A Meeting
with Medusa
by Arthur C. Clarke
***
“I’ve had a diverse career
as a writer, underwater explorer, space promotor and science popularizer,”
Arthur C. Clarke said. “Of all these, I want to be remembered most as a writer
– one who entertained readers, and, hopefully, stretched their imagination as
well.”
Typically, he didn’t
mention, “as a disabled person,” but in reading his 1971 Nebula Award-winning
novella, A Meeting with Medusa, the repercussions of his bout with polio in the previous decade, a disease
whose complications would progressively reduce his mobility, seem as plain as
the twinkle in his eye. Maybe it would be fairer to say, as plain as his love
affair with the wonders of the universe when he launches protagonist Howard
Falcon as the first human adventurer – more specifically, quasi-human – to
enter the atmosphere of Jupiter on a balloon-driven raft named for an ancient
god, and to make contact with the planet’s strange inhabitants.
Nearly the first quarter
concentrates on Falcon as captain of the gigantic dirigible Queen Elizabeth IV, “the first man in
history to navigate a ship three-tenths of a mile long. . . ” Readers of last Friday’s
post may giggle at Clarke’s continued use of the word “man” without reference
to the other half of the human race. There’s an odd sense of appropriateness in
knowing that Medusa was first
published in Playboy magazine.
Possibly the erotic magazine’s readers were intrigued by the bosomy gas cells giving
the Queen her buoyancy.
That promising opening
ends in the disastrous crash that to Falcon “seemed to last forever. It was not
violent – merely prolonged, and irresistible. It seemed that the whole universe
was falling about them.”
Clarke doesn’t immediately
reveal the full extent of the crash on Falcon, although in the next chapter he
teases us with a glimpse of the adventurer’s artificially-enhanced reflexes,
reflexes Clarke must have envied.
Then we’re off to “The
World of the Gods,” with Falcon in his hydrogen balloon-powered raft, Kon-Tiki, named both for an Inca god and
the raft on which 20th century explored Thor Heyerdahl crossed the
Pacific Ocean. From the point where Falcon can look around at “the crystalline
clarity of the hydrohelium atmosphere and the enormous curvature of the planet
(which made it) even harder to judge distances. . . (and where) everything he
saw must be multiplied by at least ten,” we’re on a voyage in wonderland.
But what are those strange
noises in the Jovian night, noises surely too deep to come from the small
creatures he has already encountered – bioluminescent microorganisms? Or the
echoes he hears on his horizontal radar, like “clouds stuffed with rocks”? He
has to remind himself that “nothing really
solid could possibly hover in this atmosphere.” But it isn’t a creature made, like
those on Earth, of solid substance that will challenge or toy with what it must
see as an alien invader, a creature whose appearance will trigger the first
ever use of humanity’s Prime directive when meeting sentient aliens: “Make no
attempt to approach, or even to community, until ‘they’ have had plenty of time
to study you. Exactly what was meant by ‘plenty of time’ . . . was left to the
discretion of the man on the spot.”
Except that once the
tentacles of the strange floating being Falcon calls a medusa are reaching toward
the Kon-Tiki, “plenty of time”
shrinks to nothing.
The website of The ArthurC. Clarke Foundation makes only the tiniest mention of Clarke’s 1962
diagnosis of polio and its limitation of his ability to pursue his passion for
underwater exploration, the passion that brought him to Sri Lanka in the late
1950’s. In 1988, he was further diagnosed with post-polio syndrome and almost
entirely confined to a wheelchair. From then until his death in 2008, his
explorations would be those of the mind only.
(Next Friday, Adventure
classics concludes a July of science fiction adventures)
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