Earthlight (Arthur C. Clarke Collection)

  It seemed a great pity. These tantalizing treasures, Professor Phillips had concluded, must remain forever beyond the reach of the men who needed them so badly.

  A scientist, thought Sadler, should really have known better than that. One day Professor Phillips was going to have a big surprise.

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  Chapter VI

  sadler lay in his bunk and tried to focus his mind on the past week. It was very hard to believe that he had arrived from Earth only eight of its days ago, but the calendar clock on the wall confirmed the notes he had made in his diary. And if he doubted both these witnesses, he had merely to go up to the surface and enter one of the observation domes. There he could look up at the unmoving Earth, now just past full and begin­ning to wane. When he had arrived on the Moon, it had been at its first quarter.

  It was midnight over the Mare Imbrium. Dawn and sun­set were both equally remote, but the lunar landscape was ablaze with light. Challenging the Earth itself was Nova Draconis, already brighter than any star in history. Even Sadler, who found most astronomical events too remote and imper­sonal to touch his emotions, would occasionally make the trip "upstairs" to look at this new invader of the modern skies. Was he looking at the funeral pyre of worlds older and wiser than the Earth ? It was strange that such an awe-inspiring event should take place at a moment of human crisis. It could only be coincidence, of course. N. Draconis was a close star, yet the signal of its death had been traveling for twenty centuries. One had to be not only superstitious but also very geocentric to im­agine that this event had been planned as a warning for Earth. For what of all the other planets of other suns in whose skies the nova blazed with equal or even greater brilliance?

  Sadler called home his wandering thoughts, and concentrated on his proper business. What had he left undone? He had visited every section of the Observatory, and met everyone of impor­tance, with the single exception of the director. Professor Mac-laurin was due back from Earth in a day or so, and his absence had, if anything, simplified Sadler's task. When the Boss re­turned, so everybody had warned him, life would not be quite so free and easy, and everything would have to be done through

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  the Proper Channels. Sadler was used to that, but did not enjoy it any the better.

  There was a discreet purr from the speaker in the wall over the bed. Sadler reached out one foot and kicked a switch with the toe of his sandal. He could do this the first time now, but faint scars on the wall were a still-visible memento of his ap­prenticeship.

  "Yes," he said. "Who's that?"

  "Transport Section here. I'm closing the list for tomorrow. There are still a couple of seats left—you want to come along?"

  "If there's room," Sadler replied. "I don't want any more-deserving causes to suffer."

  "O.K.—you're down," said the voice briskly, and clicked off,

  Sadler felt only the mildest twinge of conscience. After a week's solid work, he could do with a few hours in Central City. He was not yet due to meet his first contact, and so far all his reports had gone out through the normal mail service, in a form that would have meant nothing to anyone happening to read them. But it was high time he got to know his way around the city, and indeed it would look odd if he took no holidays at all.

  His main reason for the trip, however, was purely personal. There was a letter he wanted to post, and he knew that the Ob­servatory mail was being censored by his colleagues in Central Intelligence. By now they must be indifferent to such matters, but he would still prefer to keep his private life to himself.

  Central City was twenty kilometers from the spaceport, and Sadler had seen nothing of the lunar metropolis on his arrival. As the monocab—much fuller this time than it had been on the outward journey—pulled once more into the Sinus Medii, Sad­ler no longer felt a complete stranger. He knew, at least by sight, everyone in the car. Almost half the Observatory staff were here; the other half would take their day off next week. Even Nova Draconis was not allowed to interfere with this routine, which was based on common sense and sound psychology.

  The cluster of great domes began to hump themselves over the horizon. A beacon light burned on the summit of each, but otherwise they were darkened and gave no sign of life. Some,

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  Sadler knew, could be made transparent when desired. All were opaque now, conserving their heat against the lunar night.

  The monocab entered a long tunnel at the base of one of the domes. Sadler had a glimpse of great doors closing behind them —then another set, and yet another. They're taking no chances, he thought to himself, and heartily approved of such caution. Then there was the unmistakable sound of air surging around them, a final door opened ahead, and the vehicle rolled to a halt beside a platform that might have been in any station back on Earth. It gave Sadler quite a shock to look through the window and see people walking around outside without spacesuits. . . .

  "Going any—here in particular?" asked Wagnall as they v/aited for the crush at the door to subside.

  Sadler shook his head.

  "No—I just want to wander round and have a look at the place. I want to see where you people manage to spend all your money."

  Wagnall obviously couldn't decide whether he was joking or not, and to Sadler's relief did not offer his services as a guide. This was one of the occasions when he would be quite happy to be left on his own.

  He walked out of the station and found himself at the top of a large ramp, sloping down into the compact little city. The main level was twenty meters below him. He had not realized that the whole dome was countersunk this far into the lunar plain, thus reducing the amount of roof structure necessary. By the side of the ramp a wide conveyor belt was carrying freight and luggage into the station at a leisurely rate. The nearest build­ings were obviously industrial, and though well kept had the slightly seedy appearance which inevitably overtakes anything in the neighborhood of stations or docks.

  It was not until Sadler was halfway down the ramp that he realized there was a blue sky overhead, that the sun was shining just behind him, and that there were high cirrus clouds floating far above.

  The illusion was so perfect that he had taken it completely for granted, and had forgotten for a moment that this was mid­night on the Moon. He stared for a long time into the dizzy depths of that synthetic sky, and could see no flaw in its perfec-

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  tion. Now he understood why the lunar cities insisted upon their expensive domes, when they could just ag well have burrowed underground like the Observatory.

  There was no risk of getting lost in Central City. With one exception each of the seven interconnected domes was laid out in the same pattern of radiating avenues and concentric ring-roads. The exception was Dome Five, the main industrial and production center, which was virtually one vast factory and which Sadler decided to leave alone.

  He wandered at random for some time, going where his stray impulses took him. He wanted to get the "feel" of the place, for he realized it was completely impossible to know the city properly in the short time at his disposal. There was one thing about Central City that struck him at once—it had a personality, a character of its own. No one can say why this is true of some cities and not of others, and Sadler felt a little surprised that it should be of such an artificial environment as this. Then he remembered that all cities, whether on Earth or on the Moon, were equally artificial. . . .

  The roads were narrow, the only vehicles small, three-wheeled Open cars that cruised along at less than thirty kilometers an hour and appeared to be used exclusively for freight rather than pas­sengers. It was some time before Sadler discovered the auto­matic subway that linked the outer six domes in a great ring, passing under the center of each. It was really a glorified con­veyor belt, and moved in a counterclockwise direction only. If you were unlucky, you might have to go right round the city to get to the adjacent dome, but as the circular tour took only about five minutes, this was no great hardship.

&nbsp
; The shopping center, and main repository of lunar chic, was in Dome One. Here also lived the senior executives and tech­nicians—the most senior of all in houses of their own. Most of the residential buildings had roof gardens, where plants im­ported from Earth ascended to improbable heights in this low gravity. Sadler kept his eyes open for any lunar vegetation, but saw no signs of it. He did not know that there was a strict rule against bringing the indigenous plants into the domes. An oxy­gen-rich atmosphere, it had been found, over-stimulated them so that they ran riot and promptly died, producing a stench

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  which had to be experienced to be believed when their sulphur-loaded organisms began to decay.

  Most of the visitors from Earth were to be found here. Sad­ler, a selenite of eight days' standing, found himself eying the obvious newcomers with amused contempt. Many of them had hired weight-belts as soon as they entered the city, under the impression that this was the safest thing to do. Sadler had been warned about this fallacy in time, and so had avoided contribut­ing to what was really a mild racket. It was true that if you loaded yourself down with lead, there was less danger of soar­ing off the ground with incautious steps, and perhaps terminat­ing the trajector upon your head. But surprisingly few people realized the distinction between weight and inertia which made these belts of such dubious value. When one tried to start mov­ing, or to stop in a hurry, one quickly found that though a hun­dred kilos of lead might weigh only sixteen kilos here, it had exactly the same momentum as it did on Earth.

  From time to time, as he made his way through the scanty crowds and roamed from shop to shop, Sadler ran into friends from the Observatory. Some of them were already festooned with parcels as they made up for a week's compulsory saving. Most of the younger members of the staff, male and female, had acquired companions. Sadler surmised that though the Observa­tory might be self-sufficient in most matters, there were others which demanded some variety.

  The clear, bell-like note, thrice repeated, caught him unaware. He looked around him, but could not locate its source. At first it seemed that no one was taking any notice of the signal, what­ever it might mean. Then he observed that the streets were slowly clearing—and that the sky was getting darker.

  Clouds had come up over the sun. They were black and ragged, their edges flame-fringed as the sunlight spilled past them. Once again, Sadler marveled at the skill with which these images—for they could be nothing else—were projected on the dome. No actual thunderstorm could have seemed more realistic, and when the first rumble rolled round the sky he did not hesi­tate to look for shelter. Even if the streets had not already emptied themselves, he would have guessed that the organizers of this storm were going to omit none of the details. . . .

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  The little sidewalk cafe was crowded with other refugees when the initial drops came down, and the first fiery tongue of lightning licked across the heavens. Sadler could never see light­ning without counting the seconds before the thunder peal. It came when he had got to "Six," making it two kilometers away. That, of course, would put it well outside the dome, in the soundless vacuum of space. Oh well, one had to allow some ar­tistic license, and it wasn't fair to quibble over points like this.

  Thicker and heavier came the rain, more and more continuous the flashes. The roads were running with water, and for the first time Sadler became aware of the shallow gutters which, if he had seen them before, he had dismissed without a second thought. It was not safe to take anything for granted here; you had to keep stopping and asking yourself "What function does this serve—What's it doing here on the Moon? Is it even what I think it is?" Certainly, now he came to consider the matter, a gutter was as unexpected a thing to see in Central City as a snow plow. But perhaps even that

  Sadler turned to his closest neighbor, who was watching the storm with obvious admiration.

  "Excuse me," he said, "but how often does this sort of thing happen?"

  "About twice a day—lunar day, that is," came the reply. "It's always announced a few hours in advance, so that it won't inter­fere with business."

  "I don't want to be too inquisitive," continued Sadler, fear­ing that was just what he was, "but I'm surprised at the trouble you've gone to. Surely all this realism isn't necessary?"

  "Perhaps not, but we like it. We've got to have some rain, remember, to keep the place clean and deal with the dust. So we try to do it properly."

  If Sadler had any doubts on that score, they were dispelled when the glorious double rainbow arched out of the clouds. The last drops spattered on the sidewalk; the thunder dwindled away to an angry, distant mutter. The show was over, and the glisten­ing streets of Central City began to fill with life once more.

  Sadler remained in the cafe for a meal, and after a little hard bargaining managed to get rid of some terrestrial currency at only a trifle below the market rate. The food, somewhat to his

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  surprise, was excellent. Every bit must have been synthesized or grown in the yeast and chlorella tanks, but it had been blended and processed with great skill. The trouble with Earth, Sadler mused, was that it could take food for granted, and sel­dom gave the matter the attention it deserved. Here, on the other hand, food was not something that a bountiful Nature, with a little prompting, could be relied upon to provide. It had to be designed and produced from scratch, and since the job had to be done, someone had seen that it was done properly. Like the weather, in fact. . . .

  It was time he moved. The last mail for Earth would be cleared in two hours, and if he missed it Jeannette would not get his letter for almost a week of Earth time. She had already -been in suspense long enough.

  He pulled the unsealed letter from his pocket, and read it through again for any final amendments.

  "Jeannette, my dearest,

  "I wish I could tell you where I am, but I'm not allowed to say. It wasn't my idea, but I've been chosen for a special job and I've got to make the best of it. I'm in good health, and though I can't contact you directly, any letters you send to the Box Number I gave you will reach me sooner or later.

  "I hated being away on our anniversary, but believe me there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I hope you received my present safely—and I hope you liked it. It took me a long time to find that necklace, and I won't tell you how much it cost!

  "Do you miss me very badly? God, how I wish I was home again! I know you were hurt and upset when I left, but I want you to trust me and to understand that I couldn't tell you what was happening. Surely you realize that I want Jonathan Peter as much as you do. Please have faith in me, and don't think that it was because of selfishness, or because I don't love you, that I acted as I did. I had very good reasons, which one day I'll be able to tell you.

  "Above all, don't worry, and don't be impatient. You know that I'll get back as soon as I can. And I promise you this—

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  when I'm home again, we'll go ahead. I wish I knew how soon that would be!

  "I love you, my darling—don't ever doubt that. This is a tough job, and your faith in me is the one thing that keeps me going."

  He read the letter with great care, trying for the moment to forget all that it meant to him, and to regard it as a message that a complete stranger might have written. Did it give too much away? He did not believe so. It might be indiscreet, but there was nothing in it that revealed his location or the nature of his work.

  He sealed the envelope, but put no name or address on it. Then he did something that was, strictly speaking, a direct violation of his oath. He enclosed the letter in another envelope which he addressed, with a covering note, to his lawyer in Washington. "Dear George," he wrote, "You'll be surprised to see where I am now. Jeannette doesn't know, and I don't want her to worry. So please address the enclosed to her and post it in the nearest mailbox. Treat my present location as ab­solutely confidential, I'll explain it all one day."

  George would guess the truth, but he could keep secrets just as well as
anyone in Central Intelligence. Sadler could think of no other fool-proof way of getting his letter to Jeannette, and he was prepared to take the slight risk for his peace of mind— and for hers.

  He asked the way to the nearest mailbox (they were hard to find in Central City) and slid the letter down the chute. In a couple of hours it would be on the way to Earth; by this time tomorrow, it would have reached Jeannette. He could only hope that she would understand—or, if she could not understand, would suspend judgment until they met again.

  There was a paper rack beside the mailbox, and Sadler pur­chased a copy of the Central News. He still had several hours before the monorail left for the Observatory, and if anything interesting was going on in town the local paper would pre­sumably tell him all about it.

  The political news received such little space that Sadler won­dered if a mild censorship was in force. No one would have

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