Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [6]
From the hidden grille came that calm, never-hurried voice that Stormgren knew so well though the world had heard it only once in history. Its depth and resonance gave the single clue that existed in Karellen's physical nature, for it left an overwhelming impression of sheer size. Karellen was large-perhaps much larger than a man. It was true that some scientists, after analyzing the record of his only speech, had suggested that the voice was that of a machine. This was something that Stormgren could never believe.
"Yes, Rikki, I was listening to your little interview. What did you make of Mr. Wainwright?"
"He's an honest man, even if many of his supporters aren't. What are we going to do about him? The League itself isn't dangerous-but some of its extremists are openly advocating violence. I've been wondering if I should put a guard on my house. But I hope it isn't necessary."
Karellen evaded the point in the annoying way he sometimes had.
"The details of the World Federation have been out for a month now. Has there been a substantial increase in the seven per cent who don't approve of me, or the twelve per cent who Don't Know?"
"Not yet. But that's of no importance; what does worry me is a general feeling, even among your supporters, that it's time this secrecy came to an end."
Karellen's sigh was technically perfect, yet somehow lacked conviction.
"That's your feeling too, isn't it?"
The question was so rhetorical that Stormgren did not bother to answer it.
"I wonder if you really appreciate," he continued earnestly, "how difficult this state of affairs makes my job?"
"It doesn't exactly help mine," replied Karellen with some spirit. "I wish people would stop thinking of me as a dictator, and remember I'm only a civil servant trying to administer a colonial policy in whose shaping I had no hand."
That, thought Stormgren, was quite an engaging description. He wondered just how much truth it held.
"Can't you at least give us some reason for your concealment? Because we don't understand it, it annoys us and gives rise to endless rumours."
Karellen gave that rich, deep laugh of his, just too resonant, to be altogether human.
"What am I supposed to be now? Does the robot theory still hold the field? I'd rather be a mass of electron tubes than a thing like a centipede-oh yes, I've seen that cartoon in yesterday's Chicago Tribune! I'm thinking of requesting the original."
Stormgren pursed his lips primly. There were times, he thought, when Karellen took his duties too lightly.
"This is serious," he said reprovingly.
"My dear Rikki," Karellen retorted, "it's only by not taking the human race seriously that I retain what fragments of my once considerable mental powers I still possess!"
Despite himself Stormgren smiled.
"That doesn't help me a great deal, does it? I have to go down there and convince my fellow men that although you won't show yourself, you've got nothing to hide. It's not an easy job. Curiosity is one of the most dominant of human characteristics. You can't defy it forever."
"Of all the problems that faced us when we came to Earth, this was the most difficult," admitted Karellen. "You have trusted our wisdom in other matters-surely you can trust us in this!"
"I trust you," said Stormgren, "but Wainwright doesn't, nor do his supporters. Can you really blame them if they put a bad interpretation on your unwillingness to show yourselves?"
There was silence for a moment. Then Stormgren heard that faint sound (was it a crackling?) that might have been caused by the Supervisor moving his body slightly.
"You know why Wainwright and his type fear me, don't you?" asked Karellen. His voice was somber now, like a great organ rolling its notes from a high cathedral nave. "You will find men like him in all the world's religions. They know that we represent reason and science,