The Last Theorem - Arthur Charles Clarke [154]
Gamini glanced at his father, who nodded soberly. “It was Brussels,” the president said. “Because of American pressure, the World Bank has ordered the Egyptians to refuse the gold offer, and it was Colonel Bledsoe who applied the pressure.”
Gamini Bandara spoke up. “That whole thing is my fault,” he said. “Bledsoe looked like the man I could use to get you the clearance you needed to join us at Pax per Fidem. That whole clearance thing was the American government’s doing, of course: They didn’t want anybody involved with Silent Thunder who didn’t have maximum security clearance, and Bledsoe looked like somebody who could get it for you.” He shook his head gloomily. “Bad decision. I should’ve gone a different way. He’s been trouble ever since.”
His father said, “There’s no point talking about blame. The thing is, what can be done? Egypt really needs money.”
Myra was frowning. “Why do they have to listen to the World Bank? Why not just accept the space people’s offer?”
“Ah, my dear Myra,” the president said ruefully, “if only they could. The bank would have to retaliate—canceling funds it has the power to cancel, withholding grants it can withhold, and just slowing down everything else.” He shook his head. “Sadly, the Americans are not wrong about the effects of such an infusion of new capital; it would cause terrible problems in the international markets. It would bankrupt us here.”
He looked down. Seated cross-legged on the floor next to him, Natasha Subramanian was giving signs of distress. “Did you want to say something, my dear?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” she confessed. “I mean, why is Egypt poor? I thought the high dam at Aswân made them rich.”
The president smiled, sadly. “A good many people thought that. Aswân can produce a great deal of electric power, but it can’t do two things at once. When it’s maxing the power production, it is cutting power from agriculture, and they need food even more.” He shook his head. “The money could do wonders for Egypt. Build hundreds of new power plants, for instance.”
“Why can’t they do that anyway?” Natasha asked.
The president gave her a tolerant look. “They’d love to,” he said. “They can’t. They don’t have the money. They haven’t had it for a long time. So the only way they’ve been able to build new plants is what they call the BOOT scheme—build, own, operate, transfer. Private industry pays for building the plants, and it owns them, collecting all the profits, for a period of years before transferring them to the state. But by then they’re pretty elderly plants and maybe not quite as safe as they should be.” He shook his head again. “All this,” he added, “is what my old friend Hameed told me in confidence. It would be unpleasant for him if the Americans found out he told me about it.”
Natasha sighed. “So, what can we do, then?”
She got an answer from an unexpected source. Robert looked up from his work screen. “’Olden ’Ule,” he said reprovingly.
Nigel De Saram gave him an affectionate look. “You could be right about that, Robert,” he said.
Gamini Bandara frowned. “What’s he right about?”
“Why, the Golden Rule. You know, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ That’s the simplest description of a benevolent world I know, and if everybody did it—us, the Americans, the space aliens, everyone—I’m sure a good many problems would simply vanish.”
Gamini looked doubtfully at his father’s old friend. “No disrespect, sir, but do you really think these One Point Fives are going to be moved by an ancient saying from some primitive people’s supersti—some people’s religion, I mean?”
“Oh, but I do,” the lawyer said firmly. “That Golden Rule is not just a religious notion. Others have said the same thing in other words, without invoking supernatural authority. There was Immanuel Kant, the pure reason man, for example. What he said was—” De Saram closed his eyes for a moment, then repeated the well-learned sentences: “‘Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal