The E. Hoffmann Price Fantasy & Science Fiction

by E. Hoffmann Price

  And now, Diane—

  The girl in herself was sufficiently important in Oscar’s life: but her arrival signaled a change of routine. He met the learned and critical visitors who came to Cromer’s installation. He associated with them at mealtime, and at cocktail hour conferences. They went under his guidance to the aviary when he fed the kiwis, the archaeopteryx, and the rhamphoryncus.

  Sometimes, Cromer went along, to answer objections.

  The visitors felt somewhat less skeptical when they saw that the bird with thirteen upper teeth in its beak actually ate. They had difficulty, however, in accepting the birdlike reptile which, unlike the archaeopteryx, had no feathers at all. Its twenty-five inch wing span was of membrane comparable to that of a bat. There was muttering about fantastic surgery…

  “They eat, gentlemen, they eat,” Cromer would say, as the visitors eyed the exhibits, and then each other. “They are not robots; they are not birds in masquerade. Look closely, and as long as you wish. Each is a fully-integrated creature, moving under its own power.”

  “That is self-evident,” the long-nosed paleontologist, Winthrop, admitted. “But frankness compels me to insist that this is a hoax. You have found, somewhere or other, some prehistoric survivals. That in itself would be little short of fantastic, but claiming that you have artificially reversed the course of evolution, so that the kiwi has reverted to its ancestral pattern—you are going quite too far, doctor! Gilding the lily, as it were. Even the entertainment value is dubious. Pardon me for being so outspoken, but integrity compels me.”

  Winthrop’s restrained denunciation gave the others their opening. Each echoed the paleontologist’s doubts.

  “Oscar, show these gentlemen the flying kiwi.”

  They followed Oscar to another cage. In it was a chunky fowl, brown, with stringy feathers, and a long, slender beak. In proportion to the body, the beak was comparable to that of a crane, though it curved like a sailmaker’s needle. At Cromer’s nod, Oscar stepped into the enclosure, and tossed a pebble at the bird. It took a dozen steps, all the while flapping its wings. Then it was in flight, a sustained flight of twenty yards, carrying it to the branch of a dead tree set up as a perch.

  “Not the futile, three-inch wing stumps of the apteryx australis, gentlemen,” Cromer said. “Perhaps Doctor Winthrop, you have found fossil remains of a creature like this one.” Getting no answer to his challenge, he resumed, “I thought not!—Because this is a new mutation. The kiwi australis is an example of atrophy of wings. It makes no difference whether the kiwi’s wings atrophied because he kept to the ground, or whether he kept to the ground because his wings had atrophied.

  “In any event, there are no fossil remains of any flying kiwi. So, I could not have found, very handily, in some heretofore unknown preserve of prehistoric creatures, any such kiwi!”

  “What is your theory, Doctor Cromer?” the inquisitor resumed.

  “Anything for a theory! That’s the trouble with scientists, the moment they turn from the purely operational-mechanical. A fact is ignored, or else it is twisted to accord with a theory. A process of reasoning from a conclusion, instead of toward one. Remember Gaetke, in Heligoland, observing migratory fowl?

  “He concluded that their migratory flight was substantially completed in the course of a single night. And therefore, according to him, to cover such a distance in such a time, the plover had to fly at the rate of two hundred miles an hour! Two hundred and forty miles, rather. Many years passed before it occurred to anyone to ask whether the migratory flight was completed in the course of a single night. Years passed before anyone bothered to use clock and theodolite to ascertain the plover’s actual velocity on the wing!

  “Then there is the Pyramid of Cuicuilco, in the Valley of Mexico. Baron Humboldt and others had theories as to its age. Lava surrounds its base. Manifestly, the conical pyramid was there before Ajusco erupted. According to one theory, the pyramid is 4000 years old. According to another, it is at least 10,000 years old. A spread of 150% in determining a comparatively modern period.

  “And now you want a theory before you can cease insisting that these creatures are a hoax. I said that in things purely mechanical, science has done nicely—though that improved bomb of 1980 was a sad let-down. Ours failed to annihilate the enemy; his failed to annihilate us—despite the theories which made annihilation inevitable.”

  There was a fidgeting, a shifting of feet, a gulping and a blinking. There was wrath in the faces of some, whereas others showed conflict between the urge to accept Cromer’s experiments, and the urge to stick to what the books and authorities set forth.

  “Well, now, Doctor Cromer,” young Handley, the geologist, said in his diffident way, “isn’t it natural to be interested in the theory which was used in developing these things?”

  Cromer snorted. “That’s merely a left-handed way of setting your intellectual processes up as a criterion of that which is, and that which is not possible. What you actually mean is that if I will only offer an acceptable theory, you will believe. But if my theory is not acceptable, you will reject a fact. Stick your finger into the cage of the pterodactyl and see if you need an hypothesis to account for what will happen! Oscar, let Mr. Handley see your right index finger!”

  But Winthrop intervened. “You’re making a personal issue of this. Perhaps we should not blame you; I am aware that my remarks made your attitude inevitable. Let me apologize.”

  “I’m not griped,” Cromer said, cheerily; “you folks are. Anyway, I began from considering Eimer’s term, orthogenesis. My understanding of his entire concept was this—that variations from the normal form of an animal species do not arise by chance. That the cause of the variations, however, is uncertain. But that the cause is within the animal, and not in the environment; and that the change need not have any positive adaptive significance, though it may in fact have such significance.

  “With that start, I turned to the hypothesis that the cosmic ray was one of the causes of variation. That unusual intensities set into operation glandular, neural, metabolistic, and other changes, the results of which are a variant. So, rather than publish a theory, I devised a generator, as you have seen, to produce the equivalent of the cosmic ray. A vibration of far higher frequency than any recorded by Millikan. And now I’ll meet your challenge.”

  “Pardon me, Doctor, but you mistake our motive,” young Handley cut in, pleasantly. “Now that you have elucidated, at least, outlined your theory, it seems very reasonable.”

  “What I have spoken,” Cromer retorted, good-humoredly, “is, as far as any of you are concerned, nothing but pure gibberish. Words—words of the sort that people have an itch for worshipping, in the way they revere a definition. A definition consists of words which create a purely subjective illusion of understanding, but cast no light at all upon the real nature of that which they purport to define.

  “Go into the kiwi’s cage. Search it; inspect the kiwi. Set up a tent, if you wish, and have a committee-man on duty, day and night. When the kiwi lays a clutch of eggs, mark them and put them into the incubator.

  “I shall apply the evolutionary ray, either direct or reverse, as you elect. We will hatch either a kiwi chick with wing-spread, or we will hatch an archeopteryx—yes, or a rhamphoryncus, if you wish.

  “Call my hand—or, call it a day, and let Oscar help you with your luggage. Gentlemen, name it and take it!”

  Handley observed, “There are two eggs in the cage, now. We can certainly assume that they were laid by that kiwi hen. We will mark each egg with our specification.” He turned to his seniors. “Gentlemen, wouldn’t that be sufficient to protect us against subsequent charges of having been hoaxed by the substitution of archeopteryx or pterodactyl eggs for those of a kiwi?”

  They agreed to this and marked the eggs. Carefully bedding them in handkerchiefs put in the crown of a hat, the delegation made for the house. The walk skirted the
front of a number of cages. Handley exclaimed, “What a magnificent specimen of cloudy tiger—Sumatra tiger, isn’t it?”

  Oscar answered. “Quite right. The most primitive of the felis tigris. Confidentially, Doctor Cromer intends to reverse his evolution.”

  “To what?”

  “To the machaerodus—the sabre-toothed tiger. One of the smaller of the species. Probably the size of the machaerodontinae of the La Brea asphalt pools.”

  “That is something I should like to see.”

  Oscar shrugged. “I’m afraid you’d not believe it when you did see.”

  He felt very much better about everything. He had dreaded the thought of college, largely from the lurking fear that his simian origin would somehow be exposed. He had had this fear despite his having for a long time had only occasional memories of simian days. But now the fear was gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  Diane’s presence not only stepped up Oscar’s social evolution, but also jarred Logan out of the rapt contemplation of his own talents and powers. Logan began boning for his doctor’s thesis, the one direction in which he was sure that no ex-chimpanzee could outpoint him.

  The social aspects of the triangle fascinated Cromer; so did the biological potentialities. Cromer reasoned, “If she went off the deep end for Eric, no one would learn anything—least of all, Eric. It would be repetitious. It’s been going on for (n plus 1) years now. The results are always essentially the same.

  “But if she takes a fancy to Oscar…man, man!”

  Cromer devised a road-block to hamper Logan, who was taking plenty of notice of Diane. “Eric, I am working on something that requires your specialized touch, and background,” the doctor led off, one day. “The biochemical approach. A synthetic hormone to coordinate with the hyper-gamma ray. A super-hormone. It will be a product whose application will be widespread, and entirely orthodox. So, there will be enormous publicity, and cash profit, too.”

  Logan was thrilled. Having his man baited, Cromer went on, “We’ll do the preliminary work together. Once success is assured, you will announce the discovery in your own name—perhaps from a laboratory of your own. Then it will not be tainted by association with me. Bluntly—let’s not evade the issue—I’ve become a pariah, after that demonstration for our panel of scientists.”

  “But how could I…ah, live it down?”

  “Simple, my boy, simple! You and I will quarrel; you will denounce me as a fraud. You will show how you were deceived. Your readiness to endure humiliation will establish you as right-minded, willing to go to the uttermost in the interests of science.

  “From then on, if you announced a method for squaring circles by purely Euclidean geometry, it would be accepted. But I must warn you that the difficulties will be terrific; you will be a galley slave for weeks, perhaps months.”

  Face aglow with gratitude and dedication, Logan fairly stuttered his acceptance. Then a practical aspect occurred to him. “Who will finance the laboratory I’ll need when the time for exposure comes, and I have denounced you, and left here?”

  “Synthetic infants for adoption. Humanized baby chimps are doing very well. We have not increased the output—Diane is overworked in the nursery already, particularly with her coaching Oscar for his examinations.

  “But I have doubled the price, and the black market offers hardly any sales resistance. I venture to say I can double it again. Queer people, queer world! Abortion mills on one hand; adoption mills on the other; and at the doors of each, patrons are trampling each other in the rush.”

  * * * *

  Once Logan’s research program had got a start, Cromer was able to figure to within a day or so of the time when Logan would have a breathing-spell. It did not take either a scientist or a soothsayer to predict that a date with Diane would be uppermost in his mind. Oscar, meanwhile, had not developed sufficient self-assurance to make good use of his advantage. Cromer accordingly began setting the stage, and pulling strings.

  As though working according to plan, Logan barged into the office where Diane was busy with the installation’s paper work. She turned from her typewriter, to say with pleasure and surprise, “Eric, how on earth did you contrive to get loose? How are things going?”

  “Under control. Still a lot to do, but I’m unshackled for a little while, tonight. Let’s get out of this concentration camp and do the town. Dinner and stuff. We’ll dance, or take a boat out on the bay—no, we’ll dance. That was a formal you had hung out to air, along with the silver pumps on your window sill. Psychic, anticipating the situation.”

  “Oh, Eric, I’m awfully sorry! The humidity does get into things, and I was taking the tarnish from the sandals—but look! Look what’s stacked up. Coaching Oscar, of course, and then a deadline to make. One of those everlasting bulletins to go to the printer; I simply can’t get away.”

  Logan’s face lengthened. “That slave-driver would have to think of something of the sort, right now! Well, I’ll go back to the galleys, and maybe I can win a head start. To have time out when you’re free.”

  “Sit down and tell me how the project’s been going? We hardly see you any more—even at meal times!”

  “It’s promising enough. How are the infant chimps?”

  “Not as trying as a nursery of human infants.”

  After chatting a moment, Logan went his way.

  * * * *

  That evening, Cromer broke in on the evening study conference, which had been postponed because of the clerical work Diane had been doing. He said, “Diane, my night vision is getting worse and worse. Mind driving me into town? Len Hardwick’s just arrived.”

  “You mean the Hardwick? Marine biology? Yacht and all?”

  “Yacht and all. Oscar, you can well afford to miss some study. Hardwick’s secretary, Clifford Burr, is a graduate of Waterford U. Be good for you to talk to him. Get oriented, you know.”

  “Is Eric going with us?”

  “He couldn’t be bothered,” Cromer said, as he hustled them to the door. “He can’t stand Hardwick; each is a frightful egotist.”

  * * * *

  Whether the Thetis, Hardwick’s sea-going laboratory, was cruising solely in the interests of marine biology, or whether her real purpose was to chart wind and water currents, in the interests of national defense, was something which Hardwick had always kept strictly to himself.

  The Thetis was anything but glamorous, being dumpy and durable. The term “yacht” was a misnomer from the start, applied somewhat as a convenience, and somewhat out of wry whimsy.

  Cromer phoned from the shore station. When he stepped from the booth, he said, “Well, now! Hardwick’s secretary stayed in Havana. You’d find it awfully dull, auditing me and Hardwick. Why don’t you and Diane go to a movie? Kill time somehow or other. Phone me every once in a while, to give me an excuse to break away. Some of Hardwick’s moods make it deadly to stay more than just so long. Again, he’s positively sparkling!”

  Diane said, “Oh, I’ll tell you what! Oscar and I will loll around the beach; we can phone you from the Palmetto Lodge. It’s right handy. Your rescue party will be waiting for you on the dot!”

  Cromer considered this a grand idea. Already, a launch was putting out from the Thetis.

  * * * *

  Moonlight silvered the white sands of the beach. Tall palms and the masts of boats made a black pattern against the brightening sky. When they were halfway to the neon lights of the Palmetto, Oscar seated himself on the coquina breakwater.

  “I’m glad you could get away,” he said, as Diane joined him; “you’ve been getting an overdose of all this study. Sometimes I’m on the verge of telling the old man that I am not cut out for it.”

  “Oh, but you’re doing marvelously, Oscar, really, you are. You mustn’t be discouraged.”

  “Probably I shouldn’t. And I do owe him a lot. Giving me this chance to get an
education. Only—” He lapsed into a moody silence.

  “Only, your heart isn’t in it,” Diane prompted, “and yet you hate to seem ungrateful?”

  He looked up, nodding. “I can’t make a religion of it. Not the way others do.”

  “But we don’t! Not really. All you need is a change of pace.” She came to her feet, all in one delightfully graceful motion, and caught his hand. “Let’s go to the Lodge and dance.”

  He regarded her with dismay. “Good Lord, I don’t know how! Watching the television is hardly enough. Nor is folk-dancing.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you. That’s as important as anything you’ve been frowning over. More so, really, when you enter college; you’ve been caged up in that jute mill quite too long.”

  The palmetto lodge was cozy enough for a juke joint, and friendly. The fat, swarthy proprietor smiled to outdo the moon. There were vacant tables, and unoccupied booths as well. Turning to one of the latter, Diane remarked, “Things are just right, tonight. Not crowded enough to hamper you, and still enough people to keep you from feeling conspicuous on the floor.”

  Oscar ordered beer. He watched the dancers, looked up at the Spanish moss that festooned the ceiling beams. He watched the reflections in the back-bar mirrors, and appraised the lighting. Relaxed and smiling to herself, Diane regarded him fondly, and let him make up his mind, pick his moment.

  When he frowned, he was a little beetle-browed, but that didn’t matter, she told herself. She preferred his somber intentness to Logan’s glib self-assurance. Eric was nice, though, in his way. She felt guilty for enjoying the situation, even though she had not planned it.

  Oscar, nerving himself, edged from the booth. Lightly, eagerly, Diane was with him. “Nobody’s watching you but me,” she murmured, as they stepped off; “and I’m not watching your feet.”

  He did not do as well as she led him to believe; he did not do as badly as he thought he did. By the time the music cut off, it was easy for Diane to say, “Why, you’re marvelous! Next one, just forget you are learning, and there you are.”