Read Online Sunstorm by Arthur C. Clarke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Arthur C. Clarke
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crescent Moon, as we say. Living on the Moon isn’t a problem for me—Mecca is easy to find—but Ramadan is timed to the phases of the Moon, and that’s a little more tricky . . .”
Siobhan did a double take. “Wait.
Your
tradition?”
He smiled, evidently used to the reaction. “Islam has reached Iowa, you know.”
In his thirties, as a serving soldier, Bud Tooke had been one of the first relief workers into what was left of the Dome of the Rock, after an extreme religious group called the One-Godders had lobbed a nuclear grenade into that site of unique significance. “That experience exposed me to Islam—and my body to a hard rain. Everything changed for me after that.”
After the Dome, he told her, Bud had joined a movement called the Oikumens, a grassroots network of people who were trying, mostly under the radar, to find a way to bring the world’s great faiths to some kind of coexistence, mainly by appealing to their deep common roots. In that way, perhaps, the positive qualities of the faiths—their moral teachings, their various contemplations of humankind’s place in the universe—might be promoted. If humans could not be rid of religion, it was argued, then let them at least not be harmed by it.
“So,” Siobhan said, marveling, “you’re a career soldier, living on the Moon, who spends his spare time studying theology.”
He laughed, a clipped sound like a rifle being cocked. “I guess I’m an authentic product of the twenty-first century, aren’t I?” He glanced at her, suddenly almost shy. “But I’ve seen a lot. You know, it seems to me that over my lifetime we’ve been slowly groping our way out of the fog. We’re killing each other off a bit less enthusiastically than a hundred years ago. Even though Earth itself has gone to hell in a handbasket while we weren’t looking, we’re starting to fix those problems, too. But now
this,
the business with the sun. Won’t it be ironic that just as we’re growing up, the star that birthed us decides to cream us?”
Ironic, yes, she thought uneasily. And an odd coincidence that just as we move off the Earth, just as we’re capable of all this, of living on the Moon, the sun reaches out to burn us . . . Scientists were suspicious of coincidences; they usually meant you were missing some underlying cause.
Or you’re just getting paranoid, Siobhan, she told herself.
Bud said, “I’ll fix you breakfast after I show you one more sight—our museum. We’ve even got
Apollo
Moon rocks in there! Did you know that three of the core drillings made by the
Apollo 17
astronauts were never opened? People are already making quite an impact on the Moon. And so we went to the trouble of ferrying unopened Apollo rocks
back
to the Moon, so that the double domes can use those old samples as reference points, bits of a pristine Moon before we got our hands on it . . .”
Siobhan found herself warming to this blunt character. It was probably inevitable that you would find a strong military flavor to a base like this: the military, with their submarines and missile silos, had more experience of survival in cramped, unnatural, confined conditions than anybody else. And it had to be American-led. The Europeans, Japanese, and the rest had put up much of the money for this place, but when it came to opening up virgin continents like the Moon, the Americans provided the muscle and the strength of character. But in Colonel Bud Tooke she saw something of the best in the American character: tough, obviously competent, experienced, determined, and yet with a vision that far transcended his own lifetime. She was going to be able to do business with him, she thought—and, a corner of her hoped, maybe they could build something more.
As they walked on, the artificial lights of the dome began to glow brighter, heralding the start of another human day on the Moon.
11: Time’s Eye
As the months passed, and London slowly recovered from June 9, Bisesa sensed the
Siobhan did a double take. “Wait.
Your
tradition?”
He smiled, evidently used to the reaction. “Islam has reached Iowa, you know.”
In his thirties, as a serving soldier, Bud Tooke had been one of the first relief workers into what was left of the Dome of the Rock, after an extreme religious group called the One-Godders had lobbed a nuclear grenade into that site of unique significance. “That experience exposed me to Islam—and my body to a hard rain. Everything changed for me after that.”
After the Dome, he told her, Bud had joined a movement called the Oikumens, a grassroots network of people who were trying, mostly under the radar, to find a way to bring the world’s great faiths to some kind of coexistence, mainly by appealing to their deep common roots. In that way, perhaps, the positive qualities of the faiths—their moral teachings, their various contemplations of humankind’s place in the universe—might be promoted. If humans could not be rid of religion, it was argued, then let them at least not be harmed by it.
“So,” Siobhan said, marveling, “you’re a career soldier, living on the Moon, who spends his spare time studying theology.”
He laughed, a clipped sound like a rifle being cocked. “I guess I’m an authentic product of the twenty-first century, aren’t I?” He glanced at her, suddenly almost shy. “But I’ve seen a lot. You know, it seems to me that over my lifetime we’ve been slowly groping our way out of the fog. We’re killing each other off a bit less enthusiastically than a hundred years ago. Even though Earth itself has gone to hell in a handbasket while we weren’t looking, we’re starting to fix those problems, too. But now
this,
the business with the sun. Won’t it be ironic that just as we’re growing up, the star that birthed us decides to cream us?”
Ironic, yes, she thought uneasily. And an odd coincidence that just as we move off the Earth, just as we’re capable of all this, of living on the Moon, the sun reaches out to burn us . . . Scientists were suspicious of coincidences; they usually meant you were missing some underlying cause.
Or you’re just getting paranoid, Siobhan, she told herself.
Bud said, “I’ll fix you breakfast after I show you one more sight—our museum. We’ve even got
Apollo
Moon rocks in there! Did you know that three of the core drillings made by the
Apollo 17
astronauts were never opened? People are already making quite an impact on the Moon. And so we went to the trouble of ferrying unopened Apollo rocks
back
to the Moon, so that the double domes can use those old samples as reference points, bits of a pristine Moon before we got our hands on it . . .”
Siobhan found herself warming to this blunt character. It was probably inevitable that you would find a strong military flavor to a base like this: the military, with their submarines and missile silos, had more experience of survival in cramped, unnatural, confined conditions than anybody else. And it had to be American-led. The Europeans, Japanese, and the rest had put up much of the money for this place, but when it came to opening up virgin continents like the Moon, the Americans provided the muscle and the strength of character. But in Colonel Bud Tooke she saw something of the best in the American character: tough, obviously competent, experienced, determined, and yet with a vision that far transcended his own lifetime. She was going to be able to do business with him, she thought—and, a corner of her hoped, maybe they could build something more.
As they walked on, the artificial lights of the dome began to glow brighter, heralding the start of another human day on the Moon.
11: Time’s Eye
As the months passed, and London slowly recovered from June 9, Bisesa sensed the
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