The Early Asimov. Volume 3

'You remember those times?'

'Better than you do, I think. Think your son would like that?'

'Suppose you talk to him. He might like to. I can't honestly say he's fascinated by archaeology.' Raph picked up a recording at random and looked at the identification tag: 'Um-m-m - from the Joquin Valley Grouping. That's a long way from here.'

'A long way.' The Recorder nodded. 'I have sent them some of ours, of course. The works of our own Grouping are highly regarded throughout the continent,' he said, with proprietary pride. 'In fact' - he pointed the stem of his pipe at the other -'your own treatise on extinct primates has been distributed everywhere. I've sent out two thousand copies and there are still requests. That's pretty good - for archaeology.'

'Well, archaeology is why I am here - that and what my son says you've been telling him.' Raph had a little trouble starting: 'It seems you have spoken of creatures called Eekahs from the Antipodes, and I would like to have such information as you have on them.'

The Recorder looked thoughtfuclass="underline" 'Well, I could tell you what I know offhand, or we could go to the Library and look up the references.'

'Don't bother opening the Library for me. It's a Closed-Day. Just give me some notion of things and I'll search the references later.'

The Recorder bit at his pipe, shoved his chair back against the wall and de-focused his eyes thoughtfully. 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose it starts with the discovery of the continents on the other side. That was five years ago. You know about that, perhaps?'

'Only the fact of it. I know the continents exist, as everyone does now. I remember once speculating on what a shining new field it would be for archaeological research, but that is all.'

'Ah, then there is much else to tell you of. The new continents were never discovered by us directly, you know. It was five years ago that a group of non-Gurrow creatures arrived at the East Harbor Grouping in a machine that flew - by definite scientific principles, we found out later, based essentially on the buoyancy of air. They spoke a language, were obviously intelligent, and called themselves Eekahs. The Gurrows, of the East Harbor Grouping, learned their language - a simple one though full of unpronounceable sounds - and I have a grammar of it, if you're interested -'

Raph waved that away.

The Recorder continued: The Gurrows of the Grouping, with the aid of those of the Iron Mountain Grouping - which specialize in steel works, you know - built duplicates of the flying machine. A flight was made across the ocean, and I should say there are several dozens of volumes on all that -volumes on the flying machine, on a new science called aerodynamics, new geographies, even a new system of philosophy based on the plurality of intelligences. All produced at the East Harbor and Iron Mountain Groupings. Remarkable work for only five years, and all are available here.'

'But the Eekahs - are they still at the East Harbor Groupings?'

'Um-m-m. I'm pretty certain they are. They refused to return to their own continents. They call themselves "political refugees."'

Toliti… what?'

'It's their own language,' said the Recorder, 'and it's the only translation available.'

'Well, why political refugees? Why not geological refugees, or oompah refugees. I should think a translation ought to make sense.'

The Recorder shrugged: 'I refer you to the books. They're not criminals, they claim. I know only what I tell you.'

'Well, then, what do they look like? Do you have pictures?'

'At the Library.'

'Did you read my "Principles of Archaeology?"'

'I looked through it.'

'Do you remember the drawings of Primate Primeval?'

Tm afraid not.'

'Then, look, let's go down to the Library, after all.'

'Well, sure.' The Recorder grunted as he rose.

The Administrator of the Red River Gurrow Grouping held a position in no way different in essentials from that of the Museum Curator, the Recorder or any other voluntary job holder. To expect a difference is to assume a society in which executive ability is rare.

Actually, all jobs in a Gurrow Grouping - where a 'job' is defined as regular work, the fruits of which adhere to others in addition to the worker himself - are divided into two classes: one, Voluntary Jobs, and the other, Involuntary or Community Jobs. All of the first classification are equal. If a Gurrow enjoys the digging of useful ditches, his bent is to be respected and his job to be honored. If no one enjoys such burrowing and yet it is found necessary for comfort, it becomes a Community Job, done by lot or rotation according to convenience - annoying but unavoidable.

And so it was that the Administrator lived in a house no more ample and luxurious than others, sat at the head of no tables, had no particular title other than the name of his job, and was neither envied, hated, nor adored.

He liked to arrange Inter-Group trade, to supervise the common finances of the Group, and to judge the infrequent disagreements that arose. Of course, he received no additional food or energy privileges for doing what he liked.

It was not, therefore, to obtain permission, but to place his accounts in decent order, that Raph stopped in to see the Administrator. The Closed-Day had not yet ended. The Administrator sat peacefully in his after-dinner armchair, with an after-dinner cigar in his mouth, and an after-dinner book in his hand. Although there was something rather timeless about six children and a wife, even they had an after-dinner air about them.

Raph received a multiple greeting upon entering, and raised two hands to his ears, for if the various Administratelets (Only applicable title. Author.) had a job, it was noisemaking. Certainly, it was what they liked to do, and certainly others reaped most of the fruits therefrom, for their own eardrums were apparently impervious.

The Administrator shooed them.

Raph accepted a cigar.

'I intend leaving the Grouping for a time, Lahr,' he said. 'My job necessitates it.'

'We won't enjoy your going, Raph. I hope it will not be for long.'

'I hope not. What have we in Common Units?'

'Oh, ample for your purposes, I'm sure. Where do you intend going?'

'To the East Harbor Grouping.'

The Administrator nodded and blew out a thoughtful puff of smoke: 'Unfortunately, East Harbor has a surplus in their favor registered in our books - I can verify that, if you wish -but the Common Units of Exchange on hand will take care of transportation and necessary expenses.'

'Well, that's fine. But tell me, what is my status on the Community Job Roster?'

'Um-m-m - I'll have to get the rolls. You'll excuse me a moment.' He trundled away, heaving his great weight across the room and out into the hallway. Raph paused to poke at the youngest of the children who rolled up to him, growling in mock ferocity with gleaming teeth - a black little bundle of thick fur, with the long, childish snout that had not yet broadened away from the shape of the animal ancestry of half a million years earlier.

The Administrator returned with a heavy ledger and large spectacles. He opened the ledger meticulously, riffled the pages to the proper place and then drew a careful finger down the columns.

He said: There's only the question of water supply, Raph. You're due on the Maintenance gang for this next week. There's nothing else due for at least two months.'

'I'll be back before then. Is there any chance of someone subbing for me on the Water Maintenance?'

'Um-m-m - I'll get someone. I can always send my oldest. He's getting to job age and he might as well taste everything. He may like working on the dam.'

'Yes? You tell me if he does, then. He can replace me, regularly.'

The Administrator smiled gently: 'Don't plan on that, Raph. If he can figure out a way of making sleeping useful to all of us, he'll certainly take it up as a job. And why are you going to East Harbor Grouping, by the way, if it's something you care to talk about?'

'You'll laugh, perhaps, but I have just found out that there exist such things as Eekahs.'

'Eekahs? Yes, I know.' The Administrator pointed a finger. 'Creatures from across the sea! Right?'

'Right! But that's not all. I've come from the Library. I've seen trimensional reproductions, Lahr, and they're Primate Primeval, or almost. They're primates, anyway, intelligent primates. They've got small eyes, flat noses and completely different jawbones - but they're at least second cousins. I've got to see them, Lahr.'

The Administrator shrugged. He felt no interest in the matter himself. 'Why? I ask out of ignorance, Raph. Does it matter, your seeing them?'

'Matter?' Raph was obviously appalled at the question. 'Don't you know what's been going on these last years? Have you read my archaeology book?'

'No,' said the Administrator, definitely, 'I wouldn't read it to save myself a turn at Garbage Disposal.'

Raph said: 'Which probably proves you more suited to Garbage Disposal than archaeology. But never mind. I've been fighting single-handed for nearly ten years in favor of my theory that Primate Primeval was an intelligent creature with a developed civilization. I have nothing on my side so far but logical necessity, which is the last thing most archaeologists will accept. They want something solid. They want the remains of a Grouping, or artifacts, structures, books - get it. All I can give them is a skeleton with a huge brain-pan. Stars above, Lahr, what do they expect to survive in ten million years? Metal dies. Paper dies. Film dies.