The Collected Stories of Arthur C. Clarke Read Online Free

lady editor for a magazine for young ladies, Heiress . It was published as a four-part serial (January to April 1951) as by Charles Willis. After half a century, I can’t remember why I used a pseudonym—perhaps I was afraid of losing my macho image.

    It was a large, brightly lit room with a magnificent view, of which no one was taking the slightest notice. Beyond the wide window, which ran the whole length of one wall, a snow-flecked mountain-side sloped down to a tiny Alpine village more than a mile below. Despite the distance, every detail was crystal clear. Beyond the village, the ground rose again, more and more steeply, to the great mountain that dominated the sky-line and trailed from its summit a perpetual plume of snow, a white streamer, drifting for ever with the wind.
    It was a wonderful panorama—and it was all an illusion. The Martins’ flat was in the middle of London, and outside the walls a November fog was curling sluggishly through the damp streets. But Mrs Martin had only to turn a switch and the concealed projectors would give her any view she wished, together with the sounds that went with it. Television, which had brought so many pictures into every home, had made this inevitable, and in these opening years of the twenty-first century most houses could have any scenery they pleased.
    Of course, it was rather expensive, but it was such a good way of letting the family get to know the world. Mrs Martin looked round anxiously. At the moment everything seemed a little too quiet for comfort. What she saw was reassuring. Eighteen-year-old Daphne was tuned in to Paris on the TV set, watching a fashion display.
    ‘Mother!’ she called out. ‘You must see this gorgeous scarlet cloak! I’d love one just like it.’
    Michael, who was fifteen, was doing his home-work—or pretending to—and the twelve-year-old twins were in the next room, being audibly thrilled by Grandma’s stories of the London Blitz.
    There was a gentle ‘burr’ from the telephone in the next room.
    ‘Let me answer it!’ shouted Claude.
    ‘No, me!’ yelled Claudia.
    There was a slight scuffle. Then Grandma’s voice could be heard speaking to the operator. ‘Yes, this is Mrs Martin’s flat. I’ll call her. Hilda! It’s a super-long-distance call for you!’
    Super-long-distance! It had never happened before, but everyone knew what it meant. Michael looked up from his work. Even Daphne turned her back on the parade of winter fashion.
    ‘My goodness,’ said Claude, ‘it’s Daddy!’
    ‘Someone told me,’ said Claudia in a hushed voice, ‘that it costs £10 a minute to put through a call from the Moon.’
    ‘I hope Daddy isn’t paying for it!’ gulped Claude.
    ‘Hush, children!’ said Mrs Martin, taking the receiver from Grandma. ‘Yes, Mrs Martin here.’ There was a pause. Then, so clear and close that it gave her almost a shock, her husband’s voice sounded in her ear. It was coming to her across a quarter of a million miles of space, yet it seemed as if he were standing beside her.
    ‘Hallo, Hilda, this is John! Listen carefully, dear—I’ve only got two minutes! I’ve some bad news for you. I can’t come back to Earth next week as we’d hoped. Yes, I know it’s very disappointing after all our plans, but we’ve had some trouble here at the observatory and I simply can’t get away now. But don’t be too upset—I’ve got another plan that’s almost as good. How would you like to come up to the Moon? ’
    ‘What?’ gasped his wife.
    It took nearly three seconds for her husband’s laugh to reach her—three seconds for the radio waves, even travelling at their fabulous speed, to make the journey from Earth to Moon.
    ‘Yes, I thought it would surprise you! But why not? Space-travel is as safe now as flying was in Grandma’s day. Anyway, there’s a freighter leaving the Arizona port in three days and returning to Earth a fortnight later. That will give you time to get ready, and we’ll have almost