The Foundations of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke [13]
After a few minutes of incredulous observation, he decided that Morgan must be one of those rare people who are completely unaffected by heights. Rajasinghe’s memory, which was still excellent but delighted in playing tricks on him, was trying to bring something to his notice. Hadn’t there once been a Frenchman who had tightroped across Niagara Falls, and even stopped in the middle to cook a meal? If the documentary evidence had not been overwhelming, Rajasinghe would never have believed such a story.
And there was something else that was relevant here—an incident that concerned Morgan himself. What could it possibly be? Morgan . . . Morgan . . . He had known virtually nothing about him until a week ago. . . .
Yes, that was it. There had been a brief controversy that had amused the news media for a day or so, and that must have been the first time he had ever heard Morgan’s name.
The Chief Engineer of the proposed Gibraltar Bridge had announced a startling innovation. Because all vehicles would be on automatic guidance, there was absolutely no point in having parapets or guardrails at the edge of the roadway. Eliminating them would save thousands of tons.
Of course, everyone thought that this was a perfectly horrible idea. What would happen, the public demanded, if some car’s guidance failed and the vehicle headed toward the edge?
The Chief Engineer had the answers. Unfortunately, he had rather too many.
If the guidance failed, the brakes would go on automatically, as everyone knew, and the vehicle would stop in less than a hundred meters. Only in the outermost lanes was there any possibility that a car could go over the edge, and that would require a total failure of guidance, sensors, and brakes, and might happen once in twenty years.
So far, so good. But then the Chief Engineer added a caveat. Perhaps he did not intend it for publication; possibly he was half joking. He went on to say that if such an accident did occur, the quicker the car went over the edge, without damaging his beautiful bridge, the happier he would be. . . .
Needless to say, the Bridge was eventually built with wire deflector cables along the outer lanes, and, as far as Rajasinghe knew, no one had yet taken a high dive into the Mediterranean. Morgan, however, appeared suicidally determined to sacrifice himself to gravity here on Yakkagala. Otherwise, it was hard to account for his actions.
Now what was he doing? He was on his knees at the side of the Elephant Throne, and was holding a small rectangular box, about the shape and size of an old-fashioned book. Rajasinghe could catch only glimpses of it, and the manner in which the engineer was using it made no sense at all. Possibly it was some kind of analysis device, though he did not see why Morgan should be interested in the composition of Yakkagala.
Was he planning to build something here? Not that it would be allowed, of course, and Rajasinghe could imagine no conceivable attractions for such a site; megalomaniac kings were fortunately now in short supply. In any event, he was quite certain, from the engineer’s reactions on the previous evening, that Morgan had never heard of Yakkagala before coming to Taprobane.
And then Rajasinghe, who had always prided himself on his self-control even in the most dramatic and unexpected situations, gave an involuntary cry of horror. Vannevar Morgan had stepped casually backward off the face of the cliff, out into empty space.
6
The Artist
“Bring the Persian to me,” said Kalidasa, as soon as he had recovered his breath. The climb from the frescoes back to the Elephant Throne was not difficult, and it was perfectly safe now that the stairway down the sheer rock face had been enclosed by walls. But it was tiring; for how many more years, Kalidasa wondered, would he be able to make this journey unaided? Though slaves could carry him, that did not befit the dignity of a king. And it was intolerable that any eyes but his should look upon the hundred goddesses and their hundred equally beautiful attendants, who formed the retinue of his celestial