Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [59]
Chapter 14
The conference room was always crowded for these weekly meetings, but today it was so closely packed that the reporters had difficulty in writing. For the hundredth time, they gruinbled to each other at Karellen's conservatism and lack of consideration. Anywhere else in the world they could have brought TV cameras, tape recorders, and all the other tools of their highly mechanized trade. But here they had to rely on such archaic devices as paper and pencil-and even, incredible to relate, shorthand.
There had, of course, been several attempts to smuggle in recorders. They had been successfully smuggled out again, but a single glance at their smoking interiors had shown the futility of the experiment. Everyone understood, then, why they had always been warned, in their own interest, to leave watches and other metallic objects outside the conference room.
To make things more unfair, Karellen himself recorded the whole proceedings. Reporters guilty of carelessness, or downright misrepresentation-though this was very rare-had been summoned to short and unpleasant sessions with Karellen's underlings and required to listen attentively to playbacks of what the Supervisor had really said. The lesson was not one that ever had to be repeated.
It was strange how these rumours got around. No prior announcement was made, yet there was always a full house whenever Karellen had an important statement to make-which happened, on the average, two or three times a year.
Silence descended on the murmuring crowd as the great doorway split open and Karellen caine forward on to the dais. The light here was dim-approximating, no doubt, to that of the Overlords' far distant sun-so that, the Supervisor for Earth had discarded the dark glasses he normally wore when in the open.
He replied to the ragged chorus of greetings with a formal "Good morning, everybody," then turned to the tall, distinguished figure at the front of the crowd. Mr. Golde, doyen of the Press Club, might have been the original inspirer of the butler's announcement; "Three reporters, m'lud, and a gentleman from the Times." He dressed and behaved like a diplomat of the old school; no one would ever hesitate to confide in him, and no one had ever regretted it subsequently.
"Quite a crowd today, Mr. Golde. There must be a shortage of news."
The gentleman from the Times smiled and cleared his throat.
"I hope you can rectify that, Mr. Supervisor."
He watched intently as Karellen considered his reply. It seemed so unfair that the Overlords' faces, rigid as masks, betrayed no trace of emotion. The great, wide eyes, their pupils sharply contracted even in this indifferent light, stared fathonilessly back into the frankly curious human ones. The twin breathing orifices on either cheek-if those fluted, basalt curves could be called cheeks-emitted the faintest of whistles as Karellen's hypothetical lungs laboured in the thin air of Earth. Golde could just see the curtain of tiny white hairs fluttering to and fro, keeping accurately out of phase, as they responded to Karellen's rapid, double-action breathing cycle. Dust filters, they were generally believed to be, and elaborate theories concerning the atmosphere of the Overlords' home had been constructed on this slender foundation.
"Yes, I have some news for you. As you are doubtless aware, one of my supply ships recently left Earth to return to its base. We have just discovered that there was a stowaway on board."
A hundred pencils braked to a halt; a hundred pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon Karellen.
"A stowaway, did you say, Mr. Supervisor?" asked Golde. "May we ask who he was-and how he got aboard?"
"His name is Jan Rodricks; he is an engineering student from the University of Cape Town. Further details you can no doubt discover for yourselves through your own very efficient channels."
Karellen smiled. The Supervisor's smile was a curious affair. Most of the effect really resided in the eyes; the inflexible, lipless mouth scarcely moved at all. Was this, Golde wondered, another of the many human