nothing in the rules against this, Technician”—he dusted the finger with which he had touched the object against the side seam of his trouser leg—“but I don’t know that it’s advisable to allow the culture of the homewhen to affect one. The true Eternal adopts whatever culture he is surrounded by. I doubt, for instance, if I have eaten out of an energic utensil more than twice in five years.” He sighed. “And yet to allow food to touch matter has always seemed unclean. But I don’t give in. I don’t give in.”
His eyes returned to the wooden object, but now he held both hands behind his back, and said, “What is it? What is its purpose?”
“It’s a bookcase,” said Harlan. He had the impulse to ask Finge how he felt now that his hands rested firmly upon the small of his back. Would he not consider it cleaner to have his clothes and his own body constructed of pure and undefiled energy fields?
Finge’s eyebrows lifted. “A bookcase. Then those objects resting upon the shelves are books. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Authentic specimens?”
“Entirely, Computer. I picked them up in the 24th. The few I have here date from the 20th. If—if you intend to look at them, I wish you’d be careful. The pages have been restored and impregnated, but they’re not foil. They take careful handling.”
“I won’t touch them. I have no intention of touching them. Original 20th Century dust is on them, I imagine. Actual books!” He laughed. “Pages of cellulose, too? You implied that.”
Harlan nodded. “Cellulose modified by the impregnationtreatment for longer life. Yes.” He opened his mouth for a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. It was ridiculous to identify himself with these books, to feel a slur upon them to be a slur upon himself.
“I dare say,” said Finge, still on the subject, “that the whole content of those books could be placed on two meters of film and stored in a finger’s end. What do the books contain?”
Harlan said, “They are bound volumes of a news magazine of the 20th.”
“You read that?”
Harlan said proudly, “These are a few volumes of the complete collection I have. No library in Eternity can duplicate it.”
“Yes, your hobby. I remember now you once told me about your interest in the Primitive. I’m amazed your Educator ever allowed you to grow interested in such a thing. A complete waste of energy.”
Harlan’s lips thinned. The man, he decided, was deliberately trying to irritate him out of possession of calm reasoning faculties. If so, he must not be allowed to succeed.
Harlan said flatly, “I think you’ve come to see me about my report.”
“Yes, I have.” The Computer looked about, selected a chair, and sat down gingerly. “It is not complete, as I said over the communicator.”
“In what way, sir?” (Calm! Calm!)
Finge broke into a nervous twitch of a smile. “What happened that you didn’t mention, Harlan?”
“Nothing, sir.” And though he said it firmly, he stood there, hangdog.
“Come, Technician. You spent several periods of time in the society of the young lady. Or you did if you followed the spatio-temporal chart. You did follow it, I suppose?”
Harlan’s guilt riddled him to the point where he couldnot even rise to the bait of this open assault upon his professional competence.
He could only say, “I followed it.”
“And what happened? You include nothing of the private interludes with the woman.”
“Nothing of importance happened,” said Harlan, dry-lipped.
“That is ridiculous. At your time of life and with your experience, I don’t have to tell you that it is not for an Observer to judge what is important and what is not.”
Finge’s eyes were keenly upon Harlan. They were harder and more eager than quite befitted his soft line of questioning.
Harlan noted that well and was not fooled by Finge’s gentle voice, yet the habit of duty tugged at him. An Observer must
His eyes returned to the wooden object, but now he held both hands behind his back, and said, “What is it? What is its purpose?”
“It’s a bookcase,” said Harlan. He had the impulse to ask Finge how he felt now that his hands rested firmly upon the small of his back. Would he not consider it cleaner to have his clothes and his own body constructed of pure and undefiled energy fields?
Finge’s eyebrows lifted. “A bookcase. Then those objects resting upon the shelves are books. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Authentic specimens?”
“Entirely, Computer. I picked them up in the 24th. The few I have here date from the 20th. If—if you intend to look at them, I wish you’d be careful. The pages have been restored and impregnated, but they’re not foil. They take careful handling.”
“I won’t touch them. I have no intention of touching them. Original 20th Century dust is on them, I imagine. Actual books!” He laughed. “Pages of cellulose, too? You implied that.”
Harlan nodded. “Cellulose modified by the impregnationtreatment for longer life. Yes.” He opened his mouth for a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. It was ridiculous to identify himself with these books, to feel a slur upon them to be a slur upon himself.
“I dare say,” said Finge, still on the subject, “that the whole content of those books could be placed on two meters of film and stored in a finger’s end. What do the books contain?”
Harlan said, “They are bound volumes of a news magazine of the 20th.”
“You read that?”
Harlan said proudly, “These are a few volumes of the complete collection I have. No library in Eternity can duplicate it.”
“Yes, your hobby. I remember now you once told me about your interest in the Primitive. I’m amazed your Educator ever allowed you to grow interested in such a thing. A complete waste of energy.”
Harlan’s lips thinned. The man, he decided, was deliberately trying to irritate him out of possession of calm reasoning faculties. If so, he must not be allowed to succeed.
Harlan said flatly, “I think you’ve come to see me about my report.”
“Yes, I have.” The Computer looked about, selected a chair, and sat down gingerly. “It is not complete, as I said over the communicator.”
“In what way, sir?” (Calm! Calm!)
Finge broke into a nervous twitch of a smile. “What happened that you didn’t mention, Harlan?”
“Nothing, sir.” And though he said it firmly, he stood there, hangdog.
“Come, Technician. You spent several periods of time in the society of the young lady. Or you did if you followed the spatio-temporal chart. You did follow it, I suppose?”
Harlan’s guilt riddled him to the point where he couldnot even rise to the bait of this open assault upon his professional competence.
He could only say, “I followed it.”
“And what happened? You include nothing of the private interludes with the woman.”
“Nothing of importance happened,” said Harlan, dry-lipped.
“That is ridiculous. At your time of life and with your experience, I don’t have to tell you that it is not for an Observer to judge what is important and what is not.”
Finge’s eyes were keenly upon Harlan. They were harder and more eager than quite befitted his soft line of questioning.
Harlan noted that well and was not fooled by Finge’s gentle voice, yet the habit of duty tugged at him. An Observer must
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