Edgar Pangborn: A Mirror for Observers

“About two thousand, Namir.”

“In all the — er — four Cities?”

“Yes.”

“H’m. Bigger, of course, than our few dozen of the enlightened. But that’s deceptive, since you are all dreamers.”

“Men vanish, and you repopulate from a few dozen?”

“I don’t suppose they’ll vanish completely. Too damn many of ’em.”

“You have plans for the survivors?”

“Well, I don’t feel free to give you blueprints, old man.”

“The law of 27,140—”

“Is a routine expression of Salvayan piety. You couldn’t use it against us. After all, we have a weapon. Suppose men, with a little help, were to locate the — remaining cities?”

“You couldn’t betray your own kind!” Namir did not answer…. “You consider the Abdicators peculiarly enlightened?”

“Through suffering, boredom, observation, disappointment, realistic contact — yes. What could be more educational than loss and loneliness and hope deferred? Why, ask even Angelo Pontevecchio at twelve. He adored his dead father, there’s no one he can talk with, childhood keeps him in a cage with life outside — result, he begins to be quite educated. Of course he’s a directionless kitten still, a kitten in a jungle of wolves. And the wolves will give his education another lift.”

“Love, if you’ll excuse the expression, is more educational.”

“Now I could never make that mistake. I’ve watched human beings fool around with love. Love of self mostly, but also love of place, work, ideas; love of friends, of male and female, parent and child. I can’t think of any human illusions more comic than those of love.”

“May I know more about what you do, outside?”

Namir looked away. “Still an Observer, in my fashion.”

“How can you observe through a sickness of hatred?”

“I observe sharply, Drozma.”

“You confuse sharpness with accuracy. As if a microscopist forgot to allow for relative size and saw an amoeba as big as an elephant…. As I remember, after your resignation you were first seen by us in 30,896, in the Philippines.”

“Was I?” Namir chuckled. “Didn’t know that. You get around.”

“They say you made a convincing Spaniard. In Manila, a day or so after the official murder of José Rizal. You had some part in that?”

“Modesty forbids — no, really, his human killers could have managed perfectly well without me. Rizal was an idealist. That made his slaughter almost automatic, a human reflex action.”

“Other idealists have — oh, I think eternity would be too short to argue with you. Not a single kind word for humanity then?” Namir smiled. “Not even for Angelo Pontevecchio?”

“You’re truly concerned over that child? Ridiculous! As I said, he’s a kitten now, but I’ll make a tiger of him. You’ll hear the lambs bleat with blood in the throat even up here among your pretty dreams.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Would you dare to bet on it?”

The Director reached for a primitive telephone. “If you like. It won’t affect the outcome. Nor would any Observer I send, maybe. However…” He spun the crank. “Regardless of whom I send, Namir, your real antagonist is not the Observer, not I, but Angelo himself.”

“Of course. Telephones! Getting modern as next week.”

Drozma said pedantically: “It happens we invented the telephone in 30,834. Naturally when Bell reinvented the wretched thing independently in ’876 he made some improvements. We’re not gadget-minded. And his successors — oh dear! Fortunately we don’t need all those refinements. Anyway we had to wait till men brought their lines north of Winnipeg before it was convenient to talk City-to-City. Now I suppose you might call us — ah — unofficial subscribers. We have a full-time Communicator in Toronto, sorry I’m not free to give you his name. Hello…? Hello…?” Namir chortled. Drozma said plaintively: “I suppose the operator is in contemplation. Does it matter? I can always call again. You know, Namir, I had this — ah — gimmick installed simply because I can’t easily walk around any more. I don’t actually like the things. I — oh, hello…? Why, thank you, my dear, and on you the peace of the laws. When you have time, will you send word that I want to see Elmis?… Yes, the historian. He’s probably in the Library, or else the Music Room, if this is his practice time — I can’t remember. Thank you, dear.” He put away the receiver with a twiddle of pudgy fingers. “A gimmick.”

“Can’t wait till you grow up to radio.”

“Radio? We’ve had excellent receiving sets ever since human beings invented it. Obviously we mustn’t broadcast, but we hear it. Have you forgotten your history? Radio was known on Salvay, one of the little techniques our ancestors abandoned — from lack of important need, I suppose — during the first miserable centuries in this wilderness. Don’t you ever think of ancient times, Namir? The shock, loneliness, no hope of return even if Salvay had not been a dying planet — except to the Amurai, I suppose. They could wall themselves in, accept the underground life that we rejected. And then we had to accept it here after all! Think of the ordeal of adaptation too. History says it was two hundred years before the first successful births, and even then the mothers usually died. What an age of trial!”

“History is a dead language.”

“Can’t agree. Well, our mathematicians study the human broadcasts. Over my head, the mathematics, but I’m sure radio’s immensely useful.”

“Immensely emetic. While we wait for your big-time operator, would you care for a word of advice?”

“Certainly. Television too — damn it, I love television. You were about to say?”

“On my way here, I passed six settlements in northern Manitoba and Keewatin District, all new since the last time I was near there, in 30,920. The icecap goes faster all the time. You’re losing the Arctic shield. No concern of mine but I thought I’d mention it.”

“Thanks. Our Observers watch it. The waterlock will be finished before we need to close the land entrance. And did you know that the human plastics industry is almost ready with greenhouse dwellings, size limited only by convenience? In a few decades there’ll be garden villages all through the Arctic, independent of climate, and in a century the population of Canada will probably match that of the States — if they’re still technically separate countries by that time. Personally I’m pleased about it. Come in, Elmis.”

Elmis was long-legged, slim, powerful, his complexion close to that colorful pallor human beings call white. From his agony of surgery long ago, his face and hands were properly human. The brown-haired scalp and artificial fifth fingers had been almost-normal parts of him for over two hundred years. If he had to show himself barefoot, the four-toed feet would pass for a human anomaly. Drozma explained: “I’m sorry to call you from the work you prefer, Elmis. I know you’d hoped never to go out as an Observer again. But you’re much better qualified than anyone else available, so I can’t help myself. This is Namir the Abdicator.”

Elmis’ manlike voice said in English: “I think I remember you.” Namir nodded inattentively. “You’ve returned to us?”

“What an idea! No, just passing by, and I must be on my way. A pleasure. By the way, Drozma — care to put up some little consideration to make that bet interesting? Say, a human soul?”

“Why, assuming anyone could dispose of a human soul—”

“Sorry. For a minute there I thought you wanted to play God.” He squirmed into his arctic gear. “So long, children. Keep your noses clean.”

“?” said Elmis, and entered contemplation, head on his knees.