The Fountains of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,67

fixed observatories in the ionosphere. It is also possible that the Tower may itself modify the characteristics of the ionosphere—though it will certainly not, as Dr. Bickerstaff has suggested, short-circuit it!

“Why should we study this region, now that it is no longer important to the communications engineers? Well, apart from its beauty, its strangeness, and its scientific interest, its behavior is closely linked with that of the sun—the master of our destiny. We know now that the sun is not the steady, well-behaved star that our ancestors believed. It undergoes both long- and short-period fluctuations. At the present time it is still emerging from the so-called Maunder Minimum of 1645 to 1715. As a result, the climate now is milder than at any time since the early Middle Ages. But how long will this upswing last? Even more important, when will the inevitable downturn begin, and what effect will this have upon climate, weather, and every aspect of human civilization—not only on this planet, but on the others as well? For they are all children of the sun….

“Some very speculative theories suggest that the sun is now entering a period of instability, which may produce a new Ice Age, more universal than any in the past. If this is true, we need every scrap of information we can get to prepare for it. Even a century’s warning might not be long enough….

“The ionosphere helped to create us; it launched the communications revolution; it may yet determine much of our future. That is why we must continue the study of this vast, turbulent arena of solar and electric forces—this mysterious place of silent storms.”

39. The Wounded Sun

The last time Morgan had seen Dev, his nephew had been a child. Now he was a boy in his early teens; and at their next meeting, at this rate, he would be a man.

The engineer felt only a mild sense of guilt. Family ties had been weakening for the last two centuries. He and his sister had little in common except the accident of genetics. Though they exchanged greetings and small talk perhaps half a dozen times a year, and were on the best of terms, he was not even sure when and where they had last met.

Yet when he greeted the eager, intelligent boy (not in the least overawed, it seemed, by his famous uncle), Morgan was aware of a certain bittersweet wistfulness. He had no son to continue the family name. Long ago, he had made that choice between work and life that can seldom be avoided at the highest levels of human endeavor. On three occasions—not including the liaison with Ingrid—he might have taken a different path, but accident or ambition had deflected him.

He knew the terms of the bargain he had made and he accepted them; it was too late now to grumble about the small print. Any fool could shuffle genes and most did. But whether or not history gave him credit, few men could have achieved what he had done—and was about to do.

In the last three hours, Dev had seen far more of Earth Terminal than any of the usual run of VIPs. He had entered the mountain at ground level, along the almost completed approach to South Station, and had been given the quick tour of the passenger and baggage-handling facilities, the control center, and the switching yard, where capsules would be routed from the east and west Down tracks to the north and south Up ones. He had stared up the five-kilometer-long shaft—like a giant gun barrel aimed at the stars, as several hundred reporters had already remarked in hushed voices—along which the lines of traffic would rise and descend. And his questions had exhausted three guides before the last one had thankfully handed him over to his uncle.

“Here he is, Van,” said Warren Kingsley as they arrived via the high-speed elevator at the truncated summit of the mountain. “Take him away before he grabs my job.”

“I didn’t know you were so keen on engineering, Dev.”

The boy looked hurt, and a little surprised.

“Don’t you remember, Uncle, that Number 12 Meccamax set you gave me on my tenth birthday?”

“Of course, of course. I was only joking.” And, to tell the truth, he had not really forgotten the construction set; it had merely slipped his mind for the moment…. “You’re not cold up here?” Unlike the well-protected adults, the boy had disdained the usual light thermocoat.

“No, I’m fine. What kind of jet is that? When are you