by Isaac Asimov
“Yes, yes. I see the significance.”
“Oh, you do. Come, that’s gratifying. A second point is that these animals communicate in an unknown manner.”
“Telepathy!”
The scientist’s mouth twisted, as he ground out, “Telepathy! Telepathy! Telepathy! Might as well say by witch brew. Nobody knows anything about telepathy except its name. What is the mechanism of telepathy? What is the physiology and the physics of it? I would like to find out, but I can’t. Bureau policy, if I listen to you, forbids.”
Antyok’s little mouth pursed itself. “But-Pardon me, doctor, but I don’t follow you. How are you prevented? Surely the Civil Administration has made no attempt to hamper scientific investigation of these non-Humans. I cannot speak for my predecessor entirely, of course, but I myself–”
“No direct interference has occurred. I don’t speak of that. But by the Galaxy, administrator, we’re hampered by the spirit of the entire set-up. You’re making us deal with humans. You allow them their own leader and internal autonomy. You pamper them and give them what Aurelion’s philosophy would call ‘rights.’ I can’t deal with their leader.”
“Why not?”
“Because he refuses to allow me a free hand. He refuses to allow experiments on any subject without the subject’s own consent. The two or three volunteers we get are not too bright. It’s an impossible arrangement.”
Antyok shrugged helplessly.
Zammo continued, “In addition, it is obviously impossible to learn anything of value concerning the brains, physiology, and chemistry of these animals without dissection, dietary experiments, and drugs. You know, administrator, scientific investigation is a hard game. Humanity hasn’t much place in it.”
Loodun Antyok tapped his chin with a doubtful finger, “Must it be quite so hard? These are harmless creatures, these non-Humans. Surely, dissection-Perhaps, if you were to approach them a bit differently-I have the idea that you antagonize them. Your attitude might be somewhat overbearing.”
“Overbearing! I am not one of these whining social psychologists who are all the fad these days. I don’t believe you can solve a problem that requires dissection by approaching it with what is called the ‘correct personal attitude’ in the cant of the times.”
“I’m sorry you think so. Sociopsychological training is required of all administrators above the grade of A-4.”
Zammo withdrew his cud of a cigar from his mouth and replaced it after a suitably contemptuous interval, “Then you’d better use a bit of your technique on the Bureau. You know, I do have friends at the Imperial court.”
“Well, now, I can’t take the matter up with them, not baldly. Basic policy does not fall within my cognizance, and such things can only be initiated by the Bureau. But, you know, we might try an indirect approach on this.” He smiled faintly, “Strategy.”
“What sort?”
Antyok pointed a sudden finger, while his other hand fell lightly on the rows of gray-bound reports upon the floor just next his chair, “Now, look, I’ve gone through most of these. They’re dull, but contain some facts. For instance, when was the last non-Human infant born on Cepheus 18?”
Zammo spent little time in consideration. “Don’t know. Don’t care either.”
“But the Bureau would. There’s never been a non-Human infant born on Cepheus 18-not in the two years the world has been established. Do you know the reason?”
The physiologist shrugged, “Too many possible factors. It would take study.”
“All right, then. Suppose you write a report–”
“Reports! I’ve written twenty.”
“Write another. Stress the unsolved problems. Tell them you must change your methods. Harp on the birth-rate problem. The Bureau doesn’t dare ignore that. If the non-Humans die out, someone will have to answer to the Emperor. You see–”
Zammo stared, his eyes dark, “That will swing it?”
“I’ve been working for the Bureau for twenty-seven years. I know its ways.”
“I’ll think about it.” Zammo rose and stalked out of the office. The door slammed behind him.
It was later that Zammo said to a co-worker, “He’s a bureaucrat, in the first place. He won’t abandon the orthodoxies of paper work and he won’t risk sticking his neck out. He’ll accomplish little by himself, yet maybe more than a little if we work through him.”
From: Administrative Headquarters, Cepheus 18
To: BuOuProv
Subject: Outer Province Project 2563, Part II-Scientific Investigations of non-Humans of Cepheus 18, Co-ordination of,
References:
(a) BuOuProv letr. Cep-N-CM/jg, 100132, dated 302/975 G. E.
(b) AdHQ-Ceph18 letr. AA-LA/mn, dated 140/977 G. E. Enclosure:
1. SciGroup 10, Physical & Biochemical Division, Report, entitled, “Physiologic Characteristics of non-Humans of Cepheus 18, Part XI,” dated 172/977 G. E.
1. Enclosure 1, included herewith, is forwarded for the information of the BuOuProv. It is to be noted that Section XII, paragraphs 1-16 of Encl. 1, concern possible changes in present BuOuProv policy with regard to non-Humans with a view to facilitating physical and chemical investigations at present proceeding under authorization of reference (a)
2. It is brought to the attention of the BuOuProv that reference (b) has already discussed possible changes in investigating methods and that it remains the opinion of AdHQ-Ceph18 that such changes are as yet premature. It is nevertheless suggested that the question of non-Human birth rate be made the subject of a BuOuProv project assigned to AdHQ-Ceph18 in view of the importance attached by SciGroup 10 to the problem, as evidenced in Section V of Enclosure 1.
L. Antyok, Supery, AdHQ-Ceph18,
174/977
From: BuOuProv
To: AdHQ-Ceph18
Subject: Outer Province Project 2563-Scientific Investigations of non-Humans of Cepheus 18, Co-ordination of,
Reference:
(a) AdHQ-Ceph18 letr. AA-LA/mn, dated 174/977 G. E.
1. In response to the suggestion contained in paragraph 2 of reference (a), it is considered that the question of the non-Human birth rate does not fall within the cognizance of AdHQ-Ceph18. In view of the fact that SciGroup 10 has reported said sterility to be probably due to a chemical deficiency in the food supply, all investigations in the field are relegated to SciGroup 10 as the proper authority.
2. Investigating procedures by the various SciGroups shall continue according to current directives on the subject. No changes in policy are envisaged.
C. Morily, Chief, BuOuProv,
186/977 G. E.
II.
There was a loose-jointed gauntness about the news reporter which made him appear somberly tall. He was Gustiv Bannerd, with whose reputation was combined ability-two things which do not invariably go together despite the maxims of elementary morality.
Loodum Antyok took his measure doubtfully and said, “There’s no use denying that you’re right. But the SciGroup report was confidential. I don’t understand how-”
“It leaked,” said Bannerd, callously. “Everything leaks.”
Antyok was obviously baffled, and his pink face furrowed slightly, “Then I’ll just have to plug the leak here. I can’t pass your story. All references to SciGroup complaints have to come out. You see that, don’t you?”
“No.” Bannerd was calm enough. “It’s important; and I have my rights under the Imperial directive. I think the Empire should know what’s going on...”
“But it isn’t going on,” said Antyok, despairingly. “Your claims are all wrong. The Bureau isn’t going to change its policy. I showed you the letters...”
“You think you can stand up against Zammo when he puts the pressure on?” the newsman asked derisively.
“I will-if I think he’s wrong.”
“If!” stated Bannerd flatly. Then, in a sudden fervor, “Antyok, the Empire has something great here; something greater by a good deal than the government apparently r
ealizes. They’re destroying it. They’re treating these creatures like animals.”
“Really-” began Antyok, weakly.
“Don’t talk about Cepheus 18. It’s a zoo. It’s a high-class zoo, with your petrified scientists teasing those poor creatures with their sticks poking through the bars. You throw them chunks of meat, but you cage them up. I know! I’ve been writing about them for two years now. I’ve almost been living with them.”
“Zammo says–”
“Zammo!” This with hard contempt.
“Zammo says,” insisted Antyok with worried firmness, “that we treat them too like humans as it is.”
The newsman’s straight, long cheeks were rigid, “Zammo is rather animal-like in his own right. He is a science-worshiper. We can do with less of them. Have you read Aurelion’s works? The last was suddenly posed.”
“Umm. Yes. I understand the Emperor–”
“The Emperor tends towards us. That is good-better than the hounding of the last reign.”
“I don’t see where you’re heading?”
“These aliens have much to teach us. You understand? It is nothing that Zammo and his SciGroup can use; no chemistry, no telepathy. It’s a way of life; a way of thinking. The aliens have no crime, no misfits. What effort is being made to study their philosophy? Or to set them up as a problem in social engineering?”
Antyok grew thoughtful, and his plump face smoothed out, “It is an interesting consideration. It would be a matter for psychologists–”
“No good. Most of them are quacks. Psychologists point out problems, but their solutions are fallacious. We need men of Aurelion. Men of The Philosophy-”
“But look here, we can’t turn Cepheus 18 into... into a metaphysical study.”
“Why not? It can be done easily.”
“How?”
“Forget your puny test-tube peerings. Allow the aliens to set up a society free of Humans. Give them an untrammeled independence and allow an intermingling of philosophies-”
Antyok’s nervous response came, “That can’t be done in a day.”
“We can start in a day.”
The administrator said slowly, “Well, I can’t prevent you from trying to start.” He grew confidential, his mild eyes thoughtful, “You’ll ruin your own game, though, if you publish SciGroup 10’s report and denounce it on humanitarian grounds. The Scientists are powerful.”
“And we of The Philosophy as well.”
“Yes, but there’s an easy way. You needn’t rave. Simply point out that the SciGroup is not solving its problems. Do so unemotionally and let the readers think out your point of view for themselves. Take the birth-rate problem, for instance. There’s something for you. In a generation, the non-Humans might die out, for all science can do. Point out that a more philosophical approach is required. Or pick some other obvious point. Use your judgment, eh?”
Antyok smiled ingratiatingly as he arose, “But, for the Galaxy’s sake, don’t stir up a bad smell.”
Bannerd was stiff and unresponsive, “You may be right.”
It was later that Bannerd wrote in a capsule message to a friend, “He is not clever, by any means. He is confused and has no guiding-line through life. Certainly utterly incompetent in his job. But he’s a cutter and a trimmer, compromises his way around difficulties, and will yield concessions rather than risk a hard stand. He may prove valuable in that. Yours in Aurelion.”
From: AdHQ-Ceph18
To: BuOuProv
Subject: Birth rate of non-Humans on Cepheus 18, News Report on.
References:
(a) AdHQ-Ceph18 letr. AA-LA/mn, dated 174/977 G. E.
(b) Imperial Directive, Ja2374, dated 243/975 G. E. Enclosures:
1-G. Brannerd news report, date-lined Cepheus 18, 201/977 G. E.
2-G. Bannerd news report, datelined Cepheus 18, 2O3/977 G. E.
1. The sterility of non-Humans on Cepheus 18, reported to the BuOuProv in reference (a), has become the subject of news reports to the galactic press. The news reports in question are submitted herewith for the information of the BuOuProv as Enclosures 1 and 2. Although said reports are based on material considered confidential and closed to the public, the news reporter in question maintained his rights to free expression under the terms of reference (b).
2. In view of the unavoidable publicity and misunderstanding on the part of the general public now inevitable, it is requested that the BuOuProv direct future policy on the problem of non-Human sterility.
L. Antyok, Superv. AdHQ-Ceph18,
209/977 G. E.
From: BuOuProv
To: AdHQ-Ceph18
Subject: Birth rate of non-Humans on Cepheus 18, Investigation of.
References:
(a) AdHQ-Ceph18 letr. AA-LA/mn, dated 2O9/977 G. E.
(b) AdHQ-Ceph18 letr. AA-LA/mn, dated 174/977 G. E.
1. It is proposed to investigate the causes and the means of precluding the unfavorable birth-rate phenomena mentioned in references (a) and (b). A project is therefore set up, entitled, “Birth rate of non-Humans on Cepheus 18, Investigation of” to which, in view of the crucial importance of the subject, a priority of AA is given.
2. The number assigned to the subject project is 2910, and all expenses incidental to it shall be assigned to Appropriation number 18/78.
C. Morily, Chief, BuOuProv,
223/977 G. E.
III.
If Tomor Zammo’s ill-humor lessened within the grounds of SciGroup 10 Experimental Station, his friendliness had not thereby increased. Antyok found himself standing alone at the viewing window into the main field laboratory.
The main field laboratory was a broad court set at the environmental conditions of Cepheus 18 itself for the discomfort of the experimenters and the convenience of the experimentees. Through the burning sand, and the dry, oxygen-rich air, there sparkled the hard brilliance of hot, white sunlight. And under the blaze, the brick-red non-Humans, wrinkled of skin and wiry of build, huddled in their squatting positions of ease, by ones and twos.
Zammo emerged from the laboratory. He paused to drink water thirstily. He looked up, moisture gleaming on his upper lip, “Like to step in there?”
Antyok shook his head definitely, “No, thank you. What’s the temperature right now?”
“A hundred twenty, if there were shade. And they complain of the cold. It’s drinking time now. Want to watch them drink?”
A spray of water shot upward from the fountain in the center of the court, and the little alien figures swayed to their feet and hopped eagerly forward in a queer, springy half-run. They milled about the water, jostling one another. The centers of their faces were suddenly disfigured by the projection of a long and flexible fleshy tube, which thrust forward into the spray and was withdrawn dripping.
It continued for long minutes. The bodies swelled and the wrinkles disappeared. They retreated slowly, backing away, with the drinking tube flicking in and out, before receding finally into a pink, wrinkled mass above a wide, lipless mouth. They went to sleep in groups in the shaded angles, plump and sated.
“Animals!” said Zammo, with contempt.
“How often do they drink?” asked Antyok.
“As often as they want. They can go a week if they have to. We water them every day. They store it under their skin. They eat in the evenings. Vegetarians, you know.”
Antyok smiled chubbily, “It’s nice to get a bit of firsthand information occasionally. Can’t read reports all the time.”
“Yes?”-noncommittally. Then, “What’s new? What about the lacy-pants boys on Trantor?”
Antyok shrugged dubiously, “You can’t get the Bureau to commit itself, unfortunately. With the Emperor sympathetic to the Aurelionists, humanitarianism is the order of the day. You know that.”
There was a pause in which the administrator chewed his lip uncertainly. “But there’s this birth-rate problem now. It’s finally been assigned to AdHQ, you know-and double A priority, too.”
Z
ammo muttered wordlessly.
Antyok said, “You may not realize it, but that project will now take precedence over all other work proceeding on Cepheus 18. It’s important.”
He turned back to the viewing window and said thoughtfully with a bald lack of preamble. “Do you think those creatures might be unhappy?”
“Unhappy!” The word was an explosion.
“Well, then,” Antyok corrected hastily, “maladjusted. You understand? It’s difficult to adjust an environment to a race we know so little of.”
“Say-did you ever see the world we took them from?”
“I’ve read the reports–”
“Reports!”-infinite contempt. “I’ve seen it. This may look like desert out there to you, but it’s a watery paradise to those devils. They have all the food and water they can get. They have a world to themselves with vegetation and natural water flow, instead of a lump of silica and granite where fungi were force-grown in caves and water had to be steamed out of gypsum rock. In ten years, they would have been dead to the last beast, and we saved them. Unhappy? Ga-a-ah, if they are, they haven’t the decency of most animals.”
“Well, perhaps. Yet I have a notion.”
“A notion? What is your notion?” Zammo reached for one of his cigars.
“It’s something that might help you. Why not study the creatures in a more integrated fashion? Let them use their initiative. After all, they did have a highly-developed science. Your reports speak of it continually. Give them problems to solve.”