“The reason for this difference is quite simple. In an aircraft, there is no physical connexion linking the observer and the ground. Psychologically, therefore, he is completely detached from the hard, solid earth far below. Falling no longer has terrors for him; he can look down upon remote and tiny landscapes which he would never dare to contemplate from any high elevation. That saving physical detachment is precisely what the space elevator will lack. The hapless passenger, whisked up the sheer face of the gigantic tower, will be all too conscious of his link with earth. What guarantee can there possibly be that anyone not drugged or anaesthetised could survive such an experience? I challenge Dr. Morgan to answer.”
Dr. Morgan was still thinking of answers, few of them polite, when the screen lit up again with an incoming call. When he pressed the ACCEPT button, he was not in the least surprised to see Maxine Duval.
“Well, Van,” she said, without any preamble, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m sorely tempted, but I don’t think I should argue with that idiot. Incidentally, do you suppose that some aerospace organisation has put him up to it?”
“My men are already digging; I’ll let you know if they find anything. Personally, I feel it’s all his own work – I recognise the hallmarks of the genuine article. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I haven’t decided; I’m still trying to digest my breakfast. What do you think I should do?”
“Simple. Arrange a demonstration. When can you fix it?”
“In five years, if all goes well.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’ve got your first cable in position…” “Not cable – tape.”
“Don’t quibble. What load can it carry?”
“Oh – at the Earth end, a mere five hundred tons.”
“There you are. Offer Donald Duck a ride.”
“I wouldn’t guarantee his safety.”
“Would you guarantee mine?”
“You’re not serious !”
“I’m always serious, at this hour of the morning. It’s time I did another story on the Tower anyway. That capsule mock-up is very pretty, but it doesn’t do anything. My viewers like action, and so do I. The last time we met, you showed me drawings of those little cars the engineers will use to run up and down the cable – I mean tapes. What did you call them?”
“Spiders.”
“Ugh – that’s right. I was fascinated by the idea. Here’s something that has never been possible before, by any technology. For the first time you could sit still in the sky, even above the atmosphere, and watch the earth beneath – something that no spacecraft can ever do. I’d like to be the first to describe the sensation. And clip Donald Duck’s wings at the same time.”
Morgan waited for a full five seconds, staring Maxine straight in the eyes, before he decided that she was perfectly serious.
“I can understand,” he said rather wearily, “just how a poor struggling young media-girl, trying desperately to make a name for herself, would jump at such an opportunity. I don’t want to blight a promising career, but the answer is definitely no.”
The doyen of media-persons emitted several unladylike, and even ungentlemanly, words, not commonly transmitted over public circuits.
“Before I strangle you in your own hyperfilament, Van,” she continued, “why not?”
“Well, if anything went wrong, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Spare the crocodile tears. Of course, my untimely demise would be a major tragedy – for your project. But I wouldn’t dream of going until you’d made all the tests necessary, and were sure it was one hundred percent safe.”
“It would look too much like a stunt.”
“As the Victorians (or was it the Elizabethans?) used to say – so what?”
“Look, Maxine – there’s a flash that New Zealand has just sunk – they’ll need you in the studio. But thanks for the generous offer.”
“Dr. Vannevar Morgan – I know exactly why you’re turning me down. You want to be the first.”
“As the Victorians used to say – so what?”
“Touch�. But I’m warning you, Van – just as soon as you have one of those spiders working, you’ll be hearing from me again.”
Morgan shook his head. “Sorry, Maxine,” he answered. “Not a chance -”
35. Starglider Plus Eighty
Extract from God and Starholme. (Mandala Press, Moscow, 2149)
Exactly eighty years ago, the robot interstellar probe now known as Starglider entered the Solar System, and conducted its brief but historic dialogue with the human race. For the first time, we knew what we had always suspected; that ours was not the only intelligence in the universe, and that out among the stars were far older, and perhaps far wiser, civilisations.
After that encounter, nothing would ever be the same again. And yet, paradoxically, in many ways very little has changed. Mankind still goes about its business, much as it has always done. How often do we stop to think that the Starholmers, back on their own planet, have already known of our existence for twenty-eight years – or that, almost certainly, we shall be receiving their first direct messages only twenty-four years from now? And what if, as some have suggested, they themselves are already on the way?
Men have an extraordinary, and perhaps fortunate, ability to tune out of their consciousness the most awesome future possibilities. The Roman farmer, ploughing the slopes of Vesuvius, gave no thought to the mountain smoking overhead. Half the twentieth century lived with the Hydrogen Bomb – half the twenty-first with the Golgotha virus. We have learned to live with the threat – or the promise – of Starholme.
Starglider showed us many strange worlds and races, but it revealed almost no advanced technology, and so had minimal impact upon the technically-orientated aspects of our culture. Was this accidental, or the result of some deliberate policy? There are many questions one would like to ask Starglider, now that it is too late – or too early.
On the other hand, it did discuss many matters of philosophy and religion, and in these fields its influence was profound. Although the phrase nowhere occurs in the transcripts, Starglider is generally credited with the famous aphorism “Belief in God is apparently a psychological artefact of mammalian reproduction”.
But what if this is true? It is totally irrelevant to the question of God’s actual existence, as I shall now proceed to demonstrate…
Swami Krisnamurthi (Dr. Choam Goldberg)
36. The Cruel Sky
The eye could follow the tape much further by night than by day. At sunset, when the warning lights were switched on, it became a thin band of incandescence, slowly dwindling away until, at some indefinite point, it was lost against the background of stars.
Already, it was the greatest wonder of the world. Until Morgan put his foot down and restricted the site to essential engineering staff, there was a continual flood of visitors – “pigrims”, someone had ironically called them – paying homage to the sacred mountain’s last miracle.
They would all behave in exactly the same way. First they would reach out and gently touch the five-centimetre-wide band, running their finger tips along it with something approaching reverence. Then they would listen, ears pressed against the smooth, cold material of the ribbon, as if they hoped to catch the music of the spheres. There were some, indeed, who claimed to have heard a deep, bass note at the uttermost threshold of audibility, but they were deluding themselves. Even the highest harmonics of the tape’s natural frequency were far below the range of human hearing. And some would go away shaking their heads, saying:
“You’ll never get me to ride up that thing!” But they were the ones who had made just the same remark about the fusion rocket, the space shuttle, the airplane, the automobile – even the steam locomotive…
To these sceptics, the usual answer was: “Don’t worry – this is merely part of the scaffolding – one of the four tapes that will guide the Tower down to Earth. Riding up the final structure will be exactly like taking an elevator in any high building. Except that the trip will be longer – and much more comfortable.”
Maxine Duval’s trip, on the other hand, would be very short, and not particularly comfortable. But once Morgan had capitulated, he had done his best to make sure that it would be uneventful.
The flimsy “Spider” – a prototype test vehicle looking like a motorised Bosun’s Chair – had already made a dozen ascents to twenty kilometres, with twice the load it would be carrying now. There had been the usual minor teething problems, but nothing serious; the last five runs had been completely trouble-free. And what could go wrong? If there was a power failure – almost unthinkable, in such a simple battery-operated system – gravity would bring Maxine safely home, the automatic brakes limiting the speed of descent. The only real risk was that the drive mechanism might jam, trapping Spider and its passenger in the upper atmosphere. And Morgan had an answer even for this.