The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [87]
‘I’m very sorry,’ Alvin began, ‘that I had to leave your country in such an undignified fashion. It may interest you to know that it was nearly as difficult to escape from Diaspar.…’ He let that remark sink in, then added quickly, ‘I have told my people all about Lys, and I did my best to give a favourable impression. But Diaspar will have nothing to do with you. In spite of all I could say, it wishes to avoid contamination with an inferior culture.’
It was most satisfying to watch the senators’ reactions, and even the urbane Seranis coloured slightly at his words. If he could make Lys and Diaspar sufficiently annoyed with each other, thought Alvin, his problem would be more than half solved. Each would be so anxious to prove the superiority of its way of life that the barriers between them would soon go down.
‘Why have you come back to Lys?’ asked Seranis.
‘Because I want to convince you, as well as Diaspar, that you have made a mistake.’ He did not add his other reason—that in Lys was the only friend of whom he could be certain and whose help he now needed.
The senators were still silent, waiting for him to continue, and he knew that looking through their eyes and listening through their ears were many other unseen intelligences. He was the representative of Diaspar, and the whole of Lys was judging him by what he might say. It was a great responsibility, and he felt humbled before it. He marshalled his thoughts, and then began to speak.
His theme was Diaspar. He painted the city as he had last seen it, dreaming on the breast of the desert, its towers glowing like captive rainbows against the sky. From the treasure-house of memory he recalled the songs that the poets of old had written in praise of Diaspar, and he spoke of the countless men who had spent their lives to increase its beauty. No one, he told them, could ever exhaust the city’s treasures, however long they lived; always there would be something new. For a while he described some of the wonders which the men of Diaspar had wrought; he tried to make them catch a glimpse at least of the loveliness which the artists of the past had created for men’s eternal admiration. And he wondered a little wistfully if it were indeed true that the music of Diaspar was the last sound that Earth had ever broadcasted to the stars.
They heard him to the end without interruption or questioning. When he had finished it was very late, and Alvin felt more tired than he could ever before remember. The strain and excitement of the long day had told on him at last, and quite suddenly he was asleep.
When he awoke, he was in an unfamiliar room and it was some moments before he remembered that he was no longer in Diaspar. As consciousness returned, so the light grew around him, until presently he was bathed in the soft, cool radiance of the morning sun, streaming through the now transparent walls. He lay in drowsy half-awareness, recalling the events of the previous day, and wondering what forces he had now set in motion.
With a soft, musical sound, one of the walls began to pleat itself up in a manner so complicated that it eluded the eye. Hilvar stepped through the opening that had been formed, and looked at Alvin with an expression half of amusement, half of serious concern.
‘Now that you’re awake, Alvin,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll at least tell me what your next move is, and how you managed to return here. The senators are just leaving to look at the subway; they can’t understand how you managed to come back through it. Did you?’
Alvin jumped out of bed and stretched himself mightily.
‘Perhaps we’d better overtake them,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to make them waste their time. As for the question you asked me—in a little while I’ll show you the answer to that.’
They had almost reached the lake before they overtook the three senators, and both parties exchanged