Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [43]
"That's a silly question," reproved Rupert. "It's bound to be raining somewhere and to be dry somewhere else. Don't ask questions that have ambiguous answers."
George felt appropriately squashed. He decided to let someone else have the next turn.
"What is my favourite colour?" asked Maia.
"BLUE," came the prompt reply.
"That's quite correct."
"But it doesn't prove anything. At least three people here knew that," George pointed out.
"What's Ruth's favourite colour?" asked Benny.
"RED."
"Is that right, Ruth?"
The recorder looked up from her notebook.
"Yes, it is. But Benny knows that, and he's in the circle."
"I didn't know," retorted Benny.
"You darn well ought to-I've told you enough times."
"Subconscious memory," murmured Rupert. "That often happens. But can we have some more intelligent questions, please? Now that this has started so well, I don't want it to peter out."
Curiously enough, the very triviality of the phenomenon was beginning to impress George. He was sure that there was no supernormal explanation; as Rupert had said, the plate was simply responding to their unconscious muscular movements.
But this fact in itself was surprising and impressive; he would never have believed that such precise, swift replies could have been obtained. Once he tried to see if he could influence the board by making it spell out his own name. He got the "G", but that was all; the rest was nonsense. It was virtually impossible, he decided, for one person to take control without the remainder of the circle knowing it.
After half an hour, Ruth had taken down more than a dozen messages, some of them quite long ones. There were occasional spelling mistakes and curiosities of grammar, but they were few. Whatever the explanation, George was now convinced that he was not contributing consciously to the results. Several times, as a word was being spelt out, he had anticipated the next letter and hence the meaning of the message. And on each occasion the plate had gone in a quite unexpected direction and spelt something totally different. Sometimes, indeed-since there was no pause to indicate the end of one word and the beginning of the next-the entire message was meaningless until it was complete and Ruth had read it back.
The whole experience gave George an uncanny impression of being in contact with some purposeful, independent mind. And yet there was no conclusive proof one way or the other. The replies were so trivial, so ambiguous. What, for example, could one make of; BELIEVEINMANNATURRISWITHYOU.
Yet sometimes there were suggestions of profound, even disturbing truths:
RIMEMBERMANISNOTALONENEARMANISCOUNTRYOFOTHERS.
But of course everyone knew that-though could one be sure that the message merely referred to the Overlords?
George was growing very sleepy. It was high time, he thought drowsily, that they headed for home. This was all very intriguing, but it wasn't getting them anywhere and you could have too much of a good thing. He glanced around the table. Benny looked as if he might be feeling the same way, Maia and Rupert both appeared slightly glazed, and Jean-well, she had been taking it too seriously all along. Her expression worried George; it was almost as if she were afraid to stop-yet afraid to go on.
That left only Jan. George wondered what he thought of his brother-in-law's eccentricities. The young engineer had asked no questions, shown no surprise at any of the answers. He seemed to be studying the movement of the plate as if it was just another scientific phenomenon.
Rupert roused himself from the lethargy into which he appeared to have fallen.
"Let's have one more question," he said, "then we'll call it a day. What about you, Jan? You've not asked anything."
Surprisingly, Jan never hesitated. It was as if he had made his choice a long time ago and had been waiting for the opportunity. He glanced once at the impassive bulk of Rashaverak, then called out in a clear, steady voice:
"Which star is the Overlord's sun?"
Rupert checked a whistle of surprise. Maia and Benny showed