As they shook hands, Duncan said: “I enjoyed your presentation very much.

It’s always stimulating to meet a real enthusiast.”

His words were not idle flattery. While he had been listening to that talk,

Duncan had recognized something that he had not met before on Earth.

Commander Innes was slightly larger than life, and seemed to be inclined at a small angle to his fellow Teffans. A world which had put a premium on tolerance and security and safe, well-organized excitements like those provided by Enigma had no place for zealots. Though enthusiasm was not actually illegal, it was in somewhat bad taste; one should not take one’s hobbies and recreations too seriously. Commander Innes, Duncan suspected, lived and dreamed Titanic. In an ealier age, he might have been a missionary, spreading the doctrines of

Mohammed or Jesus with fire and sword. Today he. was 178 a barmless and indeed refreshing anomaly, and perhaps just a trifle mad.

For the next hour, they explored the bowels of the ship-and Duncan was thankful for his protective clothing. There was still mud and oil sloshing around on G deck, and several times be banged his head against unexpected ladders and ventilating ducts. But the effort and discomfort were well worth it, for only in this manner could he really appreciate all the skill and genius that had gone into this floating city. Most moving of all was to touch the inward-curling petals of steel far below the starboard bow, and to imagine the icy waters that had poured through them on that tragic night.

The boilers were shapeless, crumpled masses, but the engines themselves were in surprisingly good condition. Duncan looked with awe at the giant connecting rods and crankshafts, the huge reduction gears. (But why on earth did the designers use piston engines and turbines?) Then his admiration was abruptly tempered when Commander Innes gave him some statistics: this mountain of metal developed a ludicrous forty thousand kilowatts! He remembered the figure that Chief Engineer Mackenzie had given for Sirius’ main drive; a trillion kilowatts. Mankind had indeed gone a long way, in every sense of the phrase, during the last three centuries.

He was exhausted when he had climbed back up the alphabet from G to A deck (one day, Commander Innes promised, the elevators would be running again) and was more than thankful when they settled down for lunch in the First

Class Smoking Room.

Then he looked at the Menu, and blinked:

RMS. “TITANIC”

April 14, 1912

LUNCHEON

Consomme Fermier Cockie Leekie Fillets of Brill Egg A I’Argenteuil

Chicken A la Maryland Corned Beef, Vegetables, Dumplings FROM THE GRILL Grilled Mutton Chops Mashed, Fried, and Baked Jacket Potatoes Custard Pudding Apple Meringue Pastry

BUFFET

Salmon Mayonnaise Potted Shrimps Norwegian Anchovies Soused Herrings Plain & Smoked Sardines Roast Beef Round of Spiced Beef Veal & Ham Pie Virginia & Cumberland Ham Bologna Sausage Brawn Galatine of Chicken Corned Ox Tongue Lettuce Beetroot Tomatoes

CHEESE

Cheshire, Stilton, Gorgonzola, Edam, Camembert, Roquefort, St. Ivel, Cheddar

Iced draught Munch Lager Beer 3d. & 6d. a Tankard

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” said Calindy. “We’ve done our best, within the limits of the synthesizers, but we don’t even know what half these items were. The secret of Cockie Leekie went down with the ship, and perhaps it’s just as well. But we do have a substitute for the Munich

Beer.”

Duncan would never have given this ordinary, unlabeled bottle a second thought had he not noticed the extreme care with which it was carried. He looked questioningly at his hostess.

“Vintage ‘05, according to the wine steward’s records-1905, that is. Tell me what you think of it.”

With one bottle to forty guests, there was just enough to get a good taste.

It was port, and to Duncan seemed just like any other port; but he was too polite to say so. He made vague mumblings of appreciation, saw

that Calindy was laughing at him, and added, “I’m afraid we don’t have much chance of studying wines on Titan.”

“Titan,” said Commander Innes thoughtfully. “How very appropriate.”

“But hardly a coincidence. You can thank Cal Miss Ellerman.”

“You’ve no seas on Titan, have you?”

“Only small temporary ones. Of liquid ammonia.”

“I couldn’t live on a world like that. I can’t bear to be away from the sea more than a few weeks. You must go to the Caribbean and dive on one of our reefs. If you’ve never seen a coral reef, you can’t imagine it.”

Duncan had no intention of following the Commander’s advice. He could understand the fascination of the sea, but it terrified him. Nothing, he was sure, would ever induce him to enter that alien universe of strange beasts, full of known dangers that were bad enough, and unknown ones that must be even worse. (As if one could possibly imagine anything worse than the maneating shark or the giant squid…. ) People like Commander

Innes must indeed be mad. They made life interesting, but there was no need to follow their example.

And at the moment, Duncan was too busy trying to follow Calindy-without much success. He could appreciate the fact that, having’ some fifty people to deal with, she could give him only two percent of her time; but when he tried to pin her down to a meeting under less hectic circumstances, she was curiously evasive. It was not that she was unfriendly, for she seemed genuinely pleased to see him. But something was worrying her-she was holding him at arm’s length. It was almost as if she had been warned that he was bringing deadly Titanian germs to Earth. All that he could extract from her before they parted was a vague promise that she would contact him “just as soon as the season is over”-whatever that might mean.

Enigma Associates had not disappointed him, but their vice-president had left him puzzled and saddened. Duncan worried at the problem

throughout the thirty-minute ride in the vacuum subway back to 181 Washington. (Thank God the van Hyatts were staying in New York-he would not appreciate their company in his present mood.)

He realized that there was nothing he could do; if, like some lovesick suitor, he persisted in bothering Calindy, it would merely make matters worse. Some problems could be solved only by time, if indeed they could be solved at all.

He had plenty to do. He would forget about Calindy…. With any luck, for as much as an hour at a time.

AKHENATON AND CLEOPATRA

Sir Mortimer Keynes sat in his armchair in Harley Street and looked with clinical interest at Duncan Makenzie, on the other side of the Atlantic.

“So you’re the latest of the famous Makenzies. And you want to make sure you’re not the last.”

This was a statement, not a question. Duncan made no attempt to answer, but continued to study the man who, in an almost literal sense, was his creator.

Mortimer Keynes was well into his eighties, and looked like a rather shaggy and decrepit lion. There was an air of authority about him-but also of resignation and detachment. After half a century as Earth’s leading genetic surgeon, he no longer expected life to provide him with any surprises; but he had not yet lost all interest in the human comedy.

“Tell me,” he continued, “why did you come yourself, all the way from

Titan? Why not just send the necessary bio type samples?”

“I have business here,” Duncan answered. “As well as an invitation to the

Centennial. It was too good an opportunity to miss.” “You could still

have sent the sample on ahead. 182 Now you’ll have to wait nine months-that is, if you want to take your son back with you.”

“This visit was arranged very unexpectedly, at short notice. Anyway, I can use the time. This is my only chance to see Earth; in another ten years, I won’t be able to face its gravity.”