Harry Harrison Short Stoies by Harry Harrison

think of it as sneaking behind Hengly’s back, but as doing something to help him set the matter right. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, sir,” Neel said firmly this time, straightening his back and letting his right hand rest reassuringly on the computer slung from his belt.
    “Excellent. Then it is now time to meet your assistant.” Abravanel touched a button on his desk.
    * * * * *
    It was an unexpected development and Neel waited with interest as the door opened. But he turned away abruptly, his eyes slitted and his face white with anger. Abravanel introduced them.
    “Neel Sidorak, this is—”
    “Costa. I know him. He was in my class for six months.” There wasn’t the slightest touch of friendliness in Neel’s voice now. Abravanel either ignored it or didn’t hear it. He went on as if the two cold, distant young men were the best of friends.
    “Classmates. Very good—then there is no need to make introductions. Though it might be best to make clear your separate areas of control. This is your project Neel, and Adao Costa will be your assistant, following your orders and doing whatever he can to help. You know he isn’t a graduate Societist, but he has done a lot of field work for us and can help you greatly in that. And, of course, he will be acting as an observer for the UN, and making his own reports in this connection.”
    Neel’s anger was hot and apparent. “So he’s a UN observer now. I wonder if he still holds his old job at the same time. I think it only fair, sir, that you know. He works for Interpol.”
    Abravanel’s ancient and weary eyes looked at both men, and he sighed. “Wait outside Costa,” he said, “Neel will be with you in a minute.”
    Costa left without a word and Abravanel waved Neel back to his chair. “Listen to me now,” he said, “and stop playing tunes on that infernal buzzer.” Neel snapped his hand away from the belt computer, as if it had suddenly grown hot. A hesitant finger reached out to clear the figures he had nervously been setting up, then thought better of it. Abravanel sucked life into his ancient pipe and squinted at the younger man.
    “Listen,” he said. “You have led a very sheltered life here at the university, and that is probably my fault. No, don’t look angry, I don’t mean about girls. In that matter undergraduates have been the same for centuries. I’m talking about people in groups, individuals, politics, and all the complicated mess that makes up human life. This has been your area of study and the program is carefully planned so you can study it secondhand. The important thing is to develop the abstract viewpoint, since any attempt to prejudge results can only mean disaster. And it has been proved many times that a man with a certain interest will make many unwitting errors to shape an observation or experiment in favor of his interest. No, we could have none of that here.
    “We are following the proper study of mankind and we must do that by keeping personally on the outside, to preserve our perspective. When you understand that, you understand many small things about the university. Why we give only resident student scholarships at a young age, and why the out-of-the-way location here in the Dolomites. You will also see the reason why the campus bookstore stocks all of the books published, but never has an adequate supply of newspapers. The agreed policy has been to see that you all mature with the long view. Then—hopefully—you will be immune to short-term political interests after you leave.
    “This policy has worked well in turning out men with the correct attitude towards their work. It has also turned out a fair number of self-centered, egocentric horrors.”
    * * * * *
    Neel flushed. “Do you mean that I—”
    “No, I don’t mean you. If I did, I would say so. Your worst fault—if you can call it a fault, since it is the very thing we have been trying to bring about—is that you have a very provincial attitude towards