And pacing furiously from one end of the royal chamber to the other he had gone on to elucidate further upon the state of his twin’s mind, while Toms stood at a window quietly gazing upon the rainbowed beauty of the city spread before him, framed by the jeweled waters of the Mediterranean.
“I realize that these revelations are soul-frightening, Fergus. But you cannot shunt facts into nothingness by words. I feel certain that with the matter brought before its attention the Congress of Science will turn its every effort toward mitigation and——”
“Quiet! Quickly, tell me, have you spoken to any one? Is there some one in your confidence to whom you have loosed your crazed ravings?” Halting before Toms, Fergus glowered at his diminutive twin.
For a moment Toms was disquieted. His ravings? Had he done wrong in coming to Fergus, who was so proud of his race? Was Fergus preparing to exercise his right to kingly judgeship upon his brother and his life work? But that could not be. He had to convince Fergus of the need of direct action. “Why no, Fergus,” he answered in his quiet tone. “All our life you have been my only confidant. As I wrote you, I wish yours to be the honor of——”
“Enough of that! I see it all now you—you miserable runt! Somehow you have learned the truth—that you are my elder by half an hour—that but for your ridiculous size you would be upon the throne in my stead! And thus would you revenge yourself! By these lies you would drive me insane, reestablish yourself in your own eyes by pretending that our race faces ever-increasing giantism—and eventual idiocy.
“Look out that window, at the fair city below. Could a people that have created that border upon imbecility? Could a people that created perfection out of chaos—breed your idiots?
“Think you of the thousand cities like this—from one end of the globe to the other, of clean, happy countryside unmarred by not one unsightly object.
Perfection—beauty——Factories, mills, mines out of sight, underground; manned by machines operated through remote control by men dwelling in surroundings such as these. Think of all the world, a parkland, its wilderness no more than part of a great, cultivated garden!
“Think you of our perfect administration, of the Congress of Science, idealistically practical, our twelve wise kings trained to their vocation from infancy. Think of a world without real boundaries, a world wherein all natural resources are controlled for the benefit of all. Think of our weather control, the tides leashed, volcanoes subjugated! Think of a world of one race, one soul, one aim. And you prate of the death of such a mighty race, of disease, insanity! Look at me, brother, and dare tell me my descendants shall be idiots, you—you dwarf—you—you freak!”
FERGUS V could well be proud of his race, his physique. It had taken many centuries to produce him and his kind. It had taken an almost complete infusion of the blood of earth’s races, excepting such savage and decadent peoples as the Congress had found as having nothing to contribute to the betterment of their fellow man. In a few short generations these undesirables had been weeded out through sterilization. Just as had all strains of the criminally minded, the insane, the diseased, the unfit been weeded out. The Congress had bred only for man’s best tendencies, the strongest, the healthiest—black to brown, brown to yellow, yellow to red and to white. And the result was this one-hundredth-century man, with handsome, regular features, sturdy body, long limbs, thoughtful mien, intelligence—and great height.
In the twentieth century it had been noted that men, on the whole, were growing taller, inch by inch. Sons were taller than fathers. The end of the century showed an average height of five feet ten and a half inches, against the five feet eight inches of the first decades. The twenty-first added three more inches; the twenty-second three and a half. A scientific regime, synthetic concentrates of bone-and body-building elements was considered the reason for this growth. And in the twenty-fourth century, when selective breeding had begun, this growth was to intensify. Unconsciously, at first, then with direct intention, tall were bred to tall. From mere inches man began to increase his height by feet! Twenty-six centuries later the average man stood nine feet, two inches. And the dawn of the one-hundredth century brought about the birth of the twelve-foot-tall men such as Fergus V of Mediterraneania. Man was no longer Earth’s puniest creature!
And Fergus was a perfect example of that race. Olive-skinned, wavy hair of raven-black, eyes so dark brown as to appear black, a fine upstanding, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped body, features that were classically matched, he was the product of that selective breeding, bearing the stamp of the universal coloration brought about by the intermingling of all the races of man. All over the world you would meet the same, with few exceptions, an occasional “blond” with brown hair and even rarer, red, with eyes of hazel and less often, gray. Too, there were the midgets, throwbacks of their smaller-statured ancestors that made an unwelcome appearance from time to time. Yet, for all his perfection and beauty, the one-hundredth-century man had one flaw.
Queerly, the flaw had to do with the head, its comparative shortness in comparison to the height. Whereas, the old-time anthropological scale of human proportion gave man’s head as composing one eighth part of his total height, the present-day man’s head was but one tenth his body size!
Prince Toms, who was a perfect replica of his kingly brother, did not have this flaw; his head was in perfect one-eighth proportion. But there was a vast difference in his size. He stood but half as tall as Fergus—a mere six feet!
TOMS had listened to Fergus’ tirade quietly enough. It was that last, ugly word that made him wince. Even a scientist does not like the appellation of “freak”. Unconsciously, he stretched all of his body to its fullest, and in a scathing voice declared, “And I thought you above all that, Fergus. I thought you and I, regardless of our difference in size, were equals in soul. I thought that like your size, you were big enough to put self, race pride behind you. I thought you were big enough to recognize truth. But you twit me with my lesser stature, prattle of revenge, personal egos—perfection!
“What you do not realize is that, with its very aim for perfection, the Congress has created only stereotyped stagnation—and worse.
“As if size matters to a scientist, a delver into truths. As if being a freak could color my studies. No doubt, it would puzzle you to know I am actually happy in my diminutiveness, that sometimes it is a convenience. Think you it matters that I am not king, a puppet moving to the guiding strings of the Congress? Think you it matters that they sterilized me? No, in that I can be happier, knowing that my can’t-be-born offspring shall not inherit the diseased glands of our race!
“Fergus, believe me. Every word I have spoken, every word of my monograph is true. My researches, my laboratory experiments prove over and over that the race moves toward gross giantism and imbecility! It is already evident! The shortness of your head! I have developed rats to a length of seventy-two inches, with heads that have grown no more than those that are twenty-four inches long. Does that mean nothing to you? Does it mean anything to tell you our race continues to grow—beyond adolescence—that some of our oldsters are eight—ten inches taller than they were at twenty-five years of age?
“Ah, if it but would! For this disease, Fergus, is not new! It has always been with us in abbreviated form. All creatures, apparently, carry its seed in their genes. At one time in history it appeared that all species of animals would never cease growing. Some species became extinct; others saved themselves. We shudder at the immensity of the dinosauria of the Mesozoic Period, eighty-foot monsters with minute brains. Can you picture that time when man reaches such heights?
“In our own day we have seen the disappearances of whole species. That behemoth of the oceans, the whale, which is no more to-day. Poor things, they grew too large for their own good. They killed themselves by growing bigger and bigger until, too huge, they could not defend themselves against smaller, swifter foe. Diseased, they transmitted the disease to their young in blind mate instinct for bigger, stron
ger mates!
“Over and over animals have become extinguished by this dread disease; others saved themselves ere it was too late. Such an example we have in the elephant and the mastodon. One is extant to-day because it remained normal, like size bred to like size; the other was gone before the dawn of history, because it bred too large for its own good. Once, it appeared that the horse, originally an eleven-inch creature should grow itself into extinction, but a balance was struck and it remains, smaller and smarter to-day than even its twentieth-century forbears! For there is a balance that must be preserved if the species is to survive.
“It is well established that our own ancestors were three to four feet high. In the early centuries midgets of that size were common, and there were even entire races of midgets or pygmies existing until the twenty-fourth century. But because each species seems to carry a seed of the disease of giantism in its linking chromosomes, man has been able to increase his size artificially. All our history mentions the giant. There were the Titans of the Myths, the Cyclops of the Greeks, but they are not to be compared to those that come!
“Science knows not that it wields a two-edge sword by overfeeding the growth glands. An overfed man can develop fatty degeneration of the heart; overfed growth glands[2], can also develop degeneration! And our race, of consequence, must die because its saviors, its throwbacks to normalcy, are sterilized!”
FERGUS sought to stem the flow of his twin’s discourse. But Toms knew his rights. “You who have become my judge shall hear the full merit of my plea for civilization, for you are not only judging me, but your veto upon my researches shall also be the death knell of your own proud race! Hear me through.” His gentleness was gone.
“We shall now consider, rationally,” he continued, “what happens when a species of animal changes its own size scale. Back in what we like to term the dark ages of politic conflict, two scientists, Cuvier and Dubois, through elaborate algebraic calculations, established the fact that the specific brain weight of a species must not fall below a certain proportion in relation to the weight of the body, if normal intelligence is to be maintained. For instance, among monkeys, the smallest individual may not be smaller than the ouistiti, that has a brain one twenty-fourth its total body weight of ten and a half ounces. To reduce this mammal a third of its size, it was found that to retain the same amount of intelligence it previously possessed, the creature would require a brain one sixteenth its body weight. By the same calculations man, to retain his normal intelligence, cannot weigh less than thirty-three and a half pounds. Less than that and he loses some of his thinking powers.
“Now, to reverse this order. Using the Cuvier-Dubois method of calculations for my working basis, I set out to determine the opposite result: how huge can a man grow and retain normal intelligence? Referring again to the twentieth-century brain studies, I learned that the average brain of that time weighed from forty-eight to forty-nine ounces at full growth, although there are instances of brains weighing as high as sixty-four and a half ounces. Some of these larger brains were those of men of high intelligence—but just as many, if not more, of the large brains belonged to epileptics—and insane. Charts did show, however, that the larger the man, the larger the brain. And here I came across a point of great interest.
“The brain, as you know, continues to grow beyond adolescence, up to the time of middle age. After that there is a slight reduction, as of contraction. However, whereas the brains of both a five-foot and a six-foot-tall man grow accordingly, and the brain of the six-foot-tall man is larger than that of the smaller, actually, the brain of the five-foot-man grows larger in proportion to his size, than that of the larger man!
“And this brings us to the proportion of the brain to the weight. The average Englishman of the twentieth century stood five feet, eight inches and weighed one hundred forty-four pounds. With an average brain of forty-eight ounces—three pounds—it is found that his brain weighed just one forty-eighth his total body weight. Consider a man weighing three hundred pounds, a brain sixty-four ounces, and we have a proportion of but one seventy-fifth the total weight. Therefore, we can judge that to retain normal intelligence a man’s brain size can range from one forty-eighth to one seventy-fifth of his body weight.
“It is natural to infer from that that as man grows in stature and weight, his brain grows with him, always keeping its proper proportion. Thus, should a man double his own height and weight he should, likewise, double the size of his brain. Our average man of to-day weighs five hundred and twenty pounds. If our supposition is correct, his brain-body proportion will be about one sixty-fifth, a proportion that remains, as you see, well within bounds.
“But alas, Fergus, nature has not followed this rule! I was present at the weighing of the brain of Menor, lately of the Congress of Science, who died three weeks ago. His brain weighed exactly eighty ounces—five pounds! And since Menor weighed five hundred seventy-five, we find that his brain-body proportion is one one hundred fifteenth! In his growth from six to twelve feet, man’s brain has grown but two pounds!
“How wrong were those who dreamed of the day when man’s brain should grow so large as to be too heavy for him to carry! Had they even guessed close to the truth they would have all but driven themselves mad. And the truth is even worse, Fergus, than I have already stated to you. Actually, man’s brain reached the peak of its growth fifty centuries ago! For when he stood but nine feet tall, man’s brain weighed eighty ounces. And at this weight the brain reached its full growth! No matter how great in size man continues to grow, his brain shall remain the same size!
“Do you grasp what that means? True, man’s intelligence does not depend wholly upon its size. Intelligence grows with the brain’s complexity of its convolutions as it folds in upon itself. But what must happen when that folding process ends? Can you tell me that, Fergus?
“Well, I shall tell you—for that has happened. I have examined brains through twenty centuries of man’s growth—and just as the brain has ceased to grow at eighty ounces, so had it, twenty centuries ago, ceased to form any more convolutions! Can you see now what has happened? Do you understand your perfections of this day, the meaning of your awful duplication? Man has lost his initiative! No new idea—excepting this one—has been born for twenty centuries.
“Tell me, Fergus, that I have not come too late. That you—and the Congress are still capable of acting and of doing——”
“No! No! I can listen to no more. I dare not believe this madness of yours.”
AS IF he had not heard, Toms went on, “Have I told you of those six-foot rats of mine, with heads one fiftieth their body size? Poor things. With no brain to speak of, they lost all sense of proportion. They could not remember where their nests were, what were the proper foods to eat. They became wholly feeble-minded, then insane. As it grew increasingly difficult for them to find sufficient food for themselves, they turned cannibal. In the end they turned upon their own mates, their young. At last, in berserk rage they wanted nothing more than to rend, tear and kill——
“Can you picture a man standing thirty feet, with a brain weighing eighty ounces—forty feet, perhaps, or even fifty? What amount of intelligence could a man weighing five thousand pounds be expected to have with a five-pound brain?”
“No! You are wrong,” shrieked Fergus. “Hideously wrong. I can bear no more! I refuse to listen to more of your blasphemy, your sacrilege! You are mad, insanely mad. As your lawful judge, I condemn you!”
Prince Toms’ shoulders sagged. He had failed utterly. He was a fool to have trusted himself into his brother’s hands. But on second thought he realized that it did not matter. His twin was merely a reflection of all his race. Any man on earth would have done the same thing! They could not have helped themselves. For just as they had bred physical likes, so was the mental and spiritual being a carbon copy of all others.
But wait, perhaps there was still time to open Fergus’ eyes. He had his right of rebuttal, the right to ask for another chan
ce.
He said, “Of course, you will allow me to present proof of my statements, Fergus? Send for Torgo, our father’s old servitor, who performs small tasks in the palace. See him before you pronounce final judgment upon me—and my researches.”
Without expression, the king nodded his head and lifted a hand to his mouth. On his finger was a ring whose center was a delicate speaking diaphragm. He spoke a few words into it. Five minutes later an overtall, stooped figure, with snowy hair and dull eyes, entered the royal chamber. He looked inquiringly to Fergus, but it was the midget who spoke to him.
“Torgo,” he asked gently, “how tall do you stand?”
Torgo glanced up in surprise. “Why—your highnesses, I am eleven feet, ten and a quarter inches. It is here, tabulated between my shoulder blades.” And he tugged at his upper garments to show, the indelible markings that had been tattooed there on his twenty-fifth birthday. They described his physical appearance, bodily measurements, birth date, parentage and blood lines.
“Will you kindly come here—stand beside his majesty? It’s quite all right. Do as I say.”
Fergus watched the old fellow shuffle to his side.
“Stand straight, Torgo. Raise your head. Throw back your shoulders. Up man! Ah, that’s it. Now, do you see, Fergus? Torgo, who at twenty-five was eleven, ten and a quarter, is twelve feet, several inches tall at one hundred and thirty! You who were twelve feet at twenty-five have grown a few inches yourself, possibly, yet Torgo tops you by an inch or two!” Toms sighed.
“And thus grows all the race—just as the reptiles of ancient times continued to grow as long as they lived! Had they but measured Menor’s length, as well as his brain weight, they would have discovered that he had grown eight or nine inches since adolescence. But all who associate with the oldsters are also growing in like proportion. They never measure themselves.
Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks) Page 93