by John Norman
“What of scientific and cultural contacts?” asked Brenner.
“The first was made, apparently, or the first we know of, given the records of Naxos, when they became available to us, more than two thousand years ago. And then, following the records of Eos, another was made something like a thousand years later.”
This was interesting, thought Brenner, as his own species was common on both Naxos and Eos.
“You are speaking in very general terms, of course,” said Brenner.
“Not really,” said Rodriguez. “If we adjust for the revolutionary period of Abydos herself, the time she takes to complete her orbit about her star, these two contacts occurred exactly one thousand revolutions, or years apart, in Abydian time, so to speak.”
“These were both contacts invited by the Pons?” asked Brenner.
“It seems so,” said Rodriguez.
“And now,” said Brenner, “it is a thousand Abydian years later?”
“Precisely,” said Rodriguez. “In about two Commonworld months.”
“You accept this as an unusual coincidence, of course,” said Brenner.
“Consider the probabilities,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not care to,” said Brenner.
“There is a cycle here,” said Rodriguez. “It is not necessary that there is a cycle here, of course, but I think there is one. I really do.”
“The Pons are primitive,” said Brenner. “They do not even have kings, or chieftains.”
“Many primitive peoples are sophisticated with respect to calendars,” said Rodriguez, “particularly peoples who depend on agriculture. It is only necessary to mark out the exact point of the rising of a given star on a given day. One can even use the mother star for this purpose, but it is better not to do so, because of its apparent dimension at the horizon. When the star, preferably not the mother star, rises in exactly the same place a second time a year, or a revolution, has occurred. One may mark this place with a portal, an altar, an obelisk. One may count the days between the risings, and divide the year into smaller or larger units, say, weeks and months, or whatever units will serve. Leftover units, say, days, or hours, may be intercalated. From the thousand-years cycle I think we may conjecture the Pons have a base-ten mathematics.”
“And a five-digited hand,” said Brenner.
“We know they have that,” said Rodriguez.
“They do not even have pottery,” said Brenner.
“If I am right,” said Rodriguez, “they can at least count to a thousand. That is not so complicated. It is a convenient multiple of ten digits. Ten digits times ten digits, two hands times two hands, so to speak, is one hundred digits, and then if one again multiplies this by the base, by two hands, or, better, by ten digits, one arrives at a thousand. This can also be done by addition, of course. The whole calculation might well, to a primitive mind, seem to have a certain naturalness, or mystic rightness, about it.”
“One thousand is a nice round number,” said Brenner.
“More so than two hundred and sixteen, or one thousand, seven hundred and twenty-eight, or two thousand, seven hundred and forty-four?” asked Rodriguez.
Brenner regarded him.
“You have a five-digited hand,” said Rodriguez, “not one with three digits, or six digits, or seven digits.”
“And I am a primitive mind?” inquired Brenner.
“Possibly,” said Rodriguez. “On the other hand, you are probably capable of making a distinction, at least intellectually, between a felt aptness, one particular to a given species, and a key to the universe.”
“One thousand is a nice, round number,” said Brenner.
“I agree,” said Rodriguez, “but I do not know if the captain would. He might prefer five hundred and twelve.” The captain, it might be mentioned, had four digits on the forward appendages. The six-digited rear appendages were not used for precision gripping. “The Pons, of course, would presumably side with us,”
“You are doing these calculations in your head?” asked Brenner.
“Of course,” said Rodriguez. “They are simple multiples.”
Brenner then began to understand why Rodriguez was so unpopular with many of his colleagues, why they scrutinized his works for the tiniest of errors, why they pounced like Chian zibits on sentences which did not seek to conceal their power, their significance, and passion, why they disdained his affection for the odd, the real, the ancient, and the beautiful, as though orchards and roses, and old clocks, might be less perfect than subway stations and plastic cups, why they were eager to disparage what they could not equal, why they were eager to denounce as execrable insights of which they were incapable. To be sure, Brenner was well aware that these casual calculations were little more than parlor tricks, such things, and many more of their sort, far more complex, being well within the reach of many idiot savants.
“They are indeed beautiful,” said Rodriguez, regarding the vast lamplit night, “the suns, and the worlds.”
Rodriguez had spoken of strong worlds and weak worlds. Brenner had attempted to twist this distinction into one of diversities of stratification, which was a perspective adequate in its way, but yet perhaps slightly awry. Certainly one might have explicitly stratified worlds which might not be aptly characterized as “strong”; they might be rigid, degenerate, fossilized, brittle, arrested, frozen into obsolescent social crystallizations, worlds dominated by perpetuated but failed aristocracies, worlds closed to the fresh blood of the more knowing, the higher and the more meaningful, those capable of the greatest pain, the most profound agonies, and the ecstasies of the most unspeakable joys. Once, Brenner recalled, long ago, in ancient times, on some worlds, the word ‘democracy’ had meant horizons, and the opening of a thousand doors; it had constituted not a denial of the aristocracy of nature, but had projected a path to its achievement. To be sure that would be a path which few, even of those capable of the ascent, would care to climb. The trail is narrow and steep, and dangerous. The mountains do not issue their call to all alike. There are some musics which can be heard only by the ear that is born to hear them. One might have spoken, as well, Brenner supposed, of natural worlds as opposed to artificial worlds, of reality worlds as opposed to convention worlds, or even of harmonious worlds, worlds which were harmonious wholes, worlds with social ecosystems, the parts fitting one to the other, in a whole grander than any part in itself. A democracy of opportunity is one thing, thought Brenner. A democracy of fictionalized sameness, of hypocritical pretense, was something different. One was an interesting, if precarious, possibly dangerous, social experiment, dangerous for many reasons, because of its likelihood to lead to instability, to conflict, to the subordination of the best interests of the whole to those of certain more determined, or better organized, or less scrupulous parts of the whole, to the eventual compromise with quality, to the undermining of difference and meaning, to the putative obliteration of distinctions, to the subtle control of a manipulated mass, regulated by secret Caesars, to the world of the hive. The other was a lie. But then, thought Brenner, perhaps it is better to be lied to than told the truth. Surely there was no particular reason to suppose that the truth must be in the best interest of a species. What would be the likelihood of such a coincidence? Perhaps the ideal was to proclaim one’s allegiance to truth while avoiding it at all costs. Surely Brenner’s species, on the whole, had tended to live from one lie to another. Brenner wondered what it might be for a society to live in terms of truth. He wondered if it would be possible. He wondered if somewhere societies might live in terms of truth. Perhaps on some of the “strong worlds,” he thought.
“Never old, always new,
Crowned with clouds,
Enrobed in blue,”
quoted Rodriguez.
Brenner completed the poem:
“I shall not seek another.
You are my world, my mother.”
“But rather we approach Abydos,” said Rodriguez.
“How is it that you
are here?” asked Brenner. It was one thing that Rodriguez might have wished to come to Abydos, for one reason or another. It was quite another that one such as he, presumably out of favor, would have been permitted to do so.
“The directress,” said Rodriguez, “wanted me out of the way, off the home world, of course, somewhere else, probably as a result of some pressure from some quarter.”
“Anywhere would have done?” asked Brenner. Brenner could imagine several quarters from which such a pressure might have emanated.
“Provided it was sufficiently obscure, and sufficiently far away,” said Rodriguez.
“But you wrangled Abydos?”
“Yes,” said Rodriguez, chuckling. “I wanted Abydos. I have always been curious about her.”
“It is surprising, from what I know of the directress,” said Brenner, “that you were permitted to come here, supposing she knew that that was what you wished to do.” The directress was a young woman, but vain and petty. She regarded herself as being of unusual importance, and, as if this importance required it, or merited it, enjoyed exploiting, and nursing, the crumb of power to which she had access, often using it to surprise and frustrate colleagues. Perhaps her sense of self-importance, and her consciousness of her own power, required its unexpected, arbitrary or capricious exercise, else it might have seemed that circumstances, criteria, and such, regulated its activity, and not her personal will. Too, she was the sort of woman who enjoyed censoring, censuring, obstructing, thwarting, and ruining, where possible, men such as Rodriguez. Perhaps she felt that the artificiality of her position, and the sensed political fragility of it, sustaining it, required such.
“She didn’t know it, of course,” said Rodriguez. “Indeed, I even let her think it was the least interesting and most distasteful of the possibilities at her disposal. This was touchy, of course, as she did not even realize the alternative of Abydos at the time, though she pretended to, after I had mentioned it.”
“She loathes your work,” said Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez. “On the other hand, as you might expect, she has never read it. But this is not unusual. Most form their opinions, and with great firmness, on the basis of the reports of others who, also, may not be acquainted with the original texts. Most opinion, even the most fanatic, is founded on hearsay. There is something to be said for this approach, as it saves time. To be sure, if she had’ read it, I do not doubt but what she would have loathed it, as she would understand that that is what, in her particular personality network, her particular power structure, would be expected of her. Very few individuals have the intelligence for private judgment, and of those who do, very few will dare to differ. With respect to the latter point, the matter has been made clear by numerous psychological experiments.”
“She did not know about the thousand-year cycle?” asked Brenner.
“No, did you?”
“No,” said Brenner.
“I did not care to mention it to her, as she might have found it of interest.”
“Nor to me, it seems,” said Brenner.
“You don’t have to disembark,” said Rodriguez.
“You did not trust me?” said Brenner.
“Why should I have trusted you?” asked Rodriguez. “I do not even know you.”
Brenner was forced to concede the point, which he did, in silence.
“It might be only a coincidence,” said Brenner.
“Of course,” said Rodriguez.
“So how did you obtain your grant?” asked Brenner.
“My exile credits?” said Rodriguez.
“If you like,” said Brenner.
“The clincher,” said Rodriguez, chuckling, “was when I let it drop that the Pons trace lineage through matrilineal descent.
That decided it.”
“But that is almost universal amongst totemic groups,” said Brenner.
“She does not know that,” said Rodriguez.
“I thought her background was in anthropology,” said Brenner.
“No,” said Rodriguez.
“But she is directress of the anthropology division of the consortium,” said Brenner.
“She is a political appointment,” said Rodriguez.
“But not one with her background in anthropology?”
“No,” said Rodriguez. “Indeed, she wanted to be the directress of the division of physics.”
“Her background is in physics,” said Brenner.
“No,” said Rodriguez. “But that division is thought to have greater prestige. Besides you do not have to know anything about anthropology to be directress in the anthropology division or anything about physics to be directress in the physics division. The posts are primarily administrative. If one wants some help, one can always ask a question or two, or take an opinion or two, and then make some decision or another. In these fields it doesn’t much matter, as all that is sacrificed is knowledge, which, in effect, was given up long ago. Besides, anyone can do anything. All are the same, and so on.”
“I see,” said Brenner. Sometimes Brenner did not care for Rodriguez’ mocking his politics. Surely Rodriguez had been exposed to the same conditioning programs as himself, conditioning programs which inculcated suitable values, opinions, and attitudes, reviewed and approved by appropriate authorities. Had Rodriguez grown up in a social vacuum, or was he one of those aberrant types who made up his own mind, who, in effect, dared to form his own opinions on matters? Did he put himself above the people, the community, the local interspecific consortium, the authorities, the metaparty, if it existed?
“Her background is in interspecific group relations,” said Rodriguez. “Her work was characterized by duplicativeness, triviality, unimaginativeness, and mediocrity. In addition, and of even greater importance, it was consistently and unquestioningly politically orthodox. It was natural then that she should have petitioned for, and been granted, a more lucrative post, one in administration.”
“I see,” said Brenner.
“To be sure,” he said, “even that would probably not have been enough. She owes her position to being the niece of an individual in the metaparty.”
“There is such a thing?” asked Brenner.
“Of course,” said Rodriguez.
“She is a member of it?”
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez. “Somehow I regard it as unlikely. I think she lacks the intelligence, the ultimate ruthlessness, for that.”
“I see,” said Brenner.
“She should be on her knees, scrubbing floors, in chains,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner looked at him, horrified.
“Stripped,” said Rodriguez.
“Rodriguez!” protested Brenner.
“Surely you found her curves of interest,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner gasped.
“Wouldn’t you like to have her at your feet, in a collar?” he asked.
“Stop!” said Brenner.
“There are worlds where that is where such as she would be,” said Rodriguez. “I have seen such worlds.”
“You’re joking,” said Brenner.
“No,” said Rodriguez.
Brenner regarded him, horror-stricken.
“Not every world is like the home world,” said Rodriguez.
“There are mediocrities in all fields, male and female,” said Brenner.
“True,” said Rodriguez, affably. “But she would still look well in a collar.”
“But what if she were not as she is, not merely attractive, if she is, not that I would notice such a thing, but was exquisitely beautiful, sensitive, even brilliant?”
“She would still belong in a collar,” said Rodriguez.
“A collar?” asked Brenner.
“An animal collar, a pet, or a slave collar, such things, in any case, owned.”
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“She is a woman,” explained Rodriguez.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“That is wha
t they need, what they want,” said Rodriguez.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“One must own, or be owned,” said Rodriguez. “In their hearts they know that it is they who are to be owned. Not owned, freed by men too weak to own them, it is natural that they lash out in frustration. Denied their identities, they attempt to usurp spurious identities, turning their lives into pretenses; too, in their frustration and pain, they will attempt to punish men, as they can, for their weakness, for denying them to themselves.”
“What of the previous expeditions, the scientific and cultural expeditions, to the Pons,” asked Brenner, “that from Naxos, that from Eos?” Brenner thought it well to change the subject.
“I suppose they were completed,” said Rodriguez. “But in interlink I could do little more than pull their departure dates.”
“Their reports were not filed, their studies?” asked Brenner.
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez. “Perhaps they were destroyed, or lost.”
“When did the expeditions return?” asked Brenner.
“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.
“Is it known that they returned?” asked Brenner.
“Why would they not have returned?” asked Rodriguez.
“I do not know,” said Brenner.
“Surely we may presume they returned safely,” said Rodriguez, puzzled.
“You have consulted records, of course?” said Brenner.
“Of course,” said Rodriguez.
“What did you learn?” asked Brenner.
“The records are silent on the matter,” said Rodriguez.
“They could have been lost,” said Brenner.
“That is possible,” said Rodriguez. “There are surely dangers in space, technological failure, miscalculation, meteor storms, mutiny on long voyages, war, piracy, any number of possibilities.” Indeed, we might note, there might have been any number of possibilities. It was not, you see, even in these modern times, the case that the rational species had conquered space. At best, they seemed to have won a certain, perhaps begrudged, toleration.
