Nowhere was man.
Seek the high hills; search him in the plains. Hunt for his spoor in the green jungles; call for him; shout for him. Follow where he has been in the bowels of earth; plumb the dim deeps of the sea.
Man is gone; his house stands empty; the door open.
A great ape, with a brain too big for his need and a spirit that troubled him, left his tribe and sought the quiet of the high place that lay above the jungle. He climbed it, hour after hour, urged on by a need that he half understood. He reached a resting place, high above the green trees of his home, higher than any of his tribe had ever climbed. There he found a broad fiat stone, warm in the sun. He lay down upon it and slept.
But his sleep was troubled. He dreamed strange dreams, unlike anything he knew. They woke him and left him with an aching head,
It would be many generations before one of his line could understand what was left there by those who had departed.
JERRY WAS A MAN
DONT BLAME THE MARTIANS. The human race would have developed plasto-biology in any case.
Look at the older registered Kennel Club breeds glandular giants like the St. Bernard and the Great Dane, silly little atrocities like the Chihuahua and the Pekingese. Consider fancy goldfish.
The damage was done when Dr. Morgan produced new breeds of fruit flies by kicking around their chromosomes with X-ray. After that, the third generation of the Hiroshima survivors did not teach us anything new; those luckless monstrosities merely publicized standard genetic knowledge.
Mr. and Mrs. Bronson van Vogel did not have social reform in mind when they went to the Phoenix Breeding Ranch; Mr. van Vogel simply wanted to buy a Pegasus. He had mentioned it at breakfast. "Are you tied up this morning, my dear?"
"Not especially. Why?"
"I'd like to run out to Arizona and order a Pegasus designed."
"A Pegasus? A flying horse? Why, my sweet?"
He grinned. "Just for fun. Pudgy Dodge was around the Club yesterday with a six-legged dachshund must have been over a yard long. It was clever, but he swanked so much I want to give him something to stare at. Imagine, Martha me landing on the Club 'copter platform on a winged horse. That'll snap his eyes back!"
She turned her eyes from the Jersey shore to look indulgently at her husband. She was not fooled; this would be expensive. But Brownie was such a dear! "When do we start?"
They landed two hours earlier than they started. The airsign read, in letters fifty feet high:
PHOENIX BREEDING RANCH Controlled Genetics licensed Labor Contractors
" 'Labor Contractors'?" she read, "I thought this place was used just to burbank new animals?"
"They both design and produce," he explained importantly. "They distribute through the mother corporation 'Workers.' You ought to know; you own a big chunk of Workers common."
"You mean I own a bunch of apes? Really?"
"Perhaps I didn't tell you. Haskell and I " He leaned forward and informed the field that he would land manually; he was a bit proud of his piloting.
He switched off the robot and added, briefly as his attention was taken up by heading the ship down, "Haskell and I have been plowing your General Atomics dividends back into Workers, Inc. Good diversification sbll plenty of dirty work for the anthropoids to do." He slapped the keys; the scream of the nose jets stopped conversation.
Bronson had called the manager in flight; they were met not with red carpet, canopy, and footmen, though the manager strove to give that impression. "Mr. van Vogel? And Mrs. van Vogel! We are honored indeed!" He ushered them into a tiny, luxurious unicar; they jeeped oS the field, up a ramp, and into the lobby of the administration building! The manager, Mr. Blakesly, did not relax until he had seated them around a fountain in the lounge of his offices, struck cigarettes for them, and provided tall, cool drinks.
Bronson van Vogel was bored by the attention, as it was obviously inspired by his wife's Dun & Bradstreet rating (ten stars, a sunburst, and heavenly music). He preferred people who could convince him that he had invented the Briggs fortune, instead of marrying it.
"This is business Blakesly. I've an order for you."
"So? Well, our facilities are at your disposal. What would you like, sir?"
"I want you to make me a Pegasus."
"A Pegasus? A flying horse?"
"Exactly."
Blakesly pursed his lips. "You seriously want a horse that will fly? An animal like the mythical Pegasus?"
"Yes, yes that's what I said."
"You embarrass me, Mr. van Vogel. I assume you want a unique gift for your lady. How about a midget elephant, twenty inches high, perfectly housebroken, and able to read and write? He holds the stylus in his trunk very cunning."
"Does he talk?" demanded Mrs. van Vogel.
"Well, now, my dear lady, his voice box, you know and his tongue he was not designed for speech. If you insist on it, I will see what our plasticians can do."
"Now, Martha "
"You can have your Pegasus, Brownie, but I think I may want this toy elephant. May I see him?"
"Most surely. Hartstonet'
The air answered Blakesly. "Yes, boss?"
"Bring Napoleon to my lounge."
"Right away, sir."
"Now about your Pegasus, Mr. van Vogel ... I see difficulties but I need expert advice. Dr. Cargrew is the real heart of this organization, the most eminent bio-designer of terrestrial origin, of course on the world today." He raised his voice to actuate relays. "Dr. Cargrew!"
"What is it, Mr. Blakesly?"
"Doctor, will you favor me by coming to my office?"
"I'm busy. Later."
Mr. Blakesly excused himself, went into his inner office, then returned to say that Dr. Cargrew would be in shortly. In the mean time Napoleon showed up. The proportions of his noble ancestors had been preserved in miniature; he looked like a statuette of an elephant, come amazingly to life.
He took three measured steps into the lounge, then saluted them each with his trunk. In saluting Mrs. van Vogel he dropped on his knees as well.
"Oh, how cute!" she gurgled. "Come here. Napoleon."
The elephant looked at Blakesly, who nodded. Napoleon ambled over and laid his trunk across her lap. She scratched his ears; he moaned contentedly.
"Show the lady how you can write," ordered Blakesly. "Fetch your things from my room."
Napoleon waited while she finished treating a particularly satisfying itch, then oozed away to return shortly with several sheets of heavy white paper and an oversize pencil. He spread a sheet in front of Mrs. van Vogel. held it down daintily with a fore foot, grasped the pencil with his trunk finger, and printed in large, shaky letters, "I LIKE YOU."
"The darlingi" She dropped to her knees and put her arms around his neck. "I simply must have him. How much is he?"
"Napoleon is part of a limited edition of six," Blakesly said carefully. "Do you want an exclusive model, or may the others be sold?"
"Oh, I don't care. I just want Nappie. Can I write him a note?"
"Certainly, Mrs. van Vogel. Print large letters and use Basic English. Napoleon knows most of it. His price, nonexclusive is $350,000. That includes five years salary for his attending veterinary."
"Give the gentleman a check. Brownie," she said over her shoulder.
"But Martha "
"Don't be tiresome. Brownie." She turned back to her pet and began printing. She hardly looked up when Dr. Cargrew came in.
Cargrew was a chilly figure in white overalls and skull cap. He shook hands brusquely, struck a cigarette and sat down. Blakesly explained-
Cargrew shook his head. "It s a physical impossibility."