“Of course, we were luckier than the old pioneers, because we did not have to spend endless man-hours making every single object that we needed. All the artifacts of civilization were already stored in the memories of our replicators. As long as we fed in the raw materials, anything we needed-no matter how complex-would be produced automatically in a matter of seconds, and in any quantity we needed. I know we take the replicator for granted, but it would have seemed like magic to our ancestors.
“As for the plow, that too had no place on our world. But by the twenty-second century, it had no place on yours either; we simply took your food technology to the planets. And on Titan, it was easy, much easier than anywhere else in the Solar System. We have enormous deposits of hydrocarbons-waxes, oils, and so forth. Who knows-perhaps one day we may be feeding Earth!
“Finally, the third item-fire. Occasionally, we still use it, though, as I explained, we have to provide the oxygen. But, again as on Earth, we get all the power we need from nuclear fusion. We’re already heating large areas of Titan and are thinking about major changes to its climate. But as some of these may be be irreversible, we’re
proceeding very cautiously. We don’t want to repeat the mistakes that have been made-elsewhere.”
Duncan nearly said “on Earth,” but tactfully changed gear just in time. He did a swift scan of the audience carefully avoiding the fish in the third row. The ladies still seemed to be with him, though one or two hats were nodding suspiciously.
“Yet despite their sophisticated tools, the first generation of our pioneers probably had as tough a time as your Pilgrim Fathers. What they lacked in hostile Indians was more than made up for by a hostile environment. Deaths by accident were common; anyone who was careless did not live long on Titan in the early days…. “But, slowly and painfully, we managed to convert our first primitive bases, which had no more than the bare necessities for survival, into fairly comfortable towns, then cities … like Meridian, Carbonville, Oasis. True, the largest has a population of only fifty thousand-there are still fewer than a quarter of a million of us on Titan-but, as we all know, quality is more important than quantity.”
There were a few smiles at this strikingly original remark, and Duncan felt encouraged to continue, but then he saw something that almost stopped him dead in his tracks.
The smallest member of his audience was showing obvious signs of distress.
Back there in the third row, that infernal fish was swimming round and round at an acute angle to the rest of the world. Since Duncan had noticed no alteration in the force of gravity, he could only assume that something had happened to its sense of balance. Even as he watched, it flipped over on its side…. Very close at hand, somebody was talking, using Duncan’s voice. Whether the words made any sense, he could not even guess. He was elsewhere, struggling with a problem of life and death.
Should he stop talking, and warn Miss Fishbowl of the impending tragedy of which she was obviously unaware? Perhaps there was still time for her to rush to the nearest animal hospital. That creature might be the
last of its species-the. only one in the world, doomed to extinction owing to his negligence…. Alas, it was too late. With a final convulsive wriggle, the fish turned belly up and floated motionless in its crystal globe. Duncan had never received a more obvious hint. As quickly as possible he brought his peroration to a close. To his astotfishment the applause seemed perfectly genuine.
He hoped he was not mistaken, but in any event he was quite sure of one thing. After this ordeal, speaking to the Congress of the United States would be child’s play.
CALINDY
The package had been delivered to Duncan’s room while he was lecturing.
It was a small, neatly wrapped cylinder, about fifteen centimeters high and ten across, and he could not imagine what it contained.
He hefted it in his hand a few times; it was fairly heavy, but not heavy enough to be metal. When he tapped it, there was merely a dull, un reverberant thud. He abandoned futile speculation and tore open the envelope taped around the cylinder.
Mt. Vernon Farm
Dear Duncan,
Sorry about the delay, but we had a little accident. Charlemagne managed to walk into the hives one night. Luckily-or not, depending on the point of view—our bees don’t sting. However, production was badly affected.
Remembering your reaction last time, Clara and I thought you might like this souvenir of your visit.
Best,
George How kind of them, Duncan told himself. When he got through the wrappings, he found a transparent plastic jar, full of golden liquid. The locking mechanism on the screw-top lid baffled him for a moment it had to be pushed down and tightened before it could be opened-but after a few frustrating minutes he had it off.
The smell was delicious, and once again there was that haunting sense of familiarity. Like a small boy, he could not resist dipping in a finger, then savoring the tip with his tongue.
Some delayed-action circuit was operating: deep in the recesses of memory, the most primitive-and potent-of all senses was opening doors that had been locked for years.
His body remembered before his mind. As he relaxed contentedly in a warm glow of sheer animal lust, everything came back to him.
Honey tasted like Calindy..
Sooner or later, of course, he would have contacted her. But he wanted time to adjust, and to feel as much at home on Earth as he could ever be. So he had told himself; but that was not the only reason.
The logical part of his mind had no wish for him to be sucked back into the whirlpool that had engulfed him as a boy. But in matters of the heart, logic was always defeated. In the long run, it could do no more than say:
“I told you so….” And by then it was too late.
He had known Calindy’s body, but he had been too young to know her love.
Now he was a man-and there was nothing that Karl could do to stop him.
The first task was to locate Calindy. He felt some disappointment that she had not already contacted him, for the news of his arrival had been well publicized. Was she indifferent-even embarrassed? He would take that chance.
Duncan walked to the Comsole, and the screen became alive as his fingers brushed the ON pad. Now it was a miracle beyond the dreams of any poet, a charmed magic casement, opening on all seas, all lands.
Through this window could flow everything that Man had ever learned about his universe, and every work of art he had saved from the dominion of Time. All the libraries and museums that had ever existed could be funneled through this screen and the millions like it scattered over the face of Earth. Even the least sensitive of men could be overwhelmed by the thought that one could operate a Comsole for a thousand lifetimes-and barely sample the knowledge stored within the memory banks that lay triplicated in their widely separated caverns, more securely guarded than any gold. There was an appropriate irony in the fact that two of these buried complexes had once been control centers for nuclear missiles.
But now Duncan was not concerned with the heritage of mankind; he had a more modest objective in view. His fingers tapped out the word INFo, and the screen instantly displayed:
PLEASE SPECIFY CATEGORY
01. General 02. Science 03. History 04. Arts 05. Recreatibn 06. Geography 07. Earth Directory 08. Moon Directory 09. Planet Directory and so on for more than thirty subject headings.
As his fingers tapped out 07, Duncan could not help recalling his very first confrontation with the Terran Comsole system. The categories were almost the same as on Titan, but ACTIVATE was on the left-hand side of the keyboard, and the unfamiliar position had made him forget to press it. So nothing had happened for a good five seconds; then a really beautiful girl had appeared on the screen and said sweetly, in a voice to which Duncan could have listened forever: “You seem to be having some difficulty. Have you remembered to press ACTIVATET’