Richard Wormser
Pan Satyrus
CHAPTER ONE
Today there are clearly two stages of apelike creatures in existence — the Lesser and the Greater Apes.
Hello. This is Bill Dunham at Cape Canaveral, and the count is down to ninety seconds and go. Go all the way, as General Billy Maguire, who is spokesman for NASA today, just said. Eighty-six seconds, still go.
This is a big day, though it's not like an astronaut was taking off. After all, Mem doesn't have any family to leave behind, or any loved ones to worry about him so far as we know. Eighty seconds and still go.
No, Mem is a bachelor. But he's a mighty important bachelor today, the thirteenth chimpanzee to go into orbit for our side, the side of liberty, freedom and— seventy-two seconds, and go all the way.
That's what his name means, folks, as you undoubtedly know: Mem, the thirteenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet. There are some mighty learned men — sixty-five seconds — here at Cape Canaveral, and women, too, and it was Mrs. Billy Maguire that named Mem. Seems that the study of Hebrew and Arabic is her hobby — sixty seconds — and so it's Mem who's going to take the test ride today, Mem all the way, as General Maguire said just a little while ago.
Quite a ride, too — fifty seconds — twenty-four hours in orbit, with electrodes to report back on every phase of Mem's processes — forty-five seconds, still go — electrodes that will broadcast his pulse beat and any nervous tremors and his adrenalin count and — thirty seconds, half a minute to blast-off.
He's a fine specimen of chimp, Mem is. We showed you pictures of him going into his space capsule, and stopping to shake hands with the doctor, Dr. Aram Bedoian, who brought him here from White Sands and who has been in constant attendance — fifteen seconds to blast-off and if you think you're nervous, the camera ought to give you a close shot of my hands shaking — ten seconds — I guess the only one who isn't nervous is Mem, he doesn't know what he's in for — nine — eight — seven — six — five — four — three — two— one — zero.
And there she goes, a beautiful blast-off, and the rocket is rising, and in a few seconds we'll see the first stage fall into the sea — there it goes — and then the second and then the Mem-sahib — Mrs. Maguire's name, that is, too — will go out across the Atlantic, and in half an hour old Mem can look down and see Africa, where his folks came from, like all good chimpanzees, or do they come from Asia? And — great grief — second stage away and the SPACE SHIP IS TURNING WEST INSTEAD OF EAST-it's going back across the United States, IT CANT DO THAT — Flash — the Mem-sahib is in orbit, just got word from General Billy Maguire — and — I'm turning you back to New York for a minute while I chase over to NASA and try and get a word from General Billy — we've got a wrong-way chimp on our hands!
WHITE SANDS calling NASA CONTROL-do you read me? Okay, NASA the Mem-sahib came in clear and loud as she went over. But listen, the beep-transmission went out when she was square in our radius, and she went on dot-dash. Yeah, dot-dash, old International Morse… I do not drink on duty, or any other time for that matter, on account of I got an ulcer from talking to guys like you — sir. I said Morse code and I mean Morse code… I thought you would get around to that… It said, he said, I dunno: "The sun was in my eyes, so I headed West." In clear code, like he was breaking and making a wire. He's got a fist like an old Navy radio-op, which is what I used to be… I repeat, sir: "The sun was in my eves, so I headed West."
'SAN DIEGO to NASA Control — The Mem-sahib just reported that it would make only one orbit. I quote: "When you have been around the earth once, you've seen everything you're going to see. Will land near Grand Inagua in an hour. Have some lunch ready." Unquote… I just pass it along, I do not comment.
It was a lovely day in the Caribbean. The USS Cooke, a destroyer attack carrier — a DAC — had no trouble hauling the space capsule out of the sea and onto its deck. The crew lined up and the Yeoman First took pictures of them, in turn, leaning under the name Mem-sahib. He charged the sailors a dollar apiece, two dollars for officers.
But before the skipper — a full Lieutenant — could pose, the side hatch blew out, and Mem stepped out on the deck.
He was tall and thin for a chimp, about a hundred and twenty pounds, though, which was heavy for his age, seven and a half. He did not look inhuman in his space suit and helmet.
The first thing he said was, "Help me out of this suit, will you? I think I picked up a flea at Cape Canaveral."
The Navy was glad to help.
While his gallant crew was stripping away the intricate suit, the skipper retired to the bridge. He was joined there by the executive, a j.g. The skipper said, "You heard him?"
The executive considered. "It was what I would have said. Gawd, and they would have kept him in orbit twenty-four hours with a flea inside his suit."
He shuddered.
"But he talked, Johnny. I heard him with my own ears. Apes don't talk."
"Sir, beg to submit that this one did. Hell, the Army talks — why not chimps?"
"We have a problem in etiquette on our hands. Where does he eat lunch?"
The executive nearly said "Huh," but he swallowed it and translated it into "Sir?"
"I mean," the skipper said, "he's famous. How many, monkeys or people, have gone into orbit? He's a celebrity, even if he is an ape. We can't have him mess with the enlisted men."
"No, sir." The exec was finding the blue surface of the Caribbean absorbing.
"And I don't know what Bupers would say about an ape in the wardroom."
"No, sir."
"I don't want to get passed over for LCDR. I'm pretty close to the top of the list."
"Yes, sir."
"Damn it, Johnny, I'm asking for suggestions."
The exec sighed. He was not close to the top of j.g., but he didn't want his folder marked "uncooperative". Unimaginative he didn't mind, but not uncooperative. "Let him mess with the chiefs," he said. "Issue a statement that they're getting the honor because they are the backbone of the Service."
"Johnny, you'll fly your own flag before you're through."
"Thank you, sir."
The chiefs mess on the Cooke was small — four CPO's and eight Petty Officers, 1st. With Mem, this made thirteen, but as the chimpanzee said: "After all, I was the thirteenth of my people to go out into space, and it wasn't unlucky for me."
Radioman 1st Happy Bronstein said: "No, sir. If you're not superstitious, we don't have to be."
"You gentlemen don't have to call me sir."
"Well, don't call us gentlemen, then," Happy said. "We're just enlisted men."
"Ape there — I mean, I beg your pardon. Chief Torpedoman Bates — is senior. Thirty-five years."
The chimp called Mem laughed. "Your nickname is Ape, Chief?"
History was being made in the U.S. Navy: Chief Bates was blushing. "Yes, sir."
Mem laughed again, and scratched himself luxuriously. "Don't be ashamed of it, Chief. I'd rather be called Ape than Mem. That fool mate of the general's was going to sprinkle champagne on my head when she gave me the name. Dr. Bedoian stopped her. Which puts an idea into my head!" His heavy, wrinkled lid came up from his red left eye. He looked around the table.
Happy Bronstein shook his head sadly. "Not even torpedo juice, Mem. I mean, Ape."
"Call me Pan," the chimp said. "The Latin name for my people is Pan Satyrus." He smiled, a little wistfully. "There was a metal sign on my mother's cage that said that. When I was a little ape, I thought it was her name."
Ape Bates said: "Ah, to hell wit' it. If I'm rude, Mr. Satyrus, I'm rude; I bin a torpedoman twenty-five years. I wanna know: where did you learn how to talk?"