"Clarke, Arthur C. - Childhood's End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clarke Arthur C)

There had also been some passive resistance to the policy of the Overlords. Usually, Karellen had been able to deal with it by letting those concerned have their own way, until they had discovered that they were only hurting themselves by their refusal to co-operate. Only once had he taken any direct action against a recalcitrant government.
For more than a hundred years, the Republic of South Africa had been the centre of social strife. Men of good will on both sides had tried to build a bridge, but in vain-fears and prejudices were too deeply ingrained to permit any cooperation. Successive governments had differed only by the degree of their intolerance; the land was poisoned with hate and the aftermath of civil war.
When it became clear that no attempt would be made to end discrimination, K.arellen gave his warning. It merely named a date and time-no more. There was apprehension, but little fear or panic, for no-one believed that the Overlords would take any violent or destructive action which would involve innocent and guilty alike.
Nor did they. All that happened was that as the sun passed the meridian at Cape Town-it went out. There remained visible merely a pale, purple ghost, giving no heat or light. Somehow, out in space, the light of the sun had been polarized by two crossed fields so that no radiation could pass. The area affected was five hundred kilometres across, and perfectly circular.
The demonstration lasted thirty minutes. It was sufficient:
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the next day the Government of South Africa announced that full civil rights would be restored to the white minority.
Apart from such isolated incidents, the human race had accepted the Overlords as part of the natural order of things. In a surprisingly short time, the initial shock had worn off, and the world went about its business again. The greatest change a suddenly awakened Rip Van Winkle would have noticed was a hushed expectancy, a mental glancing-over-the-shoulder, as mankind waited for the Overlords to show themselves and to step down from their gleaming ships.
Five years later, it was still waiting. That, thought Stormgren, was the cause of all the trouble.


There was the usual circle of sightseers, cameras at the ready, as Stormgren's car drove on to the launching-field. The Secretary-General exchanged a few final words with his assistant, collected his brief-case, and walked through the ring of spectators.
Karellen never kept him waiting for long. There was a sudden "Oh!" from the crowd, and a silver bubble expanded with breathtaking speed in the sky above. A gust of air tore at Stormgren's clothes as the tiny ship came to rest fifty metres away, floating delicately a few centimetres above the ground, as if it feared contamination with Earth. As he walked slowly forward, Stormgren saw that familiar puckering of the seamless metallic hull, and in a moment the opening that had so baffled the world's best scientists appeared before him. He stepped through it into the ship's single, softly-lit room. The entrance sealed itself as if it had never been, shutting out all sound and sight.
It opened again five minutes later. There had been no sensation of movement, but Stormgren knew that he was now fifty kilometres above the Earth, deep in the heart of Karellen's ship. Be was in the world of the Overlords: all around him, they were going about their mysterious business. He had come nearer to them than had any other man: yet he knew no more of their physical nature than did any of the millions on the world below.
The little conference room at the end of the short connecting corridor was unfurnished apart from the single chair and the table beneath the vision screen. As was intended, it told
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absolutely nothing of the creatures who had built it. The vision screen was empty now, as it had always been. Sometimes in his dreams Stormgren had imagined that it had suddenly flashed into life, revealing the secret that tormented all the world. But the dream had never come true: behind that rectangle of darkness lay utter mystery. Yet there also lay power and wisdom, an immense and tolerant understanding of mankind-and, most unexpected of all, a humorous affection fbr the little creatures crawling on the planet beneath.
From the hidden grille came that calm, never-hurried voice that Stormgren knew so well though the world had heard it only once in history. Its depth and resonance gave the single clue that existed in Karellen's physical nature, fbr it left an overwhelming impression of sheer size. Karellen was large- perhaps much larger than a man. It was true that some scientists, after analyzing the record of his only speech, had suggested that the voice was that of a machine~ This was something that Stormgren could never believe.
"Yes, Rikki, I was listening to your little interview. What did you make of Mr. Wainwright?"
"He's an honest man, even if many of his supporters aren't. What are we going to do about him? The League itself isn't dangerous-but some of its extremists are openly advocating violence. I've been wondering if I should put a guard on my house. But I hope it isn't necessary."
Kardlien evaded the point in the annoying way he sometimes had.
"The details of the World Federation have been out for a month now. Has there been a substantial increase in the seven per cent who don't approve of me-or the twelve per cent who Don't Know?"
"Not yet. But that's of no importance: what does worry me is a general feeling, even among your supporters, that it's time this secrecy came to an end."
Karellen's sigh was technically perfect, yet somehow lacked conviction.
"That's your feeling too, isn't it?"
The question was so rhetorical that Stormgren did not bother to answer it.
"I wonder if you really appreciate," he continued earnestly, "how difficult this state of affairs makes my job?"
"It doesn't exactly help mine," replied Karellen with some
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spirit. "I wish people would stop thinking of me as a dictator, and remember I'm only a civil servant trying to administer a colonial policy in whose shaping I had no hand."
That, thought Stormgren, was quite an engaging description. He wondered just how much truth it held.
"Can't you at least give us some reason for your concealment? Because we don't understand it, it annoys us and gives rise to endless rumours."
Karellen gave that rich, deep laugh of his, just too resonant, to be altogether human.
"What am I supposed to be now? Does the robot theory still hold the field? I'd rather be a mass of electron tubes than a thing like a centipede-oh yes, I've seen that cartoon in yesterday's Chicago Times! I'm thinking of requesting the original."
Stormgren pursed his lips primly. There were times, he thought, when Karellen took his duties too lightly.
"This is serious," he said reprovingly.
"My dear Rikki," Karellen retorted, "it's only by not taking the human race seriously that I retain what fragments of my once considerable mental powers I still possess!"
Despite himself Stormgren smiled.
"That doesn't help me a great deal, does it? I have to go down there and convince my fellow men that although you won't show yourself, you've got nothing to hide. It's not an easy job. Curiosity is one of the most dominant of human characteristics. You can't defy it forever."
"Of all the problems that faced us when we came to Earth, this was the most difficult," admitted Karellen. "You have trusted our wisdom in other matters-surely you can trust us in this!"
"I trust you," said Stormgren, "but Wainwright doesn't, nor do his supporters. Can you really blame them if they put a bad interpretation on your unwillingness to show yourselves?"
There was silence for a moment. Then Stormgren heard that faint sound (was it a crackling?) that might have been caused by the Supervisor moving his body slightly.
"You know why Wainwright and his type fear me, don't you?" asked Karellen. His voice was sombre now, like a great organ rolling its notes from a high cathedral nave. "You will find men like him in all the world's religions. They know that we represent reason and science, and however confident they may
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be in their beliefS, they fear that we will overthrow their gods.
Not necessarily through any deliberate act, but in a subtler fashion. Science can destroy religion by ignoring it as well as by disproving its tenets. No-one ever demonstrated, so far as I am aware, the non-existence of Zeus or Thor-but they have few followers now. The Wainwrights fear, too, that we know the truth about the origins of their faiths. How long, they wonder, have we been observing humanity? Have we watched Mohammed begin the Hegira, or Moses giving the Jews their laws? Do we know all that is false in the stories they believe?"
"And do you?" whispered Stormgren, half to himselL
"That, Rikki, is the fear that torments them, even though they will never admit it openly. Believe me, it gives us no pleasure to destroy men's faiths, but all the world's religions cannot be right-and they know it. Sooner or later man has to learn the truth: but that time is not yet. As for our secrecy, which you are correct in saying aggravates our problems- that is a matter beyond our control. I regret the need for this concealment as much as you do, but the reasons are sufficient. However, I will try and get a statement from my-superiors- which may satisfy you and perhaps placate the Freedom League. Now, please, can we return to the agenda and start recording again?"