The Fountains of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke Page 0,92
job to do—and the sooner the better.
Morgan turned to Chang and said quietly: “Please help me to suit up again. I want to inspect the track.”
“That’s only a thirty-minute suit you’re wearing!”
“I’ll need ten minutes—fifteen at the most.”
“Dr. Morgan—I’m a space-qualified operator; you’re not. No one’s allowed to go out in a thirty-minute suit without a spare pack, or an umbilical. Except in an emergency, of course.”
Morgan gave a tired smile. Chang was right, and the excuse of immediate danger no longer applied. But an emergency was whatever the Chief Engineer said it was.
“I want to look at the damage,” he answered, “and examine the tracks. It would be a pity if the people from 10K can’t reach you because they weren’t warned of some obstacle.”
Chang was clearly not too happy about the situation (what had that gossiping CORA jabbered while he was unconscious) but raised no further arguments as he followed Morgan into the north lock.
Just before he closed the visor, Morgan asked: “Any more trouble with the Professor?”
Chang shook his head.
“I think the CO2 has slowed him down. And if he starts up again—well, we outnumber him six to one, though I’m not sure if we can count on his students. Some of them are just as crazy as he is. Look at that girl who spends all her time scribbling in the corner. She’s convinced that the sun’s going out, or blowing up—I’m not sure which—and wants to warn the world before she dies. Much good that would do. I’d prefer not to know.”
Though Morgan could not help smiling, he felt quite sure that none of the Professor’s students were crazy. Eccentric, perhaps—but also brilliant. They would not be working with Sessui otherwise. One day he must find out more about the men and women whose lives he had saved. But that would have to wait until they had all returned to Earth, by their separate ways.
“I’m going to take a quick walk around the Tower,” said Morgan, “and I’ll describe any damage, so you can report to Midway. It won’t take more than ten minutes. And if it does—well, don’t try to get me back.”
Chang’s reply, as he closed the inner door of the air lock, was practical and brief.
“How the hell could I?” he asked.
56. View from the Balcony
The outer door of the north air lock opened without difficulty, framing a rectangle of complete darkness. Running horizontally across that darkness was a line of fire—the protective handrail of the catwalk, blazing in the beam of the searchlight pointed straight up from the mountain so far below.
Morgan took a deep breath and flexed the suit. He felt perfectly comfortable. Waving to Chang, who was peering at him through the window of the inner door, he stepped out of the Tower.
The catwalk that surrounded the Basement was a metal grille about two meters wide. Beyond it the safety net had been stretched out for another thirty meters. The portion that Morgan could see had caught nothing whatsoever during its years of patient waiting.
He started his circumnavigation of the Tower, shielding his eyes against the glare blasting up from underfoot. The oblique lighting showed up every least bump and imperfection in the surface that stretched above him like a roadway to the stars—which, in a sense, it was.
As he had hoped and expected, the explosion on the far side of the Tower had caused no damage here. That would have required an atomic bomb, not a mere electrochemical one. The twin grooves of the track, now awaiting their first arrival, stretched endlessly upward in their pristine perfection. And fifty meters below the balcony—though it was hard to look in that direction because of the glare—he could just make out the terminal buffers, ready for a task they should never have to perform.
Taking his time, and keeping close to the sheer face of the Tower, Morgan walked slowly westward until he came to the first corner. As he turned, he looked back at the open door of the air lock, and the—relative, indeed!—safety that it represented, before continuing boldly along the blank wall of the west face.
He felt a curious mixture of elation and fear, such as he had not known since he had learned to swim and found himself, for the first time, in water out of his depth. Although he was certain that there was no real danger, there could be. He was acutely aware of CORA, biding her time. But he had always hated to leave