The Fountains of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,64

and absorb. There was even a good deal to hear. It was amazing how well sound carried; the conversations below were still quite audible.

She waved to Morgan, and looked for Kingsley. To her surprise, she was unable to find him. Though he had helped her aboard the spider, he had now vanished. Then she remembered his frank admission—sometimes he made it sound almost like a wry boast—that the best structural engineer in the world couldn’t stand heights.

Everyone had some secret, or perhaps not-so-secret, fear. Duval did not appreciate spiders, and wished that the vehicle she was riding in had some other name. Yet she could handle one if it was really necessary. The creature she could never bear to touch—though she had met it often enough on her diving expeditions—was the shy and harmless octopus.

The whole mountain was now visible, though from directly above it was impossible to appreciate its true height. The two ancient stairways winding up its face might have been oddly twisting level roads. Along their entire length, as far as she could observe, there was no sign of life. One section had been blocked by a fallen tree, as if Nature had given advance notice, after three thousand years, that she was about to reclaim her own.

Leaving camera one pointed downward, Duval started to pan with number two. Fields and forests drifted across the monitor screen, then the distant white domes of Ranapura, then the dark waters of the inland sea. And, presently, there was Yakkagala….

She zoomed onto the Rock, and could just make out the faint pattern of the ruins covering the entire upper surface. The Mirror Wall was still in shadow, as was the Gallery of the Princesses—not that there was any hope of making them out from such a distance. But the layout of the pleasure gardens, with their ponds and walkways and massive surrounding moat, was clearly visible.

The line of tiny white plumes puzzled her for a moment, until she realized that she was looking down upon another symbol of Kalidasa’s challenge to the gods—his so-called Fountains of Paradise. She wondered what the King would have thought could he have seen her rising so effortlessly toward the heaven of his envious dreams.

It was almost a year since she had spoken to Ambassador Rajasinghe. On a sudden impulse, she called the villa.

“Hello, Johan,” she greeted him. “How do you like this view of Yakkagala?”

“So you’ve talked Morgan into it. How does it feel?”

“Exhilarating—that’s the only word for it. And unique. I’ve flown and traveled in everything you can mention, but this feels quite different….”

“‘To ride secure the cruel sky…’”

“What was that?”

“An English poet, early twentieth century: ‘I care not if you bridge the seas, / Or ride secure the cruel sky….’ ”

“Well I care, and I’m feeling secure. Now I can see the whole island—even the Hindustan coast. How high am I, Van?”

“Coming up to twelve kilometers, Maxine. Is your oxygen mask on tight?”

“Confirmed. I hope it’s not muffling my voice.”

“Don’t worry—you’re still unmistakable. Three kilometers to go.”

“How much gas is left in the tank?”

“Sufficient. And if you try to go above fifteen, I’ll use the override to bring you home.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. And congratulations, by the way. This is an excellent observation platform. You may have customers standing in line.”

“We’ve thought of that. The comsat and metsat people are already making bids. We can give them relays and sensors at any height they like. It will all help to pay the rent.”

“I can see you!” exclaimed Rajasinghe suddenly. “Just caught your reflection in the scope…. Now you’re waving your arm…. Aren’t you lonely up there?”

For a moment, there was an uncharacteristic silence. Then Duval answered quietly: “Not as lonely as Yuri Gagarin must have been, a hundred kilometers higher still. Van, you have brought something new into the world.

“The sky may still be cruel—but you have tamed it. There may be some people who could never face this ride: I feel very sorry for them.”

37. The Billion-Ton Diamond

In the last seven years, much had been done, yet there was so much to do. Mountains—or at least asteroids—had been moved. Earth now possessed a second natural moon, circling just above synchronous altitude. It was less than a kilometer across, and was rapidly becoming smaller as it was rifled of its carbon and other light elements. Whatever was left—the core of iron, tailings, and industrial slag—would form the counterweight that would keep the Tower in tension. It would be the stone in