Read Online The Collected Stories of Arthur C. Clarke by Arthur C. Clarke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Arthur C. Clarke
Ads: Link
doesn’t do anything like this without a very good reason.’
‘It had better be good! My series of spectrograms was supposed to be finished tonight—and now look at the ‘scope!’
The giant dome that housed the thousand-inch reflector was a shambles, or so a casual visitor would have thought. Even the natives were somewhat appalled by the confusion. A small army of technicians was gathered round the base of the great telescope, which was now pointing aimlessly at the zenith. Aimlessly because the dome of the Observatory was closed and sealed against the outer vacuum. It was strange to see men unprotected by space-suits walking over the tessellated floor, to hear voices ringing where normally no slightest sound could be heard.
High up on a balcony on the far side of the dome the Director was giving orders into a microphone. His voice, enormously amplified, roared from the speakers that had been specially installed for the occasion. ‘ Mirror crew—stand clear! ’
There was a scurrying round the base of the telescope: then an expectant pause.
‘ Lower away! ’
With infinite slowness the great disc of quartz, that had cost a hundred million to make, was lowered from its cell to the strange vehicle beneath the telescope. The ninety-foot-wide truck sank visibly on its scores of tiny balloon tyres as it took up the weight of the immense mirror. Then the hoisting gear was released and with a purr of motors the truck and its precious cargo began to move slowly down the ramp leading to the resurfacing room.
It was a breathtaking sight. The men scattered over the floor were utterly dwarfed by the lattice-work of the telescope towering hundreds of feet above them. And the mirror itself, over eighty feet in diameter, seemed like a lake of fire as it reflected the glare of overhead lights. When at last it had left the room it was as though dusk had suddenly fallen.
‘And now they’ve got to put it back!’ grunted Wheeler. ‘I suppose that will take even longer.’
‘That’s right,’ said his companion cheerfully. ‘ Much longer. Why, last time we resurfaced the mirror—’ The amplifiers drowned his voice.
‘ Four hours twenty-six minutes ,’ remarked the Director in a fifty-watt aside. ‘ Not too bad. Okay—get her back and carry on .’
There was a click as he switched off the microphone. In a strained and hostile silence the observatory staff watched his small rather plump figure leave the balcony. After a discreet interval someone said, ‘Damn!’ in a very determined voice. The assistant chief computer did a wicked thing. She lit a cigarette and threw the ash on the sacred floor.
‘ Well !’ exploded Wheeler. ‘He might have told us what it was all about! It’s bad enough to stop the work of the whole observatory while we get the big mirror out when it’s not due for resurfacing for months. But to tell us to put the blasted thing back as soon as we’ve dismounted it, without a word of explanation…’ He left the sentence in mid-air and looked at his companion for support.
‘Take it easy,’ said Jamieson with a grin. ‘The Old Man’s not cracked and you know it. Therefore he’s got a good reason for what he’s doing. Also he’s not the secretive sort—therefore he’s keeping quiet because he has to. And there must be a very good reason for risking the near-mutiny he’s got on his hands now. Orders from Earth, I’d say. One doesn’t interrupt a research programme like ours just for a whim. Hello, here comes Old Mole—what’s he got to say?’
‘Old Mole’—alias Dr Robert Molton—came trotting towards them, carrying the inevitable pile of photographs. He was probably the only member of the Observatory staff who even remotely resembled the popular conception of an astronomer. All the rest, one could see at a glance, were businessmen, undergraduates of the athletic rather than the intellectual type, artists, prosperous bookmakers, journalists or rising young politicians.
‘It had better be good! My series of spectrograms was supposed to be finished tonight—and now look at the ‘scope!’
The giant dome that housed the thousand-inch reflector was a shambles, or so a casual visitor would have thought. Even the natives were somewhat appalled by the confusion. A small army of technicians was gathered round the base of the great telescope, which was now pointing aimlessly at the zenith. Aimlessly because the dome of the Observatory was closed and sealed against the outer vacuum. It was strange to see men unprotected by space-suits walking over the tessellated floor, to hear voices ringing where normally no slightest sound could be heard.
High up on a balcony on the far side of the dome the Director was giving orders into a microphone. His voice, enormously amplified, roared from the speakers that had been specially installed for the occasion. ‘ Mirror crew—stand clear! ’
There was a scurrying round the base of the telescope: then an expectant pause.
‘ Lower away! ’
With infinite slowness the great disc of quartz, that had cost a hundred million to make, was lowered from its cell to the strange vehicle beneath the telescope. The ninety-foot-wide truck sank visibly on its scores of tiny balloon tyres as it took up the weight of the immense mirror. Then the hoisting gear was released and with a purr of motors the truck and its precious cargo began to move slowly down the ramp leading to the resurfacing room.
It was a breathtaking sight. The men scattered over the floor were utterly dwarfed by the lattice-work of the telescope towering hundreds of feet above them. And the mirror itself, over eighty feet in diameter, seemed like a lake of fire as it reflected the glare of overhead lights. When at last it had left the room it was as though dusk had suddenly fallen.
‘And now they’ve got to put it back!’ grunted Wheeler. ‘I suppose that will take even longer.’
‘That’s right,’ said his companion cheerfully. ‘ Much longer. Why, last time we resurfaced the mirror—’ The amplifiers drowned his voice.
‘ Four hours twenty-six minutes ,’ remarked the Director in a fifty-watt aside. ‘ Not too bad. Okay—get her back and carry on .’
There was a click as he switched off the microphone. In a strained and hostile silence the observatory staff watched his small rather plump figure leave the balcony. After a discreet interval someone said, ‘Damn!’ in a very determined voice. The assistant chief computer did a wicked thing. She lit a cigarette and threw the ash on the sacred floor.
‘ Well !’ exploded Wheeler. ‘He might have told us what it was all about! It’s bad enough to stop the work of the whole observatory while we get the big mirror out when it’s not due for resurfacing for months. But to tell us to put the blasted thing back as soon as we’ve dismounted it, without a word of explanation…’ He left the sentence in mid-air and looked at his companion for support.
‘Take it easy,’ said Jamieson with a grin. ‘The Old Man’s not cracked and you know it. Therefore he’s got a good reason for what he’s doing. Also he’s not the secretive sort—therefore he’s keeping quiet because he has to. And there must be a very good reason for risking the near-mutiny he’s got on his hands now. Orders from Earth, I’d say. One doesn’t interrupt a research programme like ours just for a whim. Hello, here comes Old Mole—what’s he got to say?’
‘Old Mole’—alias Dr Robert Molton—came trotting towards them, carrying the inevitable pile of photographs. He was probably the only member of the Observatory staff who even remotely resembled the popular conception of an astronomer. All the rest, one could see at a glance, were businessmen, undergraduates of the athletic rather than the intellectual type, artists, prosperous bookmakers, journalists or rising young politicians.
Similar Books
