“Hmm.” The phone was quiet for a long period. Finally Brody spoke into the silence. “I’ll tell you this much, doctor. Those apes may be far more intelligent than we thought. That’s all I’ll say.”
“All right.”
“Anything else? Brody out.” The phone went dead.
Victor Hasslein stretched his long thin arm across the room to return the phone to its cradle. He smiled faintly; the action of his arm resembled that of a machine, as did all his precise gestures. Newsmen sometimes called him that, the human computer, and Victor didn’t despise the title; at least they said human. When he was a boy, he had read story after story about computers taking over earth and making mankind useless. He took them seriously, and he had specialized in science; first in computers, then, when he realized that there was something far more basic, in solid-state physics. He knew what made computers tick. He knew how to program them, and how to destroy them. They would not become man’s masters, not so long as men like Victor Hasslein existed.
But it would take work, he knew. Hard work. It would be very simple to allow the machines to design new machines, to let things become so complex that no human understood them; and then? But he understood them now, and he had the most powerful position of any scientist in the world. He guarded the fortress of civilization: for man.
What of the apes? The thought came unwanted, and Victor Hasslein smiled to himself. Chimpanzees. Apes. Hardly a threat to mankind. No matter how intelligent they were, they remained apes. They could not really think. Like computers, they could only be trained.
EIGHT
It was hot in the small anteroom. In the main theatre of the Los Angeles Federal Building, the Commissioners and their assistants, the press, the curious, and those who had found enough influence to gatecrash, were cramming themselves into a room designed to hold fewer than half that number.
The smell of hundreds of humans packed closely together was making the chimpanzees nervous, and that disturbed Lewis Dixon. He looked at Stevie but she could only shrug helplessly. “Turn up the air conditioning, will you?” Lewis asked.
“Sure, Hon.” Stephanie went to the thermostat by the door. She could hear a low murmur outside: people, a buzz of conversation, no single thought coming through. Just people, in masses. She had always been nervous around masses and crowds, and she thought she knew how the chimpanzees must feel. She turned to put a hand on Zira’s. “You’ll be all right.”
“I hope so.” Zira shuddered. “There are a lot of humans out there—”
“And every one of them can talk intelligently,” Lewis said. “Or thinks he can. And most of them, whether they’re intelligent or not, are certainly influential. You ready?”
Cornelius nodded. So did Zira. Stephanie smiled. “You’ll be great.”
“Remember,” Lewis said. “When I give the cue, start slowly with simple answers to what will certainly be simple questions. Let them get the idea themselves. Don’t just shock them with it.”
“All right,” Cornelius said. He smiled in amusement, and looked at his wife.
“And if the questions become less simple?” Zira asked innocently.
“Just be yourself,” Lewis said.
Cornelius chuckled. He raised his leathery forefinger and shook it at Zira. “Your better self, my dear. Please.” They all laughed.
“Dr. Dixon,” a speaker overhead called. “The Commission is ready, Dr. Dixon.”
“Let’s go,” Lewis said. “Stephanie?”
“Right.” They each lifted a chain: Dixon’s was attached to Cornelius’s collar, and Stevie’s to Zira’s. “Sorry about these,” Stevie said. “They weren’t my idea.”
“Nor mine,” Dixon added. “But necessary.”
“Phooh,” Zira snorted. “What do they think we are? Gorillas?”
“Shhh,” Stevie warned. “OK, let’s go.”
The stage was large, and they crossed it carefully. The chimpanzees were dressed; business suit for Cornelius, and a lady’s equivalent, knitted skirt suit and blouse, for Zira. The outfits did not match those of Lewis and Stevie, and the apes were as well dressed as the commissioners.
Four chairs stood at the center of the stage. Lewis led his charges there, and invited them to be seated. Zira and Stephanie sat, after which Cornelius took his seat, then finally Lewis Dixon. They looked around the large hall with curious eyes.
“My fellow commissioners,” Lewis thought. He knew most of them. Victor Hasslein, the president’s pet warthog—but a damned brilliant physicist and general systems analyst all the same. Dr. Radak Hartley, zoologist and Chairman of the Department of Zoology, Harvard, titular Chairman of the Commission, although Lewis knew that to be a joke. Hasslein would have more power than old Hartley. All Hartley’s work, including his Nobel Prize, was done a long time ago.
Cardinal MacPherson. Strange name for a Catholic prelate, Lewis thought. No fool, either. Jesuit. The Jesuits almost dominate the biological sciences. And the others, scientists, lawyers, senators and congressmen.
Beyond the commissioners were seats for other VIP’s. The mayor and city council of Los Angeles. Zoo commissioners. Press people. More congressmen; nearly every local LA state and national legislator had come. Anyone with influence enough to get in was present. There was a murmur of approval from the audience as the chimps sat carefully and watched everything, looked intelligently at everyone. There were also a few nervous glances. These men and women weren’t used to being stared at by anyone, certainly not by apes.
“You may begin,” Dr. Hartley said. “Are you ready, Dr. Dixon?”
“Yes, sir.” Lewis stood and addressed the commissioners, but he kept an eye toward the press people out in the audience. They and the VIP’s were together as important as the Commission—perhaps more so—and it was vital that the chimpanzees get sympathetic treatment.
“My fellow commissioners,” Lewis began. “And ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know me, but allow me to introduce myself anyway.” He saw the cameras above were rolling. The networks hadn’t been permitted in, and these films were going to be enormously valuable. They ought to belong to the chimps—if they didn’t, perhaps they could be used to get some appropriations for UCLA. If Dixon’s department had the money, the chimpanzees would be insured good treatment, even if they legally couldn’t own anything themselves.
“My name is Dr. Lewis Dixon, and I’m a psychiatrist specializing in animal research. I have been in charge of these two apes since they arrived at the Los Angeles Zoological Gardens five days ago. You all know the spectacular way they arrived.”
There were murmurs of agreement and a few laughs. Lewis continued quickly while he still had audience sympathy and curiosity. “The young lady is Dr. Stephanie Branton, my assistant. Between us we have made some amazing discoveries about these apes, and we want to prepare you for a shock. Dr. Branton and I will answer any questions you may care to address to us, but I doubt you’ll have many for us. You see, our chimpanzee friends are perfectly capable of answering for themselves.”
“What . . . Sam, is he serious? . . . You know, I always knew young Dixon was going to flip one day . . . Id-iot . . . Jesus, suppose it’s true?” Lewis heard. There were other murmurs and comments, and a moment of confusion.
“I assure you it is true,” Lewis said. “They will not answer with signs, or looks, or symbols, or anything of that sort. They can talk. As well as you or I.”
That got dead silence. Finally, old Dr. Hartley rose from his seat and stared at Lewis. “Young man, I’ve admired your publications—but that does not give you the right to make jokes here. This is a Presidential Commission of Inquiry, and I have no intention of seeing it become a ventriloquist act!”