Karellen made an imperceptible gesture with his hand. The great panorama faded from view, leaving only a shadowy blankness of indeterminable depth. The realities of his office and of his position crowded in upon the Supervisor once more.
“Rupert Boyce is a somewhat curious character,” Rashaverak answered.
“Professionally, he’s in charge of animal welfare over an important section of the main African reservation. He’s quite efficient, and interested in his work. Because he has to keep watch over several thousand square kilometres, he has one of the fifteen panoramic viewers we’ve so far issued on loan — with the usual safeguards, of course. It is, incidentally, the only one with full projection facilities. He was able to make a good case for these, so we let him have them.”
“What was his argument?”
“He wanted to appear to various wild animals so that they could get used to seeing him, and so wouldn’t attack when he was physically present. The theory has worked out quite well with animals that rely on sight rather than smell — though he’ll probably get killed eventually. And, of course, there was another reason why we let him have the apparatus.”
“It made him more co-operative?”
“Precisely. I originally contacted him because he has one of the world’s finest libraries of books on parapsychology and allied subjects. He politely but firmly refused to lend any of them, so there was nothing to do but to visit him. I’ve now read about half his library. It has been a considerable ordeal.”
“That I can well believe,” said Karellen dryly. “Have you discovered anything among all the rubbish?”
“Yes — eleven clear cases of partial breakthrough, and twenty-seven probables. The material is so selective, however, that one cannot use it for sampling purposes. And the evidence is hopelessly confused with mysticism — perhaps the prime aberration of the human mind.”
“And what is Boyce’s attitude to all this?”