The Foundations of Paradise - Arthur C. Clarke [82]
He dared not rely on the automatic-braking sequence as the vehicle finally crawled into the terminus. Fortunately, he had been well rehearsed and recognized all the visual signals, so that he was able to stop within a centimeter of the docking adapter. In frantic haste, the air locks were coupled together, and stores and equipment were hurled through the connecting tube.
And so was Professor Sessui, by the combined exertions of pilot, assistant engineer, and steward, when he tried to go back for his precious instruments. The air-lock doors were slammed shut just seconds before the engine compartment bulkhead finally gave way.
After that, the refugees could do nothing but wait in the bleak fifteen-meter-square chamber, with considerably fewer amenities than a well-furnished prison cell, and hope that the fire would burn itself out. Perhaps it was as well for the passengers’ peace of mind that only Chang and his engineer appreciated one vital statistic: the fully charged batteries contained the energy of a large chemical bomb, now ticking away on the outside of the Tower.
Ten minutes after their hasty arrival, the bomb went off, causing slight vibrations of the Tower, followed by the sound of ripping and tearing metal. Though the breaking-up noises were not impressive, they chilled the hearts of the listeners. Their only means of transport was being destroyed, leaving them stranded twenty-five thousand kilometers from safety.
There was another, more protracted, explosion—then silence. The refugees guessed that the vehicle had fallen off the face of the Tower. Numbed, they started to survey their resources; and slowly they began to realize that their miraculous escape might have been wholly in vain.
44
A Cave in the Sky
Deep inside the mountain, amid the display and communications equipment of the Earth Operations Center, Morgan and his engineering staff stood around the tenth-scale hologram of the Tower’s lowest section. It was perfect in every detail, even to the four thin ribbons of the guiding tapes extending along each face. They vanished into thin air just above the floor, and it was hard to appreciate that, even on this diminished scale, they should continue downward for another sixty kilometers—completely through the crust of the earth.
“Give us the cutaway,” said Morgan, “and lift the Basement up to eye level.”
The Tower lost its apparent solidity and became a luminous ghost—a long, thin-walled square box, empty except for the superconducting cables of the power supply. The lowest section—“Basement” was indeed a good name for it, even if it was at a hundred times the elevation of this mountain—had been sealed off to form a single square chamber, fifteen meters on a side.
“Access?” queried Morgan.
Two sections of the image started to glow more brightly. Clearly defined on the north and south faces, between the slots of the guidance tracks, were the outer doors of the duplicate air locks—as far apart as possible, according to the usual safety precautions for all space habitats.
“They went in through the south door, of course,” explained the Duty Officer. “We don’t know if it was damaged in the explosion.”
Well, there were three other entrances, thought Morgan, and it was the lower pair that interested him. This had been one of those afterthoughts, incorporated at a late stage in the design. Actually, the whole Basement was an afterthought. At one time it had been considered unnecessary to build a refuge there, in the section of the Tower that would eventually become part of Earth Terminal itself.
“Tilt the underside toward me,” Morgan ordered.
The Tower toppled, in a falling arc of light, and lay floating horizontally in mid-air,