He allowed himself no time for second thoughts, but began immediately upon the routine check he had already worked out. All the stores and
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provisions bad been loaded days ago, but a final recheck would put him in the right frame of mind, by assuring him
that nothing had been left undone.
An hour later, he was satisfied. He lay back on the sponge-rubber couch and recapitulated his plans. The only sound was the faint whirr of the electric calendar dock, which would warn him when the voyage was coming to its end.
He knew that he could expect to feel nothing here in his cell, for whatever tremendous forces drov’e the ships of the Overlords must be perfectly compensated. Sullivan had checked that, pointing out that his tableau would collapse if subjected to more than a few gravities. His-clients-had assured him that there was no danger on this score. –
There would, however, be a considerable change of atmospheric pressure. This was unimportant, since the hollow models could “breathe” through several orifices. Before he left his cell, Jan would have to equalize pressure, and he had assumed that the atmosphere inside the Overlord ship was unbreathable. A simple face-mask and oxygen set would take care of that: there was no need for anything elaborate. If he could breathe without mechanical aid, so much the better.
There was no point in waiting any longer: it would only be a strain on the nerves. He took out the little syringe, already loaded with the carefully prepared solution. Narcosamine had been discovered during research into animal hibernation: it was not true to say-as was popularly believed-that it produced suspended animation. All it caused was a great slowing-down of the vital processes, though metabolism still continued at a reduced level. It was as if one had banked up the fires of life, so that they smouldered underground. But when, after weeks or months, the effcct of the drug wore off, they would burst out again and the sleeper would revive. Narcosamine was perfectly safe. Nature had used it for a milliOn years to protect many of her children from the foodless winter.
So Jan slept. He never felt the tug of the hoisting cables as the huge metal framework was lifted into the hold of the Overlord freighter. He never hcaid the hatches dose, not to open again for three hundred million million kilometres. He never heard, far-off and faint through the mighty walls, the protesting scream of Earth’s atmosphere, as the ship climbed swiftly back to its natural element.
And he never felt the Stardrive go on.
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14
Tiu~ conference room was always crowded for these weekly meetings, but today it was so closely packed that the reporters had difficulty in writing. For the hundredth time, they gruinbled to each other at Karellen’s conservatism and lack of consideration. Anywhere else in the world they could have brought TV cameras, tape recorders, and all the other tools of their highly mechanized trade. But here they had to rely on such archaic devices as paper and pencil-and even, incredible to relate, shorthand.
There had, of course, been several attempts to smuggle in recorders. They had been successfully smuggled out again, but a single glance at their smoking interiors had shown the futility of the experiment. Everyone understood, then, why they had always been warned, in their own interest, to leave watches and other metallic objects outside the conference room.
To make things more unfair, Karellen himself recorded the whole proceedings. Reporters guilty of carelessness, or downright misrepresentation-though this was very rare-had been summoned to short and unpleasant sessions with Karellen’s underlings and required to listen attentively to playbacks of what the Supervisor had really said. The lesson was not one that ever had to be repeated.
It was strange how these rumours got around. No prior announcement was made, yet there was always a full house whenever Karellen had an important statement to make-which happened, on the average, two or three times a year.
Silence descended on the murmuring crowd as the great doorway split open and Karellen caine forward on to the dais. The light here was dim-approximating, no doubt, to that of the Overlords’ far distant sun-so that, the Supervisor for Earth had discarded the dark glasses he normally wore when in the open.
He replied to the ragged chorus of greetings with a formal
“Good morning, everybody,” then turned to the tall, distinguished figure at the front of the crowd. Mr. Golde, doyen of the Press Club, might have been the original inspirer of the butler’s announcement: “Three reporters, m’lud, and a gentleman from The Times.” He dressed and behaved like a diplomat
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of the old school: no-one would ever hesitate to confide in him, and no-one had ever regretted it subsequently.
“Quite a crowd today, Mr. Golde. There must be a shortage of news.”
The gentleman from The Times smiled and cleared his throat.
“I hope you can rectify that, Mr. Supervisor.”
He watched intently as Karellen considered his reply. It seemed so unfair that the Overlords’ faces, rigid as masks, betrayed no trace of emotion. The great, wide eyes, their pupils sharply contracted even in this indifferent light, stared fathonilessly back into the frankly curious human ones. The twin breathing orifices on either cheek-if those fluted, basalt curves could be called cheeks-emitted the faintest of whistles as Karellen’s hypothetical lungs laboured in the thin air of Earth. Golde could just see the curtain of tiny white hairs fluttering to and fro, keeping accurately out of phase, as they responded to Karellen’s rapid, double-action breathing cycle. Dust filters, they were generally believed to be, and elaborate theories concerning the atmosphere of the Overlords’ home bad been constructed on this slender foundation.
“Yes, I have some news for you. As you are doubtless aware, one of my supply ships recently left Earth to return to its base. We have just discovered that there was a stowaway on board.”
A hundred pencils braked to a halt: a hundred pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon Karellen.
“A stowaway, did you say, Mr. Supervisor?” asked Golde. “May we ask who he was-and how he got aboard?”
“His name is Jan Rodricks: he is an engineering student from the University of Cape Town. Further details you can no doubt discover for yourselves through your own very efficient channels.”
Karellen smiled. The Supervisor’s smile was a curious affair. Most of the effect really resided in the eyes: the inflexible, lipless mouth scarcely moved at all. Was this, Golde wondered, another of the many human customs that Karellen bad copied with such skill? For the total effect was, undoubtedly, that of a smile, and the mind readily accepted it as such.
“As for how he left,” continued the Supervisor, “that is of secondary importance. I can assure you, or any other potential astronauts, that there is no possibility of repeating the exploit.”
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“What will happen to this young man?” persisted Golde.
“Will he be sent back to Earth?”
“That is outside my jurisdiction, but I expect he will come
back Ofl the next ship. He would find conditions too-alien- fur comfort where he has gone. And this leads me to the main purpOSe of our meeting today.”
J(arellen paused, and the silence grew even deeper.
“There has been some complaint, among the younger and
more romantic elements of your population, because outer space has been closed to you. We had a purpose in doing this: we do not impose bans for the pleasure of it. But have yoU ever stopped to consider-if you will excuse a slightly ~attering analogy-what a man from your Stone Age
would have felt, if he suddenly found himself in a modern city?”
“Surely,” protested the Herald Tribune, “there is a fundamental difference. We are accustomed to Science. On your
world there are doubtless many things which we might not understand-but they wouldn’t seem magic to us.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” said Karellen, so softly that it
was hard to hear his words. “Only a hundred years lies be~ween the age of electricity and the age of steam, but what would a Victorian engineer have made of a television set or an electronic computer. And how long would he have lived if he started to investigate their workings? The gulf between two ~~~bnologies can easily become so great that it is-lethal.”
(“Hello,” whispered Reuters to the B.B.C. “We’re in luck.
He’s going to make a major policy statement. I know the symptoIflS. )
“And there are other reasons why we have restricted the
human race to Earth. Watch.”
The lights dimmed and vanished. As they faded, a milky opalescence formed in the centre of the room. It congealed intO a whirlpool of stars-a spiral nebula seen from a point far beyond its outermost sun.
“No human eyes have ever seen this sight before,” said Karellen’s voice from the darkness. “You arc looking at your own Universe, the island galaxy of which your Sun is a member, from a distance of half a million light-years.”