He thrust away memories of what he had witnessed elsewhere around the planet, the deaths slow or swift, always anguished, that overtook obsolete communities and ways of hie, the ghost towns, empty campsites, forsaken graves. Instead, he searched about him for the secret of this folk’s endurance.
Those on the street were a mingled lot, every race of mankind, together in their faith, wish, and fear. A church, tallest of their buildings, lifted its steeple cloudward; the cross on top declared that life eternal was not of the flesh but of the soul. Children were the desire, the reward. When and where else had Wanderer last seen a small hand clutching mother’s, a round face turned his way to marvel? Calm gray heads bore the sense of having staved off dehumaniza-tion.
They recognized the newcomer; word had indeed gotten about. None crowded close. Their greetings to Davison were self-conscious, and Wanderer felt the looks, heard the buzz at his back. Not that the atmosphere was hostile. Doubtless only a minority begrudged him his privilege, as nearly meaningless as it was. Most seemed as if they looked forward to knowing him, and were simply too polite to introduce themselves at once. (Or else, since they were few and close-knit, it had been agreed they wouldn’t.) Adolescents instantly lost the sullenness that hung on them.
That last struck Wanderer first as peculiar, then as disturbing. He paid closer attention. The elderly were a bare handful. Drawn shades and neglected yards showed what houses stood vacant.
“Well, you begin by relaxing and enjoying yourself,” Davison advised. “Take the tours. Meet the jakos. They’re okay, we screen ‘em pretty carefully. How about dinner at my place tomorrow? My wife’s anxious to meet you too, the kids are starry-eyed, and we’ll invite two-three other couples that I think you’ll like.”
“You’re awfully kind.”
“Oh, I’ll benefit, and Martha, and—“ The hotel was ahead, a rambling structure whose antiquarian verandah looked over the bay and the sea beyond. Davison slowed his gait and lowered his voice. “Listen, we don’t just want to hear stories from you. We want to ask about… details, the kind that don’t get in the news or the databank, the kind we don’t notice ourselves when we go outside, because we don’t know what to watch for.”
The chill deepened in Wanderer. “You mean you wish I’d explain how life there feels to me—to a person who didn’t grow up in those ways?”
“Yes, that’s it, if you please. I realize I’m asking a lot, but, well—”
“I’ll try,” Wanderer said.
Unspoken: You’re giving serious thought to moving away, Charlie, to renouncing this whole existence and creed and purpose.
I knew the enclave is shrinking, that its children usually leave soon after they reach legal adulthood, that recruits have become vanishingly scarce. I knew it’s as doomed as the Shakers were in their day. But your middle-aged are also quitting, so quietly that the fact wasn’t in what I studied about you. I’d hoped for a mortal lifetime or two of peace, of belonging. Set that aside, Wanderer.
Guests were clustered on the porch. They pointed and jabbered. He stopped and turned to see. Barely visible through the haze, three giant shapes slipped past the mouth of the bay.
“Whales,” Davison told him. “They’re multiplying fine. We spot more every year.”
“I know,” said Wanderer. “Right whales, those. I remember when they were declared extinct.” I wept.
They were recreated in the laboratories, reintroduced to a nature that is completely managed. This is no wilderness other than in name. It’s a control reserve, a standard of comparison for Ecological Service to use. No true wilderness is left, anywhere on Earth, unless in the human heart, and there too the intellect knows how to govern.
I shouldn’t have come here. Now I’ll have stay a week or so, for courtesy’s sake, for the sake of this man and his kin; but I should have known better than to come.
I should be stronger than to let this hurt me so.
NOWHERE WAS Yukiko ever alone with the stars.
Solitude she could have, yes. The powers and, mostly, the people were gracious to Survivors. She often thought that graciousness had become the common and principal virtue of humanity. It led to an impersonal kindliness. Unhindered room was the sole good in which the world was impoverished. Nevertheless, when she expressed her longing, this atoll became hers. Minuscule though it be, that was an Aladdin’s gift.