The Sentinel - Arthur C. Clarke [76]
“Well, I had some training on them, but they were already on the way out before I graduated. I was lucky: some older men had to go back to school and start all over again—or else abandon space completely if they couldn’t convert to the new ships.”
“It made as much difference as that?”
“Oh yes—when the rocket went, it was as big as the change from sail to steam. That’s an analogy you’ll often hear, by the way. There was a glamour about the old rockets, just as there was about the old windjammers, which these modern ships haven’t got. When the Centaurus takes off, she goes up as quietly as a balloon—and as slowly, if she wants to. But a rocket blast-off shook the ground for miles, and you’d be deaf for days if you were too near the launching apron. Still, you’ll know all that from the old news recordings.”
The prince smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve often run through them at the Palace. I think I’ve watched every incident in all the pioneering expeditions. I was sorry to see the end of the rockets, too. But we could never have had a spaceport here on Salisbury Plain—the vibration would have shaken down Stonehenge!”
“Stonehenge?” queried Saunders as he held open a hatch and let the prince through into Hold Number 3.
“Ancient monument—one of the most famous stone circles in the world. It’s really impressive, and about three thousand years old. See it if you can—it’s only ten miles from here.”
Captain Saunders had some difficulty in suppressing a smile. What an odd country this was: where else, he wondered, would you find contrasts like this? It made him feel very young and raw when he remembered that back home Billy the Kid was ancient history, and there was hardly anything in the whole of Texas as much as five hundred years old. For the first time he began to realize what tradition meant: it gave Prince Henry something that he could never possess. Poise—self-confidence, yes, that was it. And a pride that was somehow free from arrogance because it took itself so much for granted that it never had to be asserted.
It was surprising how many questions Prince Henry managed to ask in the thirty minutes that had been allotted for his tour of the freighter. They were not the routine questions that people asked out of politeness, quite uninterested in the answers. H.R.H. Prince Henry knew a lot about spaceships, and Captain Saunders felt completely exhausted when he handed his distinguished guest back to the reception committee, which had been waiting outside the Centaurus with well-simulated patience.
“Thank you very much, Captain,” said the prince as they shook hands in the air lock. “I’ve not enjoyed myself so much for ages. I hope you have a pleasant stay in England, and a successful voyage.” Then his retinue whisked him away, and the port officials, frustrated until now, came aboard to check the ship’s papers.
“Well,” said Mitchell when it was all over, “what did you think of our Prince of Wales?”
“He surprised me,” answered Saunders frankly. “I’d never have guessed he was a prince. I always thought they were rather dumb. But heck, he knew the principles of the Field Drive! Has he ever been up in space?”
“Once, I think. Just a hop above the atmosphere in a Space Force ship. It didn’t even reach orbit before it came back again—but the Prime Minister nearly had a fit. There were questions in the House and editorials in the Times. Everyone decided that the heir to the throne was too valuable to risk in these newfangled inventions. So, though he has the rank of commodore in the Royal Space Force, he’s never even been to the moon.”
“The poor guy,” said Captain Saunders.
He had three days to burn, since it was not the captain’s job to supervise the loading of the ship or the preflight maintenance. Saunders knew skippers who hung around