The Foundations of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke [59]
Leaving her competent staff to break through that obstacle, she switched back to the mountain. And she was astonished to find how much, even in this short interval, conditions had worsened.
The sky had become darker; the microphones were picking up the faint, distant roar of the approaching gale. Duval had known such sudden changes of weather at sea, and more than once had taken advantage of them in her ocean racing. But this was unbelievably bad luck. She sympathized with Morgan, whose dreams and hopes might all be swept away by this unscheduled—this impossible—blast of air.
“Altitude two zero zero. Probe velocity one one five zero meters per second. Wire tension nine five percent nominal . . .”
So the tension was increasing—in more ways than one. The experiment could not be called off at this late stage; Morgan would simply have to go ahead, and hope for the best. Duval wished that she could speak to him, but knew better than to interrupt him during this crisis.
“Altitude one nine zero. Probe velocity one one zero zero. Wire tension one zero zero percent. First parachute deployment—NOW!”
So—the probe was committed; it was a captive of the Earth’s atmosphere. Now the little fuel that remained must be used to steer it into the catching net spread out on the mountainside. The cables supporting that net were already thrumming as the wind tore through them.
Abruptly, Morgan emerged from the control hut and stared up at the sky. Then he turned and looked directly at the camera.
“Whatever happens, Maxine,” he said slowly and carefully, “the test is already ninety-five percent successful. No—ninety-nine percent. We’ve made it for thirty-six thousand kilometers, and have fewer than two hundred to go.”
Duval made no reply. She knew that the words were not intended for her, but for the figure in the complicated wheelchair just outside the hut. The vehicle proclaimed the occupant; only a visitor to Earth would have need of such a device. The doctors could now cure virtually all muscular defects, but the physicists could not cure gravity.
How many powers and interests were now concentrated upon this mountaintop! The very forces of Nature, the Bank of Narodny Mars, the Autonomous North African Republic, Vannevar Morgan (no mean natural force himself)—and those gently implacable monks in their wind-swept aerie.
Duval whispered instructions to her patient Rem, and the camera tilted smoothly upward. There was the summit, crowned by the dazzling white walls of the temple. Here and there along its parapets she could catch glimpses of orange robes fluttering in the gale. As she had expected, the monks were watching.
She zoomed toward them, close enough to see individual faces. Though she had never met the Mahanayake Thero (a request for an interview had been politely refused), she was confident that she would be able to identify him. But there was no sign of the prelate. Perhaps he was in the sanctum sanctorum, focusing his formidable will upon some spiritual exercise.
Duval was not sure if Morgan’s chief antagonist indulged in anything so naïve as prayer. But if he had prayed for this miraculous storm, his request was about to be answered.
The Gods of the Mountain were awakening from their slumbers.
29
Final Approach
“With increasing technology goes increasing vulnerability. The more man conquers [sic] Nature the more liable he becomes to artificial catastrophes. . . . Recent history provides sufficient proof of this: for example, the sinking of Marina City (2127), the collapse of the Tycho B dome (2098), the escape of the Arabian iceberg from its towlines (2062), and the melting of the Thor reactor (2009). We can be sure that the list will have even more impressive additions in the future.
“Perhaps the most terrifying prospects are those that involve psychological, not just technological, factors. In the past, a mad bomber or sniper could kill only a handful of people; today, it would not be difficult for a deranged engineer to assassinate a city.
“The narrow escape of O’Neill Space Colony