Seven Steps to the Sun Read Free Page A

concerned, one can only go forward. I think to offer you a scientific explanation at this stage would perhaps be too confusing,' smiled the Professor.
    'If one packs humans into a rocket that travels at the ·peed of light, even enthusiastic science fiction readers might be a bit sceptical,' Mike objected.
    'Yes, I agree.' The Professor nodded briskly. 'I would say that one could use some source of light, perhaps a laser beam. Reduce the human structure into a form that can be transmitted as electrical pulses, shoot this information down our light beam, and at a convenient point reflect it back.'
    'Very good, but how far can you reduce the human form into electrical information and how would you convert it back again?' asked Mike, liking the idea.
    'I think you would have to use an explosive break-down of the human form, involving a highly organized source of energy. To reproduce the information you could use a hologram picture of the total information.
    So if we used you, before we could proceed we would need such a three-dimensional picture. When the information came back, it would be passed back through the hologram picture and there you'd be. Here, I've jotted down some notes for you.'
    'Thank you, Professor. It sounds most intriguing and certainly I'll be glad of the notes. Probably the best thing for me to do is to go away and write up a format and then let you read it,' said Mike, holding out his hand.
    T shall look forward to reading it,' said the Professor.
    'If this goes as a television project there's going to be money involved. How would you see your part in this?' asked Mike politely.
    'What do you suggest?' smiled the thin man.
    'Well, if we get paid for the format, how about a fifty-fifty split?'
    'I think that sounds very fair,' said the Professor.
    'Oh, by the way, do you think it is possible in the last moments before death, to see a certain amount of the future?’
    'It's a thought, but without having the experience I couldn't really say,' said the man with a jovial twinkle in his eyes.
    'Thanks,' said Mike jauntily walking away. The time idea was good. He started to hum as he left the building.
     

2
It's dogged as does it. It ain't thinking about it.'
Trollope
     
    Standing on the pavement, he wondered what to
do.
The urge to go back to the flat and write was strong, but he felt reluctant to leave the clear sunny morning. He knew he would have to wind himself up.
    He didn't know why, but he worked better under tension. When he finished whatever he was writing, he was like a wet cloth.
    Defiantly spinning on his heels a couple of times, he set off in the direction of Hyde Park. He aimed a light kick at a piece of paper laying conspicuously on edge of the pavement. It rose about a foot in the before being sucked away into the middle of the road by a passing car. That's life, thought Mike as he stopped to cross Kensington Gore to Alexandra Gate.
    The lunchtime traffic was dense. Cars, vans and lorries roared by giving no time to cross, unless one were an Olympic hundred-metre gold medallist. Mike held up his hand to the oncoming traffic and stepped out into the road. Cars manoeuvred to avoid him, and eventually he reached the island in the middle. He looked up at the traffic light standard, but the signals weren't visible. Mike shook his head at a motorist trying to inch into the road from Alexandra Gate. Typical British efficiency, he thought to himself as he made a dash for safety.
    The Metropolitan Police were exercising their beautifully groomed horses, completely unaware of the chaos building up outside the Albert Hall. Mike waited for the horses to trot by and crossed towards the Serpentine. Small boys knelt by the water playing at being admirals and ships' captains, while their coloured blocks of wood plied backwards and forwards over a few feet of water. The line of prams with their custodians in neat pressed uniforms reminded Mike of a picture of a royal gathering in Elizabeth the First's time,