A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke Page A

link between the Old West and the New Space.
    “‘Perhaps we can best do this by divesting ourselves of all our modern scientific
     achievements, and imagining that we are back in the incredibly primitive world of
     1870. Picture a vast, open plain, stretching away into the distance until it merges
     into a far-offline of misty mountains. Across that plain is crawling, with agonising
     slowness, a line of clumsy wagons. Around them ride men on horseback, bearing guns—for
     this is Indian territory.
    “‘It will take those wagons longer to reach the mountains than a Star-class liner
     now requires to make the journey from Earth to Moon. The space of the prairie was
     just as great, therefore, to the men who challenged it as the space of the Solar System
     is to us This is one of the links we have with the Western; there are others, even
     more fundamental. To understand them, we must first consider the role of the Epic
     in literature….’”
    It seemed to be going well, thought the Commodore. An hour would be long enough; at
     the end of that time Professor J. would be through the introduction and well into
     the story. Then they could switch to something else—preferably at an exciting moment
     in the narrative, so that the audience would be anxious to get back to it.
    Yes, the second day beneath the dust had started smoothly, with everyone in good heart.
     But how many days were there still to go?
    The answer to that question depended upon two men who had taken an instant dislike
     to each other even though they were fifty thousand kilometres apart. As he listened
     to Dr. Lawson’s account of his discoveries, the Chief Engineer found himself torn
     in opposing directions. The astronomer had a most unfortunate method of approach,
     especially for a youngster who was addressing a very senior official more than twice
     his age. He talks to me, thought Lawrence—at first more amused than angry—as if I’m
     a retarded child, who has to have everything explained to him in words of one syllable.
    When Lawson had finished, the C.E.E. was silent for a few seconds, examining the photographs
     that had come over the Telefax while they were talking. The earlier one, taken before
     sunrise, was certainly suggestive—but it was not enough to prove the case, in his
     opinion. And the one taken after dawn showed nothing at all on the reproduction he
     had received; there might have been something on the original print, but he would
     hate to take the word of this unpleasant young man for it.
    “This is very interesting, Dr. Lawson,” he said at last. “It’s a great pity, though,
     that you didn’t continue your observations when you took the first photos. Then we
     might have had something more conclusive.”
    Tom bridled instantly at this criticism, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that
     it was well founded.
    “If you think that anyone else could have done better—” he snapped.
    “Oh, I’m not suggesting that,” said Lawrence, anxious to keep the peace. “But where
     do we go from here? The spot you indicate may be fairly small, but its position is
     uncertain by at least half a kilometre. There may be nothing visible on the surface,
     even in daylight. Is there any way we can pin-point it more accurately?”
    “There’s one very obvious method. Use this same technique at ground level. Go over
     the area with an infra-red scanner. That will locate any hot-spot, even if it’s only
     a fraction of a degree warmer than its surroundings.”
    “A good idea,” said Lawrence, “I’ll see what can be arranged, and will call you back
     if I need any further information. Thank you very much—Doctor.”
    He hung up quickly, and wiped his brow. Then he immediately put through another call
     to the satellite.
    “Lagrange II? Chief Engineer, Earthside, here. Give me the Director, please.
    “Professor Kotelnikov? This is Lawrence; I’m fine, thanks. I’ve been talking to your
     Dr. Lawson—no, he