Brenner.
“Dream of the directress,” smiled Rodriguez.
“No!” said Brenner.
“Or others,” said Rodriguez.
“No, no!” said Brenner.
But then Rodriguez had left.
Brenner clung for a time to the webbing, and then, for no reason he clearly understood, made his way back to the far side of the lounge, where he extinguished the lights and retracted the port shielding. Then he hovered there, at the port, looking out into the night of space, at the stars, alone. It was clear now that the sun of Abydos, which he recognized, in spite of the slightly different orientation of the ship, was larger. By morning it would be painful to look at it, and some of its worlds, perhaps even Abydos, might be visible, like small disks basking in its light. Brenner was angry, and muchly agitated by his disturbing conversation with his senior colleague, so unlike typical colleagues, sheltered children of the universities, unfamiliar with dark streets and the night. How had such a person as Rodriguez, who had done many things, come to the academic world, to his own field, anthropology? He had wanted to understand reality, it seemed, but not by means of categories and classifications, important though they might be, but by handling it himself, by digging into it, with his own hands, so to speak. Perhaps that was the main difference between Rodriguez and so many other colleagues, thought Brenner. Rodriguez was ignorant. He was naive. He did not truly understand the ways of academia. He was not yet content to substitute concepts for the concrete. He had not yet learned to replace reality with abstractions. As for the ship, Abydos would be no more than a convenience, a depot at which to draw fuel, at best a mere way station on routes to points of greater importance. Brenner looked at the distant star. On one of the worlds of that star, on Abydos, back in the forests, were the Pons, one of the few remaining totemic groups known to the civilized worlds. The field, of course, was no longer interested in totemic groups. It regarded them as unimportant. Rodriguez, on the other hand, had been curious about them.
Indeed, it seemed he thought there might be something of interest to be discovered in the forests. He had even spoken, somewhat cryptically, of learning something about the “beginning.” But there was nothing of importance on Abydos, not of serious importance. Brenner was sure of that. If there was anything of importance down there, it would not have been given to an over-the-hill, scarred, irascible, controversial, dissolute, politically suspect reprobate like Rodriguez, abetted by no more than himself, an inexperienced adjunct. Then, looking out upon the stars, and wondering about worlds, Brenner felt his agitations returning, and hastily slid shut the shielding for the port. In this fashion he did not have to look out upon stars which might shine upon worlds which he might have found objectionable, worlds of which he might have disapproved, deplorable worlds whose values might not be identical with his own. Interesting that the suns should shine with the same neutrality, the same equanimity, thought Brenner, on such diversities of worlds. And how difficult it was to tell, from far away, the differences amongst these worlds. The instruments of astronomy, it seemed, required refinement. How can one ascertain the distances, the rotations, and revolutions of meaningfulness, the patterns of values, the magnitudes of significance? But Brenner reminded himself, angrily, that he knew the good, the true, the beautiful, the meaningful, the correct. He had been taught them. Why then, Brenner asked himself, was there so much diversity amongst the worlds, even the civilized, or, better, the technologically advanced, worlds on such matters. Too, if his world were right in the ten thousand proprieties, and such, why was there so much misery, so much pain and unhappiness on it, not the misery and pain, the unhappiness, of basic negativities, such as inadequate shelter or food, or care, but the leaden miseries, the gray, dismal miseries, the seemingly hopeless miseries, the constraints, the inhibitions, the boredoms, the ennui, the pretences, the lies, the hypocrisies, the frustrating awarenesses, on the part of some, of dupery and manipulation, the special emptiness, and pain, that could remain, even in a warm, dry room, even after the receipt of certified nourishments? Could there be other nourishments, Brenner wondered, nourishments on which the heart, and the hope, and the cry for significance and meaning, might feed? Perhaps that is what is missing, he speculated. Then he