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the pacifist
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I got to the "White Hart" late that evening, and when I arrived everyone was crowded into the corner under the dartboard. All except Drew, that is: he had not deserted his post, but was sitting behind the bar reading the collected T. S. Eliot. He broke off from "The Confidential Clerk" long enough to hand me a beer and to tell me what was going on. "Eric's brought in some kind of games machine—it's beaten everybody so far. Sam's trying his luck with it now." At that moment a roar of laughter announced that Sam had been no luckier than the rest, and I pushed my way through the crowd to see what was happening. On the table lay a flat metal box the size of a checker-board, and divided into squares in a similar way. At the corner of each square was a two-way switch and a little neon lamp: the whole affair was plugged into the light socket (thus plunging the dartboard into darkness) and Eric |
Arthur C. Clarke, past Chairman of the British Interplanetary Society and author of classics such as The Exploration of Space , The Sands of Mars, Reach For Tomorrow, Earthlight, and others, is to be in New York this Labor Day Weekend as Guest of Honor, at the 14th World Science Fiction Convention. Mr. Clarke returns to these pages with one of his inimitable "White Hart" stories, the truth about what happened when computer Karl von Clausewitz ran into the General who'd led a much too sheltered existence.
