"Serving as a kind of radiator, you mean?"
"Exactly. The whole Neanderthal facial structure seems designed to keep cold air from reaching the lungs- and the brain, too; don't forget that the arteries that feed blood to the brain are located just back of the nasal passages. But the big Neanderthal nose, its forward location, the extremely large maxillary sinuses, the large diameter of the blood vessels serving the face-they may all have been adaptations to the glacial environment, making it far easier for the Neanderthals to deal with the cold than were our own ancestors. The heavy musculature as well, the sturdy body structure-"
"So the so-called 'brutish' look of the Neanderthals may have been nothing more than natural selection at work, a specialized evolutionary response to the harsh conditions with which man had to cope in ice-age Europe."
"Quite so."
"If they were so well designed to survive," Miss Fellowes said, "then why did they become extinct? A change in the climate making their specializations no longer advantageous?"
Mclntyre sighed heavily. "The question of Neanderthai extinction. Miss Fellowes, is such a vexed one, so fraught with controversy-"
"Well, what's your view? Were they simply exterminated, because they were as slow-witted as you seem to think? Did their special genetic characteristics disappear through intermarriage with the other line? Or was it some combination of-"
"May I remind you, Miss Fellowes, diat I have work to do here today?" Mclntyre said. Exasperation was beginning to show in his eyes. "Much as I'd like to discuss Neanderthals with you, the fact remains that we have an actual living Neanderthal right in this room awaiting study, and I have only a limited amount of time in which
"Then go ahead, Dr. Mclntyre," said Miss Fellowes in resignation. "Examine Timmie as much as you'd like. You and I can talk some other time. Just make sure you don't upset the boy the way you did before."
And now die time had arrived for the first press conference-the public unveiling of Timmie. Miss Fellowes had delayed it as long as possible. But Hoskins was insistent. Publicity, he had been saying all along, was essential to the financing of the project. Now that it was undeniably clear that the boy was in good physical shape, that he apparently wasn't going to come down with any twenty-first-century bacterial infection, that he was capable of withstanding the stress of a meeting with the media, it simply had to happen. Miss Fellowes' word might be law, but it was clear that there was one word she didn't have the leeway to utter. This time Hoskins wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.
"I want to limit the public viewing to five minutes, then," she said.
"They've asked for fifteen."
"They could ask for a day and a half. Dr. Hoskins. But five minutes is all that I consider to be acceptable."
"Ten, Miss Fellowes."
She could see the determination in his face.
"Ten at the absolute limit. Less if the boy shows any sign of distress."
"You know he'll show signs of distress," said Hoskins. "I can!t simply let a little whimpering be the signal to throw the reporters out."
"I'm not talking about a little whimpering, doctor. I'm talking about hysteria, profound psychosomatic reactions, potentially life-threatening responses to a massive invasion of his living space. You remember how wild the boy was the night he arrived here."
"He was frightened out of his wits that night."
"And you think a bunch of television cameras poked into his face won't upset him all over again? Bright hot lights? A lot of loud-mouthed strangers yelling things at him?"
"Miss Fellowes-"
"How many reporters are you planning to let in here, anyway?"
Hoskins paused and counted up mentally. "About a dozen, most likely."
"Three."
"Miss Fellowesl"
"The Stasis bubble is small. It's Timmie's sanctuary. If you let it be invaded by a vast pack of-baboons-"
"They'll be science reporters like Candide Deveney."
"Fine. Three reporters."
"You really are determined to be difficult, aren't you?"
"I have a child to care for. That's what you're paying me for and what I intend to do. If I'm too difficult to work with, you can always give me notice, you know."
The words slipped out unexpectedly. Miss Fellowes felt a sudden stab of alarm. What if Hoskins decided to call her bluff? Sent her away, called in one of the rejected applicants-there must surely have been rejected applicants-to take charge of Timmie?
But the idea of dismissing her seemed to alarm Hoskins as much as it did her.
"I don't want to do that, Miss Fellowes. You know that very well."
"Then listen to me. The concept of a press pool isn't unknown around here, is it? Let your precious media people choose diree representatives to come in here and inspect Timmie. Or, rather, to stand outside the Stasis bubble's door while I show him to them. They can share the information with the others. Tell them that any more than three would endanger die boy's health and mental stability."
"Four, Miss Fellowes?"
"Three."
"They're going to give me hell if I tell them-"
"Three."
Hoskins stared at her. Then he began to laugh. "All right, Miss Fellowes. You win. Three media people. But they can see him for ten minutes altogether. I'll let them know that if they have any complaints they should direct them to Timmie's nurse, not to me."
Later in the day the gentlemen of the press arriveS. Two gentlemen and a lady, more accurately: John Underhill of the Times, Stan Washington of Globe-Net Cable News, Margaret Anne Crawford of Reuters.
Miss Fellowes held Timmie in her arms just at the perimeter of Stasis and he clung to her wildly while they set their cameras to work and called requests to her through the open door from their places just outside the bubble. She did her best to cope, turning Timmie this way and that so they could see his face and head from various angles.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" the Reuters woman asked.
"Boy," said Miss Fellowes brusquely.
"He looks almost human," said Underbill of the Times.
"He is human."
"We were told he was a Neanderthal. If you tell us now that he's human-"
"I assure you," said Hoskins' voice suddenly, from behind her, "that no deception has been practiced here. That child is authentic Homo sapiens ncanderthalensis."
"And Homo sapiens neanderthalensis," Miss Fellowes said in a crisp tone, "is a form of Homo sapiens. This boy is as human as you and I."
"With an ape's face, though," said Washington of Globe-Net Cable News. "An ape-boy; that's what we've got here. How does he act, nurse? Like an ape?"
"He acts exactly the way a little boy acts," snapped Miss Fellowes, moving deeper into her mode of belligerent defensiveness with every moment. Timmie squirmed madly against her shoulder. She could hear him uttering soft little clicks of fear. "He is not an ape-boy in any sense. His facial features are those of the Neanderthal branch of the human race. His behavior is that of a completely normal human child. He's intelligent and responsive when he isn't being terrified by a bunch of noisy strangers. His name is-is Timothy-Timmie-and it's an absolute error to regard him as-"
"Timothy?" said the man from the Times. "What's the significance of calling him that?"
Miss Fellowes colored. "There's no particular significance. It's simply his name."
"Tied to his sleeve when he got here?" asked Globe-Net Cable News.
"I gave him the name."
"Timmie the ape-boy," Globe-Net said.
The three reporters laughed. Miss Fellowes felt her anger rising to the point where she feared she was going to have trouble holding it in check.
"Put it down, can't you?" the woman from Reuters called. "Let's see how it walks."
"The child's too frightened for that," Miss Fellowes replied, wondering if they expected Timmie to walk about the room with his knuckles dragging against the floor. "Much too frightened. Can't you see? Isn't that obvious?"
Indeed, Timmie's breath had been coming in ever-deeper sighs as he gradually gathered momentum for an outburst of wailing. And now it began-piercing agonized screams mixed with a cascade of growls and clicks. They went on and on. She could feel him quivering against her. The laughter, the hot lights, the barrage of questions-the boy was completely terrified.
"Miss Fellowes-Miss Fellowes-"
"No more questions!" she shot back. "This press conference is over."
She spun around, holding Timmie tightly, and headed back into the inner room. On the way she strode past Hoskins, whose face was tight with consternation but who gave her a quick, tense nod and a small smile of approval.
It took her a couple of minutes to calm the boy down. Gradually the tension left his small quivering body; gradually the fear ebbed from his face.