“Of course,” said Brenner. He knew, of course, that even on the artificial worlds, or worlds of convention, or most of them, even on those worlds which pretended to the homogenized sameness of the dominant life form, for political reasons, despite all evidence to the contrary, other species, such as his and Rodriguez’, might not be accorded similar dignities. On some such worlds certain species, such as their own, were not permitted except in specified zones, and only at certain times or seasons, could not openly and freely obtain food or rest space in all hostels, required papers or licenses for debarkation, business, and travel, could not obtain citizenship, were not permitted to maintain a permanent residence, and such. Indeed, sometimes ambassadors of one species or another, in early contacts with newly discovered civilizations, a situation in which those of Brenner and Rodriguez’s species were seldom involved, found themselves incarcerated in zoological gardens, or being presented, as exotic fauna, or pets, by one potentate to another. And indeed more than one member of Brenner’s and Rodriguez’ own species, given by one alien life form to another, had served in similar capacities. Moreover, it was not unknown for them, on dark streets, in lonely areas, unwary in a bar, to be seized for diverse purposes, usually as simple as serving in some menial capacity in a passing vessel.
“Are these various writings of yours known?” asked Brenner.
“Some,” said Rodriguez.
“And others must be suspected,” suggested Brenner.
“Doubtless,” said Rodriguez.
“Is this why you have been sent to Abydos?” asked Brenner.
“To get me out of the way?” smiled Rodriguez. “Maybe. But I could have wrangled other assignments. They would have served, as well.”
“The work of yours which I have read, the Phratries of Chios, and such,” said Brenner, “was edited, was it not?” There had been certain roughnesses and gaps in it, not so much in the prose, where transitions had been supplied by a editor apparently concerned to conceal his work, but in the thought. It is hard for an editor to clip thoughts smoothly. The hole in the thought remains, suggested by a subtle cognitive incoherence, alerting the reader, perhaps intriguing him.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez. “That is why it is still on the cubes and such. But unedited versions are available elsewhere, not on the home world, unless they have found their way back there, but elsewhere, in separate books.”
“I have one objection to your work, what I have read of it,” said Brenner.
“What?” asked Rodriguez.
“It does not seem scientific,” said Brenner.
“You mean in not agreeing with the official science?” asked Rodriguez.
“No,” said Brenner. “Rather it does not seem value-free.”
“Like the official science?” asked Rodriguez, interested.
“No, obviously the “official science,” as you call it, has its own values, its own ends to subserve.”
“You recognize that?” asked Rodriguez.
“Yes,” said Brenner.
“Good,” said Rodriguez. His Bertinian leaf was now no more than a stub. He put it out, scraping it in a black sooty smear, on the webbing.
We are slovenly creatures, indeed, thought Brenner. This conjecture was further confirmed when Rodriguez crumbled the stub into a confetti of flakes and, with one hand, tossed them into the air, to be attended to by the filtering system.
“You think science should be value-free?” asked Rodriguez, intrigued. “That is interesting. How could anything we care about be value-free?”
“Oh, I accept the metavalues,” said Brenner, “the value of the enterprise itself, the values of honest inquiry, of testing, of subjection of one’s results to public scrutiny, such things. It is rather that value seems to enter directly into your work, into your reporting, so to speak.”
“It does!” said Rodriguez.
“Your approval and disapproval shows,” said Brenner.
“Should I have attempted to conceal them?” asked Rodriguez.
“At least,” said Brenner.
“A form of unspoken lie?” said Rodriguez.
“Better, of course, not to have values, feelings, and such,” said Brenner.
“But what of the love, joy and brotherhood of all life, and such,” asked Rodriguez, “the embracing of the cockroach, the admiration of the worm, the camaraderie of the viper, and such?”
“I am not speaking of the prescribed values recognized by all right-thinking moral agents,” said Brenner, “but those of science.”
“I think that my researches have been conducted carefully, and my results arrived at in an objective, verifiable manner,” said Rodriguez.
“I cannot fault you there,” admitted Brenner. Indeed, the work of Rodriguez, or at least his observations and compilations of data, were occasionally cited, by politically naive, or careless, colleagues, as a model of scrupulous exactitude.
“Indeed,” said Rodriguez, “most of it is quite low level, almost at